Chapter 36
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it, trembling over my lips as I sit on the edge of the bed, the chain around my ankle rattling softly with every shift of my weight.
The blue dress Jake chose for me feels like a costume, like I’m playing a role I never auditioned for in a production I can’t escape.
Jake paces in front of me, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
His eyes are wide, and his hair is disheveled, his hands fluttering through the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra.
He’s spiraling, speaking in fragments that barely form coherent thoughts.
This is a far cry from the smooth professionalism I’m used to.
“Why?” he repeats, with a sharp, broken laugh that echoes off the concrete walls. “You ask me why? As if you don’t know. As if you haven’t known since the moment you walked into my office with your portfolio, hope, and your perfect face.”
He stops pacing and stares at me, his expression shifting between adoration and a dark hunger, the latter of which makes my skin crawl. Actually, they both make my skin crawl. This is the face of a man who has replaced reality with fantasy so completely that he can no longer tell the difference.
“I love you,” he confesses, the words devoid of any softness.
“From the first second. The first breath. You walked through that door in your cheap, thrifted clothes and your hopeful smile… and I knew. I knew you were meant to be mine. I knew we were destined for each other; written in the stars. Fated.”
He resumes pacing, his voice rising and falling, cracking with emotion that has festered in the dark for years.
“But you never saw me. You looked through me. Past me. At the cameras, at the directors, at the fucking producers who wanted to use you and discard you. I protected you from them. I built your career. I made you who you are. And you never once looked at me like… like…”
“Like what?” I ask, choking on the question as my heart beats so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Like you saw me!” he roars, and I flinch, the chain rattling sharply.
He catches himself, his expression softening with disturbing speed.
He kneels before me, his hands finding mine where they clutch the edge of the bed.
“Like you saw me,” he repeats, quieter, his thumbs stroking my knuckles with a gentleness that makes me want to vomit.
“I watched you for years, my love. Years. Watched you date and fuck celebrity assholes who didn’t deserve to breathe your air, let alone violate your perfect body. ”
His grip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. I force myself not to pull away or show fear, trying not to do anything that might trigger the violence simmering beneath his surface.
The director who tried to guilt you into letting him take your innocence,” he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I created a slurry of allegations so deep, he was run out of Hollywood. That actor from your second film… The one who told everyone you were frigid because you wouldn’t sleep with him on set.
I destroyed his career. The musician who OD’d.
The man who cheated on you with some social media influencer.
And Colton… Colton, who dared to spike your drink at that party a few years ago when he was still a nobody…
I’ve been planning his destruction for years. ”
I stare at him in horror. All those men. All those disasters. All the “bad luck” that seemed to follow every relationship I had before Gunnar. Jake destroyed them because they touched what he believed belonged to him.
“And then him,” Jake spits, his expression twisting with revulsion. “That animal. That bodyguard. That nothing of a man. You let him put his hands on you. You let him inside you. You let him claim you, make you his whore as I was forced to watch… When you should’ve been… You should’ve been…”
“Yours?” I finish, the word like ash on my tongue.
“Yes!” He releases my hands and rises, resuming his pacing to release the energy too chaotic to contain.
“Mine! Always mine! I built you. I created you. I invested everything in you, and you gave yourself to a man who kills people for money. A man who doesn’t understand your art, your soul, and your delicate perfection. A man who treats you like… like…”
“His whore,” I suggest, swallowing my disgust, forcing my face into an expression of hurt rather than fear.
He stops and stares at me, confusion flickering across his features.
I’ve used this expression before—in films and auditions when I needed to convey wounded vulnerability while hiding my true feelings.
Every second spent honing my craft and every skill I’ve developed over years of acting out emotions I didn’t feel, I pour into this moment.
“I didn’t know,” I mutter, my voice carefully calibrated to sound soft and wounded. “I didn’t know you felt this way. All these years… I thought you were my friend. My protector. My agent. I never knew you wanted…”
“What?” he demands, stepping closer, hunger and hope warring in his expression. “Wanted what?”
I reach out, my hand trembling slightly as I place it gently on his arm. The contact makes him freeze, his breath catching in his throat. I can see how desperate he is for my touch, how much he wants every bit of this to be real.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I ask, letting my eyes fill with tears I don’t feel, my voice cracking with emotion manufactured from pure terror. “All these years… If you had told me… If I had known…”
“You wouldn’t have cared,” he grumbles, uncertainty cracking through his prior position. “You were too busy with them. With the actors and the athletes and the… the animals. You never looked at me.”
“I was blind,” I admit, the lie tasting like copper on my tongue. “I was stupid. I was surrounded by people who wanted something from me, and I couldn’t see the one person who wanted… who wanted me.”
Jake’s breathing is shallow and fast as he stares down at me. His brows are pinched together, as though he’s trying to translate a language he barely understands.
“You’ve been part of my life for almost a decade, Jake,” I continue, pressing the advantage, letting my hand slide to his hand before my fingers intertwine with his.
“You’ve been there for everything. My first contract.
My first award. My mother’s funeral. What makes you think I wouldn’t care?
What makes you think I wouldn’t have chosen…
” I shake my head slowly, letting the words trail off, allowing him to fill in the blank with whatever fantasy he needs.
“You’re lying,” he whispers, but the words lack conviction. “You’re just saying this because you’re scared. Because you’re trapped. Because you want me to let you go.”
“No, Jake. I’m not.” I force myself to stand, the chain rattling as I move closer to him, invading his space until my body is flush against him.
Reaching up, my hand trembling—with what I hope he sees as nerves instead of fear—I run my fingers along his jaw.
I dust them over his stubble and the tension in his jaw as he holds his breath, like he’s afraid to move and break the spell.
“Would I be here with you?” I continue, my voice dropping to an intimate whisper.
“He doesn’t care about me like you do. You’ve proved that.
You took me from him. Do you see him doing the same?
Do you see him tearing the world apart to find me?
No… because he doesn’t love me. Not like you do.
” The words burn, each one a betrayal of the man who I know, with every ounce of my being, is tearing the world apart to find me.
“You’re just saying that,” Jake repeats hesitantly, his hands on my waist with a tentative, hopeful grip.
“If I had only known… I wouldn’t have waited so long to do this.
” I push onto my toes, my free hand bracing against his chest, and I press my lips to his.
The kiss is brief and chaste, over before it can truly begin, but it has the effect I hoped for.
Jake whimpers, like I’ve reached inside his chest and touched his heart.
His hands tighten on my waist as he pulls me closer.
I force myself not to recoil, not wanting to show him the revulsion that’s screaming through every nerve in my body.
My fingers laced with his, I walk us both to the bed and take a seat on the edge of it.
Jake stares at me, his chest heaving as his expression cycles through emotions too fast to track.
Finally, he sinks onto the edge of the bed beside me, his thigh resting against mine.
He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and wet.
Hope flickers in his gaze as he begins to speak.
“I knew… eventually you would see. Eventually, you would look at me and understand that you were meant to be mine all along.”
I watch him, this broken man who has built and destroyed my life in equal measure, and I feel a strange pity.
Completely detached from reality, he’s pathetic—but he’s also dangerous.
I need to keep him talking, keep him hoping, and ensure he believes that I’m actually choosing him…
until Gunnar arrives to end this nightmare.
Because Gunnar is on his way. That thought is the only thing keeping me from dissolving into panic.
I pray he is looking and they are close to finding me.
Because he needs to find me before I’m forced to push this performance further than I am prepared to, causing this fantasy I’m helping Jake construct to collapse under the weight of my lies.