I can spot when someone’s trying to manipulate me because I do it to other people. People are just pawns I use. The only difference between Lilac and the others is that I don’t want tohurt her or break her. I want her to realize that she’s mine. That I’m in love with her—but she won’t love me freely, so I’ll just control it. It’s the only way I know how to love.
That’s why I played on her empathy yesterday by sharing my traumatic experience—to let her guard down. To get her to trust me. I needed to see the ache in her eyes for me, because I feed off of it. I need her to question her feelings for me.
It worked. She sent me a heartfelt message about abuse—how I’m not a victim of my environment. I loved it so much that I printed the message out and placed it in my wallet. It’s not that her note touched me in any deep way. It’s because it’s something she gave me.
Manipulation is easy. You figure out where someone is soft—you exploit it, use it against them. Empathy is Lilac’s weakness. Survival is another one. That’s why it was so easy for me to trap her in this marriage.
My princess is cunning. And it gets my dick hard.
I know she wants me. She just keeps lying to herself. But deep down, she loves that I control her. She likes the dominance. She’s afraid that if people knew, they’d judge her.
I remove the vape from behind my ear. She takes it, inhales, and puffs smoke from the corner of her mouth. Then she grabs my hand and squeezes tightly.
“Thank you for helping me with the paper. I switched up your name so no one will know who I’m talking about—for your privacy.”
That’s what I love about her—she thinks of other people’s feelings.
I pat my leg for her to sit. She stares at my pajama pants, then back at me. A tight smile spreads across her face. She needs to keep up this act that she’s manipulating me, so I’m going to take advantage of it.
“I keep the message you wrote me in my back pocket, princess. It was heartfelt.”
Her cheeks flush. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
The good thing about her weak manipulation attempt is that I can go along with it—and be this close to her. Before, she didn’t want me to touch her or come near her, which I respected. I know when I can cross boundaries with her.
The salty air burns my nostrils from the dark sea below.
“What do you want to do after graduation?” I ask.
“To be a psychologist. I have a knack for helping people.”
“It’s a good career. You’ll do well. When you get your Ph.D., you can start your own practice.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if I want to start my own practice, but I do want to work with children.”
“Sounds rewarding.”
She’s quiet. “We’re not having kids, Irvin. And we’re going to move to New York City.”
I smile. “So you already have plans for our life together?”
This is all part of her game—to get me to let my guard down. She’s smart. I press my hand on her thigh, squeezing gently, pretending to give in to her manipulation attempt. I’ve never had anyone challenge me the way she does.
“Well, I know as part of the American Billionaire Club, we’re supposed to have kids—and I’m supposed to serve you.”
I cup her face and stroke my fingers across her lips. “So you don’t want to have my child?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that. I just want to live a full life.”
She’s going to give me a baby whether she wants to or not. I’ll just switch out her birth control when I think we’re ready. Plus, I’m not risking us going to Tartarus because she wants to be stubborn.
The doorbell rings. I stroke her cheek and gently push her off me. She dusts off her pajamas, eyeing me tentatively.
“Who is that?”
“I think it’s Judy, Remy’s sister.”
