Some guys are smooth, unreadable-dangerous in a way that makes your pulse do things it shouldn't. But hey, who doesn't have a little emotional damage these days?
Then the weird stuff starts. The calls. The messages. The undeniable feeling that someo...
His hand brushes my hip. "Bringing you home." Home. I'll freeze, as if the universe itself has whispered for me to wait. Ethan sighs, like he's disappointed in me. "I knew this would happen. I knew you'd fall apart without me." His voice is soft, patient, like he's explaining something obvious to a child. "You always get like this when you don't have me to take care of you."
My stomach turns. This isn't real. I shake my head. "We broke up...months ago".He exhales. "No, Mia. You ran. There's a difference."
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't listen. Don't let him in. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "And you always come back." Something inside me snaps. I whip around, slashing blindly with the knife. He moves fast. His hand catches my wrist, crushing it in his grip.
A sharp, twisted smile flickers across his lips. "I was hoping you'd fight."
His other hand grabs my throat. Pins me against the door. I claw at his grip, my body jerking on instinct, but he just tilts his head, watching me struggle like he's enjoying this. I try to scream. But his fingers tighten. And the world starts to blur. No.
I won't let him do this again. I won't let him win.
The world blurs at the edges, my lungs burning as Ethan's fingers crush my throat, but I refuse to go down like this.
I go limp for a second. Just long enough to make him think I'm fading—Then I strike. I bring my knee up hard. A sickening crunch. Ethan chokes. His grip slackens just enough, a strangled noise ripping from his throat, and I don't waste it. I shove him. Twist my wrist violently until my knife-hand is free.
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And then I swing. Fast. Wild. Desperate. The blade slices across his arm. Not deep enough to disable him, stumble back—just enough space to run. I don't look at the blood. I don't check to see if he's still smiling. I run.
My feet pound against the floor as I tear toward the door, my vision still swimming, my breath ragged, but I don't stop—A hand snags my ankle. I go down. Pain explodes through my body as I hit the floor, my knife skidding out of reach. "Fucking bitch," Ethan snarls. His weight crashes onto me, his hands slamming my wrists down, pinning me, holding me down. No, no, no.
I thrash, scream, but he's too strong. Too much muscle, too much control, and I know this—I remember this.
Ethan leans down, his breath hot against my skin, his voice a mocking whisper. "You never learn, do you?"
Buzz.
My phone, still on the floor. His eyes flick to it. And that's when the door bursts open. The door bursts open. A rush of cold air. A shadow in the doorway. Then—Adrian. Not rushing. Not panicking. Just... standing there. Watching. His presence sucks the oxygen from the room. Dressed in black, his frame silhouetted against the dim hallway light, he looks unshaken. Unbothered. Like he's been expecting this.
