“Our home,” I corrected, and it came out sharper than I meant. “You didn’t even lock the door.”
“What would you call it?” she fired back. “You’ve turned my life into a prison! I don’t get to leave. I don’t get to choose!”
She was shaking now.
But not from fear.
From fury.
From freedom she hadn’t earned.
“So you run to him?” I growled. “To that boy? You think he gives a damn about you? He wants the girl he couldn’t have in college. He wants to be the hero?—”
“At least he doesn’t need to own someone,” she cut in, stepping forward like she was the one cornering me. “Because he knows he’ll never be loved.”
Silence detonated between us.
That was it.
The match.
The knife.
The goddamn guillotine.
The words hit harder than anything Cliff could’ve thrown.
My spine locked. I stepped back once, just once, breath shallow, like I’d taken a blow to the ribs.
Loved?
That wasn’t in my vocabulary. Never had been.
But for a second—just a second—it had been.
And that second was enough to ruin me.
She stood there, chest heaving, fire in her eyes, thinking she’d won.
She didn’t realize.
She’d just lit the fuse.
And now?
Now we’d both burn.
She wanted to fight? Fine. I’d give her something else to fight against.
I stepped in close, the heat between us thickening like smoke. Her eyes flared, fury blazing in those depths, but beneath it all? I saw something else. A flicker of uncertainty.
I grabbed her jaw, my fingers firm as I tilted her face up to meet mine. “You want to wear that dress and act like you’re not mine?” My voice dropped low, a velvet promise laced with danger.
“Then prove it,” I challenged, watching as her breath hitched. “Say it to my face. Tell me you don’t feel anything when I touch you.”
She opened her mouth, a defiant fire sparking in her eyes, but it faltered—just for a moment. The tension crackled between us, and she hesitated.
I pressed closer, backing her against the wall until she had no choice but to feel every inch of me—the heat radiating from my body, the weight of my intent closing in around her like a cage.
