15. Misty
Nicholas issmart enough to not speak to me during the short ride to my apartment. I hop out of the car the second we roll to a stop, not bothering to let him open my door. There’s a man dressed in all black standing in the doorway. I freeze until I see the security badge on his vest. Since when did my crappy apartment have a doorman? My mind is swirling too fast for me to process the fact that he calls me by my name as he opens the door for me. All I can think about is Damon’s audacity to ask me to marry him. No…to blackmailing me. How dare he take the one thing I need the most and hold it over my head. And why? Why me? What could I possibly give him that the countless more suitable women on his mother’s list can’t? My back tingles the entire way to my place, a heavy sense of being watched branding the back of my neck, but when I turn, there’s no one there.
Get it together.
I stomp directly to the kitchen, heels clicking loudly on the vinyl floor. I need a drink, and I need it now. I don’t bother with a glass, instead taking a swig of tequila straight from the bottle. I cough at the burn in my throat, but it doesn’t stop me from taking another.
He thinks he can do whatever he wants. Well, screw him, screw his proposal, screw his blackmail. Images of him pushing me against the glass at his club, hand buried between my legs, flash through my mind, and I have to rub my thighs together. I ignore it. This isn’t about attraction. It’s about control, and I’m going to take it back.
I pull out my phone and search through my contacts and text Carter before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Come over tonight?
Carter: Fuck yes. What time?
Me: Now.
I need to do this before my courage runs out. I just have to prove to myself that I choose what comes next. I punch in my address.
Carter: I’ll be there in fifteen. Can’t wait to see you.
I throw my phone down on the counter and brace my elbows on the cool surface, supporting my head in my palms. I ignore the voice screaming at me in the back of my head that this isn’t what I want at all. That a twisted, broken part of me is thrilled at the idea of marrying Damon. That’s why I have to do this. I need to stamp it out so I never give in. Not to someone who will ruin me. Because that’s exactly what he plans. He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a doll to stand perfectly on his arm. I learned that I don’t belong in his world years ago, and it’s not a mistake I’ll repeat again. No matter the fact that my breath catches with a single look or my panties grow wet the longer he watches me.
I’ve learned to survive. And something tells me I won’t survive Damon.