Her voice cracks. “No.”
That’s all she says. Just one word.
I rise, slow.
Her spine straightens automatically. Pupils blow wide. She's terrified.Good. That means there’s still a part of her that remembers who makes the rules in this house. I step toward her and stop in front of her. Close enough that I can smell something floral on her skin. Not me. Not my shampoo. Something new. Something foreign.
“You wearing someone else’s perfume?” I ask.
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak. The silence is confirmation that she knows she’s done wrong. I lean in, drag the scent from her neck with a breath. And that’s when I see it—guilt. Not shame. Not regret. Guilt.
For going. For lying. I reach out and cup her jaw—not hard. But firm enough that she knows I could hurt her, if I wanted.
“I’ll ask again. Are you wearing someone else’s perfume?” My voice is calm.
My thumb presses harder into her cheek. She winces. But she doesn’t pull away.
“No, I’m not.”
I release her jaw slowly. I don’t have to raise a fist when I canwatch her unravel with just a question.
“Then tell me, sweetheart. Why do you smell like a hooker’s purse? You making an effort for someone?”
“I went to see my friends. I hugged them—it must have… rubbed off. I just needed to clear my head.”
“They’re sheltering you, right?” I whisper, voice tightening like a noose. “Siding with you. Feeding your lies. Fanning your filthy little fantasies. Planning on letting lover boy hook up with you there? Even after how you practically begged for me last night.”
Her body shudders.
“He still on your mind, Summer?” I murmur, each word a razor. “Do you lie in bed, tracing your fingers down your belly, thinking of him?”
“It’s nothing to do with him,” she spits—too fast, too brittle.
I hold my stance; she stumbles back until her spine slams into the wall.
“You’re shaking.” I trail the tip of my finger along her sternum, slow enough to feel her panic bloom. “Is it fear?” My fingertip drops lower. “Or are you secretly turned on—watching me turn predator?”
She freezes solid. Yet, I glimpse it beneath her shame—the hot surge of something she’ll never freely admit. Want. Desire.
“You think he could handle your appetite for pain? I mean, why else do you do this sort of shit, Summer? You love to feel dominated, don’t you? You crave it, don’t you?” My hand snaps up, fingers clamping her jaw—not enough to bruise, but enough to remind her whose puppet she is. “And right now, you’re fucking starving for it.”
“I’m confused,” she whispers, voice shredded.
I hum against her neck, a promise of worse to come.
“I went to see them because I was scared,” she says, voice trembling. “Scared after last night. Scared because of how much you fuck with my head—and how much I liked it. Do you get that, Jacob? Ilikedit. Iwantedyou. And that terrified me.” She shakes her head, eyes burning into mine. “You’re a monster. And I had to get out. I had to see Constance. I had to see Adelaide. I had to remember there’s a world outside ofyou.”
The room goes quiet. My pulse roars in my ears. Every word digs into me, twisting—shame, pride, fury, want—until I don’t know which one will win.
Monster. She thinks she’s insulting me. She doesn’t see it—doesn’t see that she’s already giving herself away. She craves it. Cravesme.And the fact she had to run to her little friends just to breathe after admitting it? That tells me everything and makes my cock stand to attention in my slacks. She’s breaking.
I step closer. Let her see the monster. Let her look him in the eye.
“You think I don’t know what I am? I know exactly what I am.”
She flinches but doesn’t move, lips parted, chest heaving like she’s drowning on air.
“You can call me a monster all you want, Summer. Doesn’t change the truth.” My hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The truth is, it doesn’t matter where or when you try to run. I will always find you. But you know that don’t you. You’ve started to enjoy being the little mouse, running away from the predator.”
