“Because I own you now.”
She searches around for her shoes but quickly decides to give up when she sees how much of a mess my floor is. She stomps towards the door after snatching her phone from the end of the bed.
“You’re no better than Jax,” she bites out.
I shoot forward out of my seat and just as she reaches for the handle, my hand connects with the door, slamming it closed and trapping her inside my fortress.
I tower behind her. Goose bumps raise on her neckline. “Don’t youevercompare me to that piece of shit, Vesper,” I growl at her between gritted teeth. “I saved you. He doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of his toys.”
She spins to face me, her little mouth buttoned into a scowl. “I’m not a toy. I’m a person! Not some plaything you can tinker with when you’re bored.”
Guess my little songbird can fight when provoked. A maniacal grin overtakes my face. “Yet you came willingly. You wanted fucked. You wanted used. To know what pleasure feels like.” My tone is harsh and gravely.
She shakes her head. “This is too much, Zain. You’re too much. None of this makes sense. I want to move on and act like I never met you, like none of this ever happened.” Her face contorts with worry, disgust, and fear all at once.
My eyes drill into her with a deep undercurrent of complexity. “You should have thought about that before you let me fuck that cunt. I own you, Vesper. Your cries. Your tears. Your body and your fucking soul.”
I propel off the door and bend down to pick up her discarded boots from my messy floor. I could have given them to her when she went hunting for them, but where’s the fun in that?
I hold them out by the laces as an offering. She rips them from my grasp before bolting downstairs. The door slams with a heavy thud behind her. Poor thing doesn’t even put her shoes on first. Bold move for the time of year.
After she leaves, I bury myself in the bed to inhale her scent and pass the fuck out with thoughts of vengeance running through me like acurrent.
My father’s Rolls-Royce Wraith zips through the city streets. Instead of picking me up himself, he sent his driver, Dante. Dante adjusts the rearview mirror and offers a soft smile. He’s in his thirties with jet-black hair and bushy brows. His face is covered in a short stubble. He’s been a part of my father’s hired help for a few years now; we’ve always gotten along.
“How is school for you, Miss Santi?” His thick Spanish accent flows through his burly baritone.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Good. It feels nice to get away from home and gain some independence.”
He runs his fingers along the steering wheel. “Your father has been worried sick. Not a single phone call? We know you found your phone, missy.” He raises a concerned brow.
I fidget with my phone in my hand, running my fingers along the smooth case. It still smells faintly of cigarettes and musk; like Zain. “I was buried in my studies,” I lie.
Distracted with Zain, music, and mountains of homework. Even telling myself that, I know it’s a lie. It takes thirty seconds to send a text. The truth is I was afraid of being controlled again. His harsh words growing up still stick to me like glue.
Proper girls dress modestly.
Don’t get involved with boys, they’ll invade your mind and keep you from your goals, drawing you away from what’s important.
Don’t get led astray by temptation.
Letting anyone touch your body before marriage is abhorrent.
Of course I was raised to be the perfect little girl. Freedom reaches my lips, a toxic nectar I continue to keep swallowing despite it burning on the way down.
We ride in silence the rest of the way. The drive is short to the family estate. It sits nestled on the rocky Maine coastline. It reminds me of the house in the movieCasper. Spooky and charming.
We pull up to the grounds, the iron gate widening as we approach. The car bounces along the gravel driveway. Elegant stonework is carved intricately along the rails and balconies that overlook the coastline. The estate is massive. I’ve missed the view. The car comes to a halt, and my father’s silhouette peaks out from the stone column. His brown hair is slicked back without a single hair out of place. He’s dressed in his usual dark suits.
“My dearest Vesper.” He stretches his arms out, welcoming me. I bolt from the car and rush into his arms. His stubble tickles my neck. His mint aftershave fills my nostrils, and warmth blooms in my chest. I love my father dearly despite my strict upbringing.
He purses his lips together and releases me. “Look at you. Such a beautiful young woman. Your mother would be so proud of your accomplishments,” he winks.
He leads me inside, his shoes slapping the marble floor as he brushes past me. Dante follows behind and plasters himself to the wall, hoping to make himself invisible. We pass through the large entryway. Moldedinto the cathedral walls, our family portrait hangs beautifully on display. It’s the one thing that grabs attention upon entry. I remember the day we had it taken, before she got sick. My parents had the most prestigious photographer in Maine come up to the estate just to photograph us in our garden. I treasure the picture and always look at it when I come home. It’s a reminder of her.
“Suzanne! Prepare Vesper’s favorite dish this evening,” he says excitedly. His booming voice bounces through the halls. He clasps his hands together and tugs at his bespoke suit. His cook, Suzanne, is famous for her dishes, and they were always a staple growing up. No one else on the coast has her magic touch.
“You don’t have to do all of that for me. I was going to wrap up my final assignment for the semester before taking a walk. I miss the sound of the waves crashing along the shoreline,” I say with a wide smile.
