Chapter Two
I returned home after coffee, breathing easier. The relief lingered, but so did something else—a gnawing emptiness.
He hadn’t responded.
I should have felt safer. Lighter. But instead, his silence clawed at me. I kept rereading his messages, their taunting promises replaying in my mind.
It didn’t matter how many times I tried to shut him out. He had a way of slipping into my thoughts. The ache between my legs pulsed—a raw reminder of what he’d done.
Of what I hadn’t asked for.
What I hadn’t wanted.
What I was now craving.
I reached out to Ryan, apologizing for the abrupt way I’d canceled our date the other night. Of course, I didn’t tell him the truth—that Adrian had sent the message. That I’d been there with him, that I’d… fucked him. What would he think of me then?
“It’s okay, Scarlett,” Ryan texted back. “Really proud of you for your commitment to fitness!”
Ugh, what a mess.
He’d followed up again, trying to reschedule. He was always so thoughtful, so understanding. But I told him I wasn’t feeling well. It stung to lie, but it was easier than pretending. He deserved better than this version of me. My mind wouldn’t be present. Adrian was all I could think of.
I’ll catch up with Ryan soon.
Once I got Adrian out of my head.
Once the memories stopped feeling so vivid, so real.
If I could just get him out of my thoughts, I could get back to my life—the gym, Ryan, the pile of bills that sat untouched on the kitchen table.
Only my painting was going well. It was like Adrian had unleashed something inside me. Creativity poured from my mind to my brush as I leaned into my emotions, letting them consume me. I was awake until my eyes refused to stay open last night, throwing myself into the piece. The enormous canvas no longer felt like an empty void demanding to be filled. Maybe it would really be ready in time for my debut art show at the gallery. Adrian had opened something up—tapped into a potential I didn’t know I had.
Is this why artists lead such tortured lives? Is this what it takes?
But now that I’d closed that door, I felt hollow. The emptiness seemed to creep back in. The walls of this house felt like they were pressing closer, shrinking my world and leaving me achingly, unbearably alone. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and, for a fleeting moment, seriously considered calling my parents.
“Come to Spain anytime!” they’d said when they left.
But the bitterness resurfaced. They wouldn’t pay for my plane ticket. “Honey, you’re the one who wanted to be an artist. You’ll have to manage your money carefully. You’ll never really have enough.”
It stung because they were right. Even with my gallery job downtown, it was never enough. Inheriting Gran’s house had been such a gift, but keeping up with it was overwhelming. There was no mortgage, but endless repairs, property taxes, bills. And… with a flash of shame, I realized I could never seem to save for that plane ticket. Every time, I’d end up spending any extra money I had on something else—a new dress, shoes, workout clothes.
Right. Workouts. Adrian’s workout plan.
I scoffed, thinking of the PDF he’d sent. My blood simmered. How could he think he had that kind of control over me? That he could use my body, mold it into whatever he wanted? His plan had the opposite effect—it drove me away. For now, the gym was off-limits. I couldn’t risk running into him.
Running outside would have to do.
I wandered into my bedroom, the cozy four-poster bed welcoming me. I’d tried to evoke an artistic dark academia vibe for the space, with antique oak bookshelves, rich burgundy walls and gold-framed art. Standing in front of the mirror, I studied my reflection, my eyes tracing my body with a strange detachment. Like I was seeing myself through Adrian’s eyes.
So much for getting him out of my head.
I smirked, indulging the fantasy just a little as I undressed before gathering my running gear. My hands skimmed over my skin, the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist. Then upward, lingering briefly over my breasts–soft, full.
It was true—I was genetically blessed, and I knew it. Thanks Gran, I thought, with a laugh, glancing at her poster above my bed. She’d been such a beauty in her day. Even well into her sixties, she would flirt shamelessly, charming her way into special treatment wherever we went.
What would she think of all this?
I ached for her advice, her steady presence. A memory surfaced of her smiling, leaning toward me, her glamorous rings catching the light as they sparkled.
“So, Scarlett, any boys caught your eye?” she asked with a wink.
I smiled, but shook my head, though my body hissed at me. Liar.
Adrian had begun slipping his letters into my locker, though I hadn’t yet told a soul, keeping them a shameful secret.
She studied me for a moment, then smiled kindly. “You’re sixteen now, hunny. Have you kissed anyone?”
I’d sighed, not exactly embarrassed. Gran and I both knew I could have if I’d wanted.
“I don’t know what I’m waiting for,” I admitted with a shrug.
“Well, don’t be waiting on Prince Charming, hun. That’s just a silly fantasy designed to sell romance novels.” She scoffed. “Real boys—real men? They’re flawed. Selfish. But life isn’t about waiting around–it’s about making your own fun. Go screw up a little.”
I nodded, picturing Adrian’s face. His body. If only he didn’t scare me so much–
“When I was your age,” Gran continued, “I was getting railed by the high school quarterback behind the five-and-dime after my shift.”
“Jesus, Gran!” I practically fell off the couch.
She waved a dismissive hand.
“Oh, quit clutching your pearls. You’re old enough to hear it like it is.”
Her gaze drifted down to her emerald ring, turning it slowly on her finger, her eyes misting slightly.
“Bobby,” she murmured. “We were inseparable. He was a bit older. A real stud, that one.” She fanned herself, as if even the memory was too much to bear.
I blushed but smiled. I loved how genuine she was, how she encouraged me to live my life to the fullest.
“That’s nice, Gran,” I said with a smirk.
Although I secretly longed for a boyfriend, I wasn’t so sure about ‘getting railed.’
Ginger sighed, lost in memories. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. He took me under the bleachers, behind the bowling alley, in the woods near the track.”
“Gran, seriously?!” I laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me how romantic he was? How he treated you so nice?”
She scoffed. “Sweetie, I ain’t going to sugar coat it for you. High school boys don’t write sonnets—they get handsy in the backseat.”
A smirk tugged at her lips.
“But Bobby held my hand, took me to the dance hall, bought me a corsage. He was proud to call me his. Always wanted to show me off.”
Her eyes gleamed as she looked down at the emerald ring on her hand.
“Gave me this before he left for the war.”
I’d always loved that ring. She let me wear any of her others, but the emerald was off-limits.
“One day, hun. When I’m gone, of course, it’ll be yours.”
Now, I looked down at the ring on my finger, a tear slipping free. I shook my head. Ginger had lived a great life, passing away at a ripe old age. No one could ask for more.
She’d had two children—my mother and my aunt. But they’d been nothing like her.
“So uptight, that mom of yours,” Gran had whispered when I was little, slipping a twenty-dollar bill into my hand at the store.
“Get whatever you want, kid.”
“Mother, don’t indulge Scarlett,” my mom would scold. “I don’t want her developing a shopping addiction.”
Gran would roll her eyes, brushing her off as I skipped toward the toy aisle, the craft sets, the paints.
My mind returned to the present. My painting. I smiled, feeling genuinely proud of it. Natalia, my boss at the gallery, would be impressed. But how was I going to stay inspired enough to finish it?
A whisper coiled through my thoughts.
Just see him once more. Use him.
I shook my head. Ridiculous. It was too dangerous.
For one, he wanted everything. He told me so. And there was no way–no physical way, no psychological way—I could allow that.
But even more than that… he still terrified me.
And yet… his intoxicating pull made me almost reach for my phone. To tell him I would come over to his place. Tonight.
I stopped myself.
He wouldn’t stop when I wanted him to.
He wouldn’t let me go after one more time together.
Gran’s voice echoed in my head.
“Sweetie, you don’t have to be so afraid,” she’d said once, her voice warm and knowing. “I know you think boys are scary, but trust me—they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
She grinned. “Like snakes in the grass. You hold all the power.”
I swallowed hard, the memory curling around me.
Not with Adrian.
He wasn’t a snake.
He was a wolf.
A chill coursed through me. But it was quickly chased by a warmth that crept through my core. Maybe there was some truth to me being a tease—staring at him at school, but always looking away when he met my eye.
I thought of him ordering me to jog in place. A sly smirk crept across my face as I began a light jog, watching myself in the mirror. My breasts bounced slightly, and a thrill shot up my spine at the thought of his eyes on me. The rest of my body stayed firm, my muscles taut beneath smooth skin.
I stopped jogging, letting my hands slide up my stomach, imagining they were his—rough and hungry. My fingers traced the curve of my waist before cupping my breasts, feeling their weight. I squeezed, pinching my nipples until a jolt of sensation rushed through me.
I closed my eyes, picturing him here. Commanding me. Stroking himself…
For the love of God, stop.
I ripped myself from the fantasy, turning to my dresser, grabbing my sports bra and yoga pants. I pulled the bra over my head, adjusting my breasts inside the cups so that a touch of cleavage spilled out the top. Turning back to the mirror, I shimmied into the yoga pants, tugging them over my thighs and stretching them snugly over my ass.
I would run at the high school track today. It was the weekend, and it would be safe enough in the daylight. I wouldn’t need to “cover up” to avoid unwanted attention. But I didn’t really mind the looks I got from men. They could look all they wanted.
Look, but don’t touch.
But then my stomach twisted, the thrill fading as I thought of everything Adrian had taken. More than I’d ever given anyone—more than I’d ever imagined giving.
Not even the guys I’d dated long-term had made me feel so exposed, so… claimed. I’d never had sex like that before. It had always been careful. Predictable. Even when I’d wanted more, when I’d craved something deeper, my past lovers had held back. They’d done all the right things. Asking permission, waiting for cues. Let me lead.
But not Adrian.
He didn’t ask, hadn’t given me space to second-guess. He didn’t even care when I said no, my body shaking in terror.
He’d forced his way into my body, my life.
It wasn’t sweet or careful.
It was primal.
Raw and rough.
Heat flooded my face, a mix of embarrassment and something darker stirring deep inside me. I clenched my fists, trying to push the memory away, but the image of his hands, his dominance, lingered.
He’d taken what he wanted, but that didn’t make me a slut. It didn’t make me less. I was still… pure as a princess.
With that, I forced myself to push forward, heading out of my room and down the stairs, determined to leave it all behind.