I nod, eyes fixed on the horizon. Everything looks like a painting Emma could make. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Just a memory someone else lived. “It’s crazy,” I mutter. “How a place can look the same and feel so fucking different.”
Her voice is soft. “What’s the significance?”
I laugh under my breath. “You trying to care now?” I shake my head, jaw tight. “I used to come here when I was lost. When Ineeded to think.” Half-truth. The rest sits heavy in my chest; she won’t hear it.
Emma loved it here. Blanket on the grass, stealing fries, me playing guitar until my fingers ached. Sitting in the car, her head on my shoulder, watching the sun burn out over the water. One night, late, we made love in the backseat of my old Nissan Xterra.
Adriana leans against me. Every muscle tenses. Her perfume is sweet and heavy. My jaw locks. I want to shove her off. Toanyone watching, we look like a couple. But she doesn’t belong here. Not in this memory. Not beside me.Not fucking here.
“I’m sorry,” she says, small.
The words punch me. I turn, glare, chest burning. “No. You’re fucking not.”
She flinches but stays. Wind rises, ruffling her perfectly styled hair.
I head back to the car, and she slides quietly into the passenger seat. The engine of this car sounds so out of place in this little town. Wind blows in through the cracked windows as I pull onto the main road. I may have hit a nerve telling her she didn’t care. Good. She’s hurt me, used me, broken me. I hope she feels it.
After a long silence, she exhales. “I was recruited, too, you know.”
I laugh bitterly, hands gripping the wheel. “I don’t give a damn, Adriana.” Sharp, shaking voice. “That doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done. I’ve been drugged, assaulted—again and again.”
Her mouth opens, and I cut her off.
“You think being a victim gives you the right to become a monster? To ruin someone else’s life because yours was ruined?” I suddenly veer onto the side of the road and slam it into park, facing her fully. “I would never do to anyone what you and Nolan did to me. Do you fucking understand?”
Her eyes widen, and her throat moves like she’s swallowing something jagged. No smirk, no clever line. Just silence. I don’t care about her “human” moments today. I know what she really is.
I pull back onto the road. “I’m taking us back,” I mutter.
She hesitates. “You don’talwayshate it.”
I nearly drive off the fucking cliff. “What?”
“You always come,” she fires back. “If you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t.”
I snort, shaking my head. “I bet they told you that too—because your body responded.”
A sharp gasp leaves her, and she snaps her mouth shut. I need to clench my jaw so I don’t cry. I stare straight ahead, pulse roaring in my ears. “You don’t get to rewrite what you did to me,” I say, voice breaking. “You don’t get to call control consent.”
I hear her breath stutter, but I don’t look at her. My eyes sting, and my grip tightens on the wheel until my fingers ache. Could kill her so easily—but life in prison? Not ideal.
“I’m trapped with you people,” I whisper. “And the sickest part is that you’ve all convinced yourselves that my slavery is some great, successful thing. And while I’m digging my goddamn grave here: just because you’re the sole reason for my fucking orgasms for the past seven years, doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
The rest of the drive is silent.
Chapter twelve
EMMA EASTON
By the time my fourth client leaves, the sun is dipping toward the horizon, soft light spilling across the studio floor. I’m exhausted, but in the best way. The tiredness that comes from giving pieces of yourself to help someone else put themselves back together.
Today was heavy.
Grief. Self-hate. Trauma. Everyone walks in carrying ghosts, hoping I’ll chase them away. But I can’t. That’s the truth I tell them from the start. And I say it with warmth, not cruelty.
“You’re the only one who can save yourself,” I tell a teenage girl as she wipes paint-covered hands on her apron. “No one else can do the work for you. But youcanuse what’s already insideyou to rebuild. Even if it hurts.” I meet her gaze. “Especiallyif it hurts, Haley.”
She nods, blue eyes shining. For a moment, that familiar sting flares in my own chest. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, then steps forward and wraps her arms around me. I hug her back, fiercely. Because just yesterday, I sat exactly where she is now—sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
