THEO
Istopped answering my phone. Not just my father’s calls—though those were the first I silenced—but everything that came through. Board members. My assistant. Random people I hadn’t spoken to in years. Journalists sniffing at the edges like vultures circling something wounded. It was like the whole world had picked up on my absence and decided now was the time to start demanding answers.
I gave them none. Nor would I. I’d chosen to walk away from the gilded circus and leave its chains behind. There was no way I was getting dragged back.
Even my mother had tried once. Just once.
Her name lit up my screen while I sat on the edge of the bed in a room that didn’t belong to me anymore. I stared at it until the screen dimmed. She’d stood up forRosalie. Not me. Claimed she hadn’t known therealreason my father sent me away. But I couldn’t tell if I believed her—or if those were just carefully arranged crocodile tears meant to save her own neck.
Whatever that connection had been, it was gone now. Burned through, the smoke of it long vanished. I wasn’t naive; it wasn’t like she was going to turn up on my doorstep and bleed her heart dry just to keep me in her life.
I hadn’t stepped foot in the office in over a week. No headlines had hit the news. No public statements were made. Just silence, stretching longer by the day. At first, it felt like tension. Now it felt like permission. I wondered how much it had cost my father to pay them all off.
The SUV was gone. Sold it two days ago, and didn’t even hesitate. I hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t asked. No permission. No apology. I walked into the dealership, handed over the keys, and took the cash. It felt like breathing clean air for the first time in years. Like cutting a chain off my ankle, I hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. Just me, a deed of sale, and a wad of cash in my pocket that felt more like freedom than money.
And I waited. Waited for a call about the fifth-floor walk-up where Sin and the girls lived. A building with creaky stairs, crooked mailboxes, a slapdash paint job, and scuffed walls that didn’t pretend to be anything they weren’t.
It was honest. And I hoped it would be mine. When the call finally came, I didn’t hesitate. “It’s yours if you want to see it,” the super said. “Few other calls, but you were first.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Sin grinned the second he saw me—eyes bright, cigarette tucked behind his ear, posture loose but buzzing underneath. Winston curled around his legs as he stepped through my front door, trying to drag him deeper into the house. He’d become almost as obsessed with Sin as I was.
Head canted to the side, his eyes roamed over me like a physical caress before they settled on mine. Stars sparked in his as he took in my smile. I gave him a tentative nod and crossed my fingers. Before I could say a word, he fist pumped then turned on his heel and sauntered back to his beast of a car with me following in his wake.
His black Dodge Charger was sleek and dangerous-looking, shining like obsidian in the afternoon sun. The engine snarledto life with a throaty rev that made the topiary shudder and my bones vibrate as I settled in the passenger seat.
I shook my head, unable to keep a straight face. “Did you get this thing tuned?” I asked, eyes narrowing as the engine snarled again.
He blinked at me, all fake innocence. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Not even a little,” I muttered, but I was smiling. He stomped on the gas, gravel spraying behind us like machine-gun fire as we peeled out.
I glanced over my shoulder. Half-expecting—half-fearing—I’d see my father charging down the driveway after us like some corporate god-king reclaiming his prodigal son. But there was nothing. Just manicured lawns. Sculpted hedges. Perfection that never felt likemine.
The trip across town passed in a blur of late afternoon sunlight, lengthening shadows and suppressed longing. The silence between us wasn’t just comfortable—it was loaded. Every breath felt like a dare. Every glance like a challenge. Being in a car with Sin wasn’t just distracting—it was torturous. A masterclass in self-restraint. A slow unraveling.
He looked like sin incarnate behind the wheel—loose-limbed, unbothered, entirely in control. Black curls stirred in the wind from the open window, revealing the cigarette tucked behind his ear like an afterthought. A rebellion half-finished. His tattoos crawled along his skin every time his knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, shifting like shadows that told stories no one else had ever been allowed to hear.
And then his hand slid from the gear shift to my thigh. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… claiming. I forgot how to breathe. Forgot where we were. Forgot what the hell we were even doing.
He didn’t look at me. Just kept driving like nothing had changed, like the world wasn’t tilting dangerously on its axis. Histhumb circled slow and deliberate over my jeans, the warmth of his palm bleeding into my skin like a fever I couldn’t shake.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I muttered, breathlessly.
“What?” His voice was smoke and gravel, but it was the smirk curling his lips that did me in.
“Touching me like…this,” I groaned as his thumb ran over the zipper of my pants, applying just the right amount of pressure.
He rolled his bottom lip against his teeth, looking every inch the depraved deviant he was, eyes never leaving mine. “You are mine… aren’t you?”
“T-that I am,” I gasped as he increased the pressure. “T-that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” he asked, eyes now locked on the road. Like if he didn’t, he might crash the car because he was as close to the edge as I was.
“We have an apartment to go and look at…” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at me. “A-and I can’t go in there like this,” I hissed.
He didn’t answer right away. Just squeezed my thigh a little tighter, making me groan. “Oh baby, I could stop right now and make you feel so good,” he purred.
