Page 48 of Depraved

“I know it’s a lot to process,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long day. You need to eat. Please.”

I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “You made me this beautiful meal, and it’s getting cold. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You could never ruin anything.”

The answering pang in my heart threatens to draw a soft sob from my chest, but I quickly draw a deep breath to quell my most tumultuous feelings.

I relax against him, completely worn out from the rollercoaster of emotions. Ever since I woke up from my drugged sleep in his arms this afternoon, I’ve cycled through terror, rage, disbelief, grief, and hope.

All I want now is to be with him.

There will be time for more questions tomorrow. We have years of secrets to share.

He pulls me closer, and I allow him to feed me the delicious dinner he prepared for us. It’s quietly intimate and so sweet that my eyes sting at the corners.

I focus on his steady blue gaze.

I never want to lose sight of Brandon ever again.

13

KAROLINA

The next morning, Brandon makes breakfast for me: avocado toast with halloumi and crispy bacon.

He’s an amazing cook. He dotes on me. Every action, every word, is meant to comfort me.

His affirmations and unabashed declarations of affection are so sweet that they make my heart ache. I want to accept them so badly. I want to reciprocate them.

But years of trust issues have only been compounded by his elaborate deception.

Despite how desperately I want him, a little voice in my head warns me: not safe.

I know deep in my bones that he’ll protect me physically, but putting my heart on the line is another matter entirely.

I’ve spent too long with my guard all the way up to lower it so easily. I don’t know how to exist without my protective walls.

The prospect is terrifying.

My disquiet ratchets up a notch after breakfast, when he says, “I have something for you.”

I eye him warily. “I don’t need any gifts. You’ve already bought two houses for me. It’s too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you.” He holds out a hand, and I take it without question. “Come with me.”

The firm order is easier to follow than succumbing to the flicker of instinctive resistance.

Still, my steps are a touch reluctant as I allow him to lead me through the sprawling manor.

We reach the end of a long corridor. My stomach drops when he opens the door to reveal the massive room.

It’s a dance studio.

Mirrors line the walls, and the ballet barre makes the purpose of the space undeniable.

I shrink back, but his arms enfold me from behind, refusing to allow me to retreat.

“Brandon…” His name is a shaky protest.