Chapter 4
Ophelia. Now.
I pick a café near my house for our meeting.
One, because it’s convenient.
Two, because it’s in public, which will make it less tempting to hook my nails into his skin and rip him to pieces.
I get a coffee and a croissant, but I’m buzzing with too much anxious energy to eat, so I end up just shredding the croissant into tiny, flaky strips on my plate while I wait for him.
Finally, the bell over the door rings, and Phantom appears.
My first thought is not: I hate you, please die. My first thought is, unfortunately: fuck, he’s so handsome.
He carries himself with confidence, straight back, head up.
Strong muscles in his shoulders and biceps that swell underneath his loose t-shirt.
A stern mouth, paired with kind, hazel brown eyes.
That’s Phantom. Hard-edged, but sweet on the inside.
He’s turning fifty in May, and it shows in the grey in his hair and the snowy stubble along his jaw.
His hair is darker than normal, damp because he always showers off at the station after a shift and—
It’s infuriating that I know every, tiny detail about this man.
The edges of his eyes crinkle when he sees me and, for a second, gives me a rare smile.
A dark duffle bag hangs from his shoulder. He takes the seat across from me, tucking the bag under the table.
“No mancala?” he says. “I must be in trouble.”
I scowl. He kills the laugh track.
He spies my plate of mangled croissant. “Can I get you anything?”
“How about the truth?” Dramatic? Maybe. But I’m not playing games. If he’s going to lie to me, he better do it to my face. “You set up my birthday party,” I continue. It’s not a question. He’s not weaseling his way out of it.
Phantom, to his credit, doesn’t try to deny it. He just looks me in the eyes and says, simply, “Yes.”
“You wanted me to catch Brody cheating.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t good enough for you, Ophelia. You deserved to know that.”
“Do you know how I spent the rest of that night? Crying. On the bathroom floor. Dorian held my hair back while I threw up and Dove tucked me into bed. Happy birthday to me. Did I deserve that, too?”
Phantom’s jaw flexes. He says nothing.
Maybe he can feel shame.
I pull my notebook out of my backpack. I flip it to the correct page, then push it across the table. Phantom glances down and takes it in one of his large hands. “What’s this?”
“A contract outlining the terms of my release.” I keep my voice calm, clipped, like this is just a simple business transaction. “I’ll type it up later and email it to you.”
His eyes narrow. He pushes it back. “I’m not signing this.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be back at the club on Friday, begging me to undo it.”
That sends a lash of anger through me. “Asshole.” I grab the notebook, shove it in my bag, and throw the bag over my shoulder.
He stands when I do. As I go to pass him, he grips my arm, holding me in place. “Ophelia.” He says my name under his breath, eyes aflame. He looks like he’s going to throw me on the table, lift my dress, and spank me, right here. In front of everyone.
And I hate that there’s a part of me that would let him.
There’s an animal need between us. We’ve both been very, very good about denying it this past year, but…something instinctual keeps pulling me back towards him.
I’m hyperaware of his touch. His fingers wrapped around me. How those fingers would feel on my throat. Between my legs. Inside of me.
“You need this,” he says. His voice is low, the sound of faraway thunder. He’s dropped his tone so only I can hear him. “As much as I do. Don’t walk away from this.”
I purse my lips together. “You hurt me. Acknowledge it.”
“I did it to protect you.”
“To protect me? You did it to protect yourself. You crossed the line. You broke the rules. You should know. You wrote them.”
I yank my arm out of his grip. This time, he lets me. We’re causing a scene—but I don’t care. I’m used to being center stage. I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder.
The anger is dissipating. In its place…hurt. I have to leave before it pulls me under.
I rise up on my feet, squaring off with Phantom. “You’ve burned the wrong submissive,” I tell him. Then I walk out the door and leave him tongue-tied.