I needed space — room to rebuild the walls, to fortify what she’d managed to breach.
To protect myself.
The siren finally eased, slipping into a low thrum, as if agreeing with me. I latched onto it—let it anchor me.
Because anything was better than listening to the whisper I didn’t want to face—that this was already a mistake.
CHAPTER 16
ASPEN
Istood in the middle of the empty apartment. Muted grays, dark woods, and bright splashes of color. It was us—we made it. Together.
Yet, there I stood. Alone. Like I had almost every night for the past week. And when he was home, I might as well have been alone.
He had dinner in his home office, barely grunting responses when I tried to talk to him the few times he came out. At night, he came to bed after I fell asleep and left before I could wake. He avoided me without saying a word in between.
Except for the lone time he bent me over the counter and fucked me into oblivion. Then he said everything.
Bend over.
Show me your pussy.
Let me inside.
You’re such a good girl.
You take my cock so well.
So wet.
Fuck. I miss this cunt.
Take my cock.
Take my cum.
Come for me. Only me.
Fuck…
I miss…
His words faded into deep groans as he came, before pulling away, leaving me as alone as when we started—except with cum dripping down my thighs and a bittersweet pleasure throbbing through my veins.
The memory sent shivers washing down my spine. Yet still…I stood alone.
Each night, I racked my brain, wondering what the hell had changed, wondering what had happened to the man who called me a queen as I rode his cock, wondering where he was.
But I was done wondering.
Lucian Daire was my fiancé—my soon-to-be-husband, and I had a right to know what the fuck was going on. I had the right to say, enough was enough.
I gripped my phone, thinking of who to call first, but hating the idea of sounding like a crazy wife stalking her husband.
Pinching my eyes shut, I shook my head, hating the way my mind conjured flashes of women in media portrayed as insane and out of control as they stalked their husbands, yelling through the phone, making demands. I hated the stereotype, and I hated that it haunted me now.
Be who you are, nena. Don’t worry about what others think. Their opinion is their own, and it’s of no concern to you,my mother’s voice reminded me, gently. Quickly followed by the fiercer affirmations she’d said when I’d gotten older. On those rare occasions, she’d lean in and whisper words that always made my eyes bulge as I giggled.Fuck them, nena.
