“I want to see you wearing nothing but that hairpiece for me tonight, Ebony,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. "It's going to glitter so prettily as I take your pussy from behind."
My eyes flutter closed, and I feel my heart hammering against my ribs until I feel his warm, large hand wrap around my bare inner thigh. My eyes snap open, my body stiffening and when his palm moves upward, pushing under my dress, I act quickly, grabbing his wrist.
But Blaise is strong—too strong. His fingers graze my bare pussy, sending a jolt of anger and disgust through my veins before I manage to shove him away. The rejection lands like a physical blow, and I see it beyond his usual calm façade. His eyes blaze, the intensity of a storm swirling in the space between us.
“You know I own you, right?” he breathes, his voice low and malicious, a warning lacing each syllable.
I arch a brow, refusing to back down. “Oh yeah? And who made you believe that? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
His lips curl slightly, mockingly and the smirk alone feels like a rope tightening around my neck.
“Do you really think you have a choice? Three months, Ebony. You keep coming here. You keep meeting me. You keep giving me your time, pretending to play coy. You’re not just mine—you’re fucking trapped.”
The words strike me, stealing the air from my lungs. I feel the sting of tears burning at the corners of my eyes, but I fight them, trying not to break. His hand tightens on my thigh, the pressure bordering on painful, as his other hand tangles in the back of my hair, pulling tight, forcing my gaze to meet his.
“And what’s mine does as they’re fucking told,” he says, his tone terrifyingly relaxed as his eyes scan mine. “I’ve given you more than enough time to grow the fuck up.”
A single tear slips free, hot and unwelcome as it traces a path down my cheek. It’s not fear—no. I don’t fear Blaise or any other man. Only my father has ever earned that power over me. But the truth in his words is like salt being poured into an open wound. Another man here to control me. To use me. And once again, I’m left with no escape, no fucking choice.
I compose myself, swallowing the bitter taste of my vulnerability, and force my voice into a shaky whisper.
“You’d better be careful who you’re speaking to like that, motherfucker. Get your stubby ass fingers off me.”
His grin returns and he leans in, his breath warm against my skin, his words quiet and deadly. “We’re going to get married, Ebony. And you’re going to give me sons—one after the fucking other—until your pussy gives out. That’s the only reason I want you,” he pauses, letting the insult settle in before continuing.“Beyond your looks and that gift between your legs? You’re nothing. A weak, mind-numbing runt.”
Rage floods my veins so quickly I barely register the red haze that clouds my vision. Before I can think, I gather spit in my mouth and release it sharply straight into his eye.
“Fuck!” Blaise recoils, letting me go instantly to wipe it away, and I don’t waste a second. I leap off the stool, fuelled by adrenaline, and dart toward the counter where my coat is.
But he’s quick—too quick. His hand clamps around my arm with bruising force, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Not so fast,” he growls.
I don’t hesitate. My hand flies out, finding the nearest weapon—the hot frying pan still on the stove. Without warning, I spin and swing it with every ounce of strength I have. The impact is sickening, a metallic crack against the side of his head. Blaise collapses instantly, a grunt of pain escaping him as he hits to the floor, holding his face.
I stand over him, my breath heaving, tears streaming down my cheeks. My hands tremble, but beneath the anger and hurt, there’s something else—a flicker of control, rare and unfamiliar, surging through me. Expressionless, I toss the frying pan carelessly, aiming for his nuts. It lands with a satisfying thunk between his legs, and he howls in fresh agony, curling into himself like a wounded animal.
“Merry fucking Christmas, pig,” I say, my tone cold, detached, and turn on my heel. I grab my coat and bag, ignoring his groans behind me, and stride out of the apartment.
The chill of the night, snowy air hits my face as I step onto the street, but I barely feel it. I’m too busy wiping the tears from my cheeks, my chest constricting with uneven breaths. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like a damn puppet—I feel alive.
I slide into the car, slamming the door behind me, my breath fogging the icy interior. The key turns in the ignition with a metallic growl, the engine sputtering to life. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Blaise exiting the building, his figure stark against the snow swirling in the air. I don’t even glance in his direction. Instead, I grip the wheel tightly and pull away, the tires spinning briefly on the slippery ground before catching.
The snow falls heavier by the second, thickening the air and muffling the world around me. My headlights carve narrow tunnels through the storm, but the roads ahead are a ghostly blur, empty and unfamiliar. I have no destination, no plan, just the instinct to get the fuck away from here.
I can’t go back to my place—not yet. My dad will find out, and his reaction could go one of two ways: lose his mind atmeor kill Blaise. Either scenario feels equally exhausting, and on Christmas Eve, I can’t be bothered with either. So, I just drive, aimlessly, letting the road unfold in front of me.
Before long, the Christmassy city fades into the rearview mirror, replaced by winding, white-draped backroads leading into the woods. The trees press in on either side, their dark forms blurred by the relentless snowfall. The farther I go, themore I feel the pull of isolation, the hum of the tires blending with the sound of my ragged breaths.
Then it happens—a flicker on the dash, a red light blinking urgently.Low gas.
I frown, my brows knitting in confusion. How the hell is that possible? I thought I had almost a full tank when I left Blaise’s apartment.
Shifting in my seat, I glance at the gauge, my heartbeat quickening as the needle sinks lower with each mile. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s no time to question it. My focus sharpens to now finding a gas station, but the snowy backroads extend endlessly, winding further into the unknown.
The unavoidable happens far too soon. The engine stammers, a jarring cough, and then silence. The car glides forward sluggishly before I steer it to the side of the road. My hands slam against the wheel, a growl of frustration ripping from my throat.
The road is deserted, the world silent and still. I glance around, the eerie glow of a single streetlight illuminating the otherwise pitch-black area. The snow glistens beneath it, falling in hypnotic swirls, blanketing the road. I grip the wheel, my chest tightening. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, on Christmas Eve.
