Chapter Twenty-Four
My hands shake uncontrollably as I make my way down the hallway, but it’s not guilt. It’s not fear. It’s anger. Sharp, hot, consuming. This fury that I carry fuels my need for control. Power.
What is this fucking guy’s problem, anyway?
Why is he so obsessed with my life? Why is he everywhere I go?
Why is he acting like I’m the one doing something wrong?
He keeps showing up, hovering, watching, breathing in places he shouldn’t be, and somehow I’m supposed to care about how any of it affects him?
I don’t. But I know exactly what he wants: control. That’s what everyone wants from me. Control, ownership, the belief that they can tell me who to be, how to behave, what lines I’m allowed to cross.
And my wife? She’s part of the problem, too.
Always interpreting, analyzing, worrying.
Always wanting something from me, some version of the man she thinks I’m supposed to be.
Honestly, I thought someone like her would be easier to manipulate.
She’s not very smart. Too trusting. I mean, I got her to marry me after three months.
Pretty fucking stupid on her part, if you ask me.
My steps hit the floor harder as I move, irritation unfurling inside me.
That stalker, this pathetic excuse for a man, has been tracking my every move, invading my space like he owns a piece of it.
He’s been at my house, standing there like he has a right to know what I’m doing.
He even admitted to breaking my camera, as if to confess it was some kind of threat.
Like he expected me to crumble, I mean, sure, he scares me in a way, but I’ll never say that out loud.
I just want him to leave me the fuck alone.
Because honestly? He’s a nuisance. A distraction. A buzzing fly I haven’t bothered to swat yet. And yet I keep acting like he is the danger. Like he’s going to strike. Like I should be afraid.
The only one who should be afraid is him. Because he doesn’t understand who he’s messing with. He doesn’t know I don’t get rattled. I don’t get scared. I don’t lose sleep over people like him or over what I’m about to do tonight.
If anything, he should be grateful I’m not focused on him right now.
Because when I finally decide he’s worth my attention, he won’t like what comes next.
But right now? I’ve got better things to think about.
A woman who actually appreciates me. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a problem or a disappointment in waiting.
Someone who knows what she wants and knows exactly what I’m offering.
And the fact that she always has a fresh supply of pills for me every time we fuck?
Just another perk. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel conflicted.
I think only anticipation-an electric tension that tightens with every passing second, hinting at the violence to come.
Juni? She’s going to be useless to me for weeks. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t touch her for at least three… but we’ll see how long that lasts.
My hand wraps around the doorknob ahead of me, steady and confident despite the tremor buzzing through my fingers.
When is he going to strike? Who cares? I’m about to do exactly what I shouldn’t, exactly what everyone else would call wrong.
Exactly what I’ve wanted this whole time.
And the part that makes my lips curl into a smirk as I push the door open?
It's like I already know what's coming, and I can't wait. I don’t feel bad about it. Not even a little.
My whole body feels alive, electric, humming with the rush of doing something I’m not supposed to do.
It’s like breaking a rule awakens something in me every single time, something that’s been stretched too tight and finally snaps free.
No one even realizes what’s really going on in my head-except me, and that's what makes it dangerous. Because I’ve always been good at that.
Controlling the version of me that the world gets.
Keeping the truth locked tight behind my teeth until I want to use it.
And right now? I’m ready to use it. I’m prepared to take exactly what I want.