Chapter 32 Cora
CORA
One week. I’ve managed to maintain my dignity for seven whole days. Seven dinners of polite conversation. Seven nights of closing my bedroom door firmly behind me, the lock clicking into place like a promise to myself.
Not that they’ve pushed. After what happened at my apartment with Dominic—that raw, angry sex that left us both shaken—they’ve been surprisingly respectful of my space.
Liam watches me but keeps his distance. Ryder offers tentative smiles over breakfast but doesn’t press.
And Dominic... Dominic simply observes, waiting.
I’m curled up on the massive sectional in the living room, wrapped in the fuzzy throw blanket I brought from my apartment. The television drones on, some mindless reality show I’m not really watching. The penthouse is empty; all three men are at work. These quiet moments have become my sanctuary.
The “Breaking News” banner flashes across the screen, interrupting my thoughts. My stomach drops when my father’s face appears.
Mayor William Pike stands at a podium, American flags strategically positioned behind him. His expression is solemn, righteous—the face that won him three terms.
“Today, I am announcing my candidacy for governor of our great state,” he says, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that always made me flinch at the dinner table.
I sit up straighter, the blanket falling away.
“Our communities face unprecedented moral decay,” he continues, looking directly into the camera. “As governor, I will champion family values and clean up Ravenwood’s corruption at its roots.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. Family values. From the man who backhanded me across the kitchen when I dared disagree with him. From the father who treated me like property.
The camera pans to show my stepmother, Addison, standing beside him, her perfect false smile firmly in place. There’s an empty space where I should be—the dutiful daughter completing their picture-perfect family.
“The path ahead requires moral leadership,” my father declares. “Someone who understands traditional family values and isn’t afraid to defend them.”
I grab the remote and turn up the volume, unable to look away from this grotesque performance.
The camera shifts to show my father’s expression hardening, his eyes narrowing as he grips the sides of the podium.
“Let me be specific about the corruption I intend to address,” he continues, voice dropping to that dangerous tone I know all too well.
“Men like Dominic Vega, who flout zoning laws and environmental regulations for profit. Men like Liam Hayes, who defend the criminals destroying our communities. Men like Ryder Caldwell, who promote gambling addiction among our vulnerable citizens.”
My breath catches. He’s naming them. Directly. On live television.
“These morally bankrupt elites believe they are above the law,” he says, each word like a hammer striking stone. “They operate in shadows, in places like Purgatory, corrupting the values our city was built upon.”
I reach for my phone with trembling fingers, wondering if they’re watching this, if they know.
“But this crusade is personal for me,” my father says, his voice suddenly softening. Addison steps closer, placing her hand on his arm in practiced sympathy. “As many of you know, my daughter Cora has been... absent from our family in the past week.”
My stomach twists violently.
“These predatory men have systematically isolated my daughter, manipulated her away from her family, her education, her future.” His voice breaks with what anyone else would read as emotion.
I recognize it as barely contained rage.
“No family should suffer as mine has. No father should have to watch as his child is lured away from everything we’ve built together. ”
I press my hand against my mouth, bile rising in my throat.
“As your governor, I will ensure that other young women are protected from such predators. I will ensure that families remain sacred, whole, and protected by the full force of the law.”
The crowd erupts in applause while I sit frozen, watching my father transform his abuse into a political platform, his control into concern, his rage into righteousness.
My hands shake so violently that I can barely hold my phone.
Rage pulses through me in waves, each heartbeat sending a fresh surge of fury through my veins.
I navigate to my contacts, thumb hovering over Liam’s name.
Of all three men, he’s the strategist, the one who understands the legal and political implications of what my father just did.
I hit call before I can second-guess myself.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice comes through immediately, calm but with an underlying tension that tells me everything.
“You saw it?” The words catch in my throat.
“I’m watching it right now.”
I pace across the living room, my free hand clenching and unclenching. “He’s using me. Again. Like I’m nothing but a political prop.” My voice cracks. “He’s twisting everything, making himself the victim, the concerned father when he—”
I stop myself, breathe. The memories of his fists, his words, and the bruises hidden beneath designer clothes flash through my mind.
“He is the one who systematically isolated me!” I spit out. “He’s the one who monitored my phone, my friends, my fucking meals. He’s the one who regularly beat me whenever I didn’t agree with him.”
Liam doesn’t interrupt, just lets me rage.
“That son of a bitch thinks he can use me to become governor. After everything he’s done.” I stop pacing, an eerie calm descending amidst my anger. “We need to teach him a lesson.”
“What did you have in mind?” Liam’s voice shifts, interest piqued.
“I don’t know yet. But I’m done being his victim. I’m done being anyone’s victim.”
“That’s our brave girl,” Liam says, his voice warm with approval. It sends an unexpected flutter through my chest. “We’ll figure something out. Tonight, when everybody’s home, we’ll sit down and discuss our next steps.”
I sink back onto the couch, trembling but somehow steadied by his words. By the “we.”
“He named all of you,” I say, my voice smaller now. “Directly called you out. He’s going to use this campaign to come after you. After us.”
“Let him try,” Liam says confidently. “Your father’s not the only one with resources, Cora. And he’s certainly not the only one who knows how to manipulate public opinion.”
I stare at the television where they’re now dissecting my father’s announcement, political analysts already speculating about my absence. About the “troubled relationship” between Mayor Pike and his daughter.
“I should have seen this coming,” I whisper. “Of course he’d use me as a prop in his campaign. He’s been grooming me for this my entire life.”
“Don’t,” Liam says firmly. “Don’t blame yourself for his manipulation. But Cora—” he pauses, and I hear the subtle shift in his tone, “are you sure about this? Once we move against him, there’s no going back.”
I think about the bruises that have finally faded from my skin. About the years of control masked as concern. About the political aspirations that always, always came before my happiness.
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
I end the call with Liam, my hands still shaking as I stare at the TV.
My father’s face continues to dominate the screen, his practiced sincerity making me feel physically ill.
The thought of waiting hours for everyone to return is suddenly unbearable.
The empty penthouse feels too large, too quiet, with only my racing thoughts for company.
I grab my phone again and call Ryder. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey princess,” his voice comes through, warm and instantly calming.
“Can you come home?” The vulnerability in my voice surprises even me. “I just saw my father’s announcement and I—” I break off, unable to properly articulate the storm of emotions coursing through me.
“I’m already on my way,” Ryder says immediately. “I saw it too. Give me two minutes.”
The relief that floods me is startling in its intensity. I pace the living room, hugging myself tightly as I wait, glancing repeatedly at the elevator doors.
True to his word, barely two minutes pass before I hear the elevator ping. The doors slide open, revealing Ryder looking concerned and slightly disheveled.
I don’t remember deciding to move. I’m just suddenly across the room, throwing my arms around him, burying my face against his chest. His arms wrap around me immediately, strong and secure.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my hair, one hand moving in soothing circles on my back. “I’ve got you.”
I pull back just enough to look up at him, finding his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes my breath catch. “He’s using me,” I whisper. “Making himself the victim when all along he was—”
“I know,” Ryder says, cupping my face gently. “And he won’t get away with it.”
Something inside me shifts, anxiety giving way to a different kind of urgency. I need to stop thinking, stop feeling trapped in my own head with memories of my father. I need—
I rise on my toes and press my lips to Ryder’s. His surprise lasts only a fraction of a second before he responds, his mouth moving against mine with equal hunger. What begins as a search for distraction quickly transforms into something far more consuming.
Ryder backs me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine. His hands slide down to grip my hips, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make me gasp. I’m dizzy with need, all thoughts of my father’s announcement momentarily pushed aside by the rush of sensation.
“Fuck, princess,” Ryder breathes against my neck, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve missed you this week. Not feeling your sweet pussy wrapped around my dick has been torture.”
A shudder runs through me at his words. For seven days, I’ve kept my distance, maintained my anger as a shield. Now it crumbles beneath his touch.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admit, pulling his shirt up and over his head, my hands immediately exploring the hard planes of his chest. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the couch. The feeling of being truly wanted—for myself, not for revenge or anything else — feels freeing.
“I don’t care about your father,” Ryder murmurs, laying me down on the cushions. “I care about you. Only you.” His hand slides beneath the waistband of my leggings. “Let me show you.”
I arch into his touch, past and future fading away until there’s nothing but the present moment, nothing but us.
Ryder’s mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone as his fingers work inside me. “Goddamn, you are so fucking wet for me already,” he murmurs against my skin. “Were you thinking about this all week?”
I can’t deny it. Behind my locked bedroom door, I’ve touched myself to memories of them—of him. “Yes,” I whisper as he peels my leggings down my legs.
His eyes darken at my admission. “Good girl. Now let me hear how badly you want my cock.”
The praise sends heat spiraling through me. “I want you inside me. Now.”
Ryder stands just long enough to shed his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free—thick and hard. He positions himself between my spread thighs, rubbing the head through my wetness. “Look at you, so perfect, so ready for me.”
When he pushes inside, I cry out, the fullness overwhelming after a week of nothing. He gives me no time to adjust, setting a relentless pace that has the couch creaking beneath us.
“That’s it, take all of me,” he praises, voice rough with desire. “Your pussy feels like fucking heaven, princess. So tight around my cock.”
His words send electricity crackling across my skin. I hook my legs higher around his waist, drawing him deeper.
“You’re magnificent,” he pants, one hand sliding beneath me to grip my ass, changing the angle until he hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “The sounds you make drive me crazy.”
Pressure builds low in my belly. “Ryder, oh fuck, I—”
“Let go,” he commands, thumb finding my clit. “I want to feel you come all over my cock. Want to feel that sweet pussy squeeze me.”
The pressure crests suddenly, violently. My back arches as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I’m vaguely aware of wetness gushing between us as my muscles clamp around him.
“Fuck yes,” Ryder groans, hips pistoning harder. “You’re squirting for me. So beautiful.”
As my body trembles through the aftershocks of my orgasm, Ryder’s rhythm grows erratic. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me flush against him with each thrust. His eyes lock with mine, intense and hungry.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he growls, his face tight with pleasure. “Going to pump my cum deep inside this perfect pussy.”
My walls clench around him at his words, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His movements become desperate, almost punishing in their intensity.
“Fuck, Cora—” His voice breaks as his body goes rigid. I feel the hot pulse of him inside me, each throb sending fresh waves of pleasure through my oversensitive body.
“That’s it,” he pants, grinding against me as he empties himself. “You’ve earned every fucking drop, princess.”
The physical sensation of being filled by him is intense—hot and intimate. But it’s the words that undo me—you’ve earned it—as though I’m finally worthy of something.
It’s strange how different this feels from the Hunt. There, everything was about power and control, about using my body as a weapon against my father. Here, strung out and vulnerable on Dominic’s couch with Ryder still throbbing inside me, it feels like reclaiming something that was taken from me.
For so long, my body hasn’t felt like my own.
It was a thing to be controlled—by my father’s reputation, by social expectations, by the hands that would grab my arm too tightly at dinner.
Even during the Hunt, I gave my body to these men partly to spite him, to make my own choice even if it was a self-destructive one.
But this—Ryder looking at me with something dangerous and tender in his eyes, our bodies connected in the most primal way—this feels like mine. A choice made not in rebellion but in desire. In need.