The way he touched me.
The way he whispered my name like it was something holy and filthy all at once.
I gag on a sob.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Please stop.”
But nothing stops.
Not my body trembling.
Not the nausea rising.
Not the fear twisting into something hotter.
Not the echo of his voice crawling under my skin.
I stumble to the sink and splash cold water on my face, dripping onto the counter, onto the locket, onto my robe. My reflection in the window shocks me.
Eyes red.
Lips bruised.
Hair wild.
Skin marked at the jaw where a thumbprint faintly shadows the flesh.
My legs go weak.
I grip the sink harder.
The glassiness of my reflection makes me look half-haunted. Half-claimed. Half-someone-else.
Half-his.
A shiver crawls down my spine.
I breathe out slowly, trying to steady myself.
And then?—
My phone rings.
Not Noah’s ringtone.
Not my mother’s.
Not a number I know.
Just a vibration that hums across the countertop like a threat.
My blood freezes.
My pulse stops.
I turn toward it slowly, water dripping from my chin.
Unknown Number.
