Scarlett
The lie sits in my throat like broken glass.
Every time Kai looks at me, I can feel the edges cutting deeper, bleeding me out from the inside.
He doesn’t have to say a word. The way his eyes pin me in silence is enough. He knows. He’s always known.
I try to hold steady, try to keep my hands from shaking as I pour water into a glass at the kitchen counter. My back aches with the weight of pretending. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Nobody hurt me. This is the script I’ve been rehearsing in my head for days.
But his voice comes low, right behind me.
“Scarlett.”
My shoulders lock.
“Don’t,” I whisper, keeping my face turned to the sink.
He steps closer, heat bleeding off him, crowding me against the counter until the glass trembles in my hand.
“Don’t what?” His breath is in my ear, steady, dangerous. “Don’t ask? Don’t press? Or don’t hear you lie to me again?”
My chest caves. I try to bite it back, the truth clawing up my throat.
“I told you, there’s nothing to tell.”
Kai laughs — quiet, sharp, like it costs him.
“Baby, you’re cracking.”
The word baby burns. I slam the glass down too hard, water sloshing over my fingers. I want to scream, to tell him everything, but the moment I do, he’ll tear the world apart. He’ll tear Tyler apart. And maybe… maybe that’s why I keep holding on to the lie. Once it’s spoken, there’s no way back.
So I turned to him, shoving all my shame into venom.
“You don’t own the truth,” I snap. “You don’t get to decide what I say.”
His jaw ticks, his hand gripping the counter beside me so hard I hear wood creak.
“No,” he says softly. “but I’ll decide what happens when the truth comes out.”
The walls seem to close in before his body even touches mine. He takes one step, then another, and suddenly his shadow swallows me whole as my back presses against the cold plaster.
“Kai—” My voice cracks. It’s supposed to come out steady, defiant, but it sounds like begging.
His palm slaps flat against the wall beside my head, and the heat of him cages me in. His breath drags against my cheek, heavy, uneven, almost like he’s holding himself together by a thread.
“You think you can keep lying to me?” His voice is low, dangerous — a hiss that slithers under my skin.
“Think I don’t already know? Every word you’ve choked out, Scar, every fucking tear—” His other hand fists in the front of my shirt, jerking me closer until I can feel the thrum of his heart against my chest. “—all of it tastes like a lie.”
“I told you—”
“Don’t.” The word is sharp enough to cut. His thumb drags under my chin, forcing my face up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are fever-bright, bloodshot, like they’ll never let me go.
My throat burns as I spit the words: “So what? If you already know, then why are you cornering me? Why are you—”
“Because I want to hear you break.” His mouth hovers over mine, not touching, tormenting. His voice turns almost tender, but that’s what makes it lethal. “Because once you shatter, Scar, there’s no putting you back together without me.”
His arm slams across the wall by my head, the muscles tight as iron, his body leaning closer until there’s nowhere left for me to go. The wall bites into my spine, but it’s nothing compared to the way his presence pins me flat.
“Kai—” I try again, but my voice is nothing more than a tremor.
His hand leaves my shirt only to catch my throat, not choking, just holding, just reminding me who has the power to cut off my next breath. His thumb presses into the soft hollow there, feeling the frantic pulse of my heart hammering.
“Every time you lie to me,” he murmurs, his mouth dragging along my jaw like he’s branding me with heat, “it beats faster. You think I can’t hear it? Think I can’t feel how your body betrays you?”
Shame and panic churn inside me, but the worst part is the shiver that runs straight down my spine. He feels it. Of course, he feels it.
“Let me go.” It’s a whisper, pathetic, but it spills out anyway.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, pressing closer until his chest crushes mine against the wall, his breath scalding against my lips. “You don’t want me to.”
“Kai—”
“Say it,” he growls, his hand squeezing just enough to make me gasp. “Say the truth or I’ll drag it out of you inch by inch, Scar. I’ll corner you in every room, every shadow, every breath you take until you can’t remember how to lie anymore.”
My hands shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. He’s immovable, relentless, every inch of him caging me in until my own resistance feels small and useless. My voice cracks against his palm.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His forehead presses hard against mine, almost desperate, his thumb stroking my throat in cruel contrast to his grip. “And when you do… when you finally break… you’ll never be free of me.”
His hand doesn’t move from my shirt, knuckles pressing into my sternum like he wants to drive the truth straight out of me. His other palm cages the wall beside my head, close enough that every exhale from him scorches my cheek.
“Stop lying to me,” he growls, low, guttural. “I can feel it, Scar. Every time you open your mouth, I can taste it.”
Something in me snaps. The fear, the shame, the exhaustion—it all combusts under the weight of his stare. My palms slam against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. My voice rips out anyway, raw and splintered.
“You don’t get it, do you?” The words pour out, venom tangled with sobs. “You don’t want the truth—you want me shattered. You want me broken so you can say I needed you, that I couldn’t survive without you!”
“Scarlett—”
“You don’t want me, Kai. You just don’t want anyone else to have me!” My voice pitches higher, hysterical, my fists still thudding against his chest as tears burn hot and unrelenting. “So congratulations, you’ve got what you wanted. I’m already fucking broken!”
The words hang between us, jagged and dangerous, louder than the pounding in my chest. His jaw flexes like he’s going to snarl, but his grip on me only tightens, trembling with something I can’t name.
The last word barely leaves my mouth before his hand clamps around my throat, shoving me harder into the wall. The plaster rattles at my back, his face inches from mine, eyes wild.
“Broken?” His breath scorches across my lips, his grip tightening until I choke on the sob caught in my throat. “You think I wanted this? You think I don’t fucking hate myself every second I can’t stop touching you?”
My fingers claw at his wrist, but he doesn’t let go. He leans closer, his body pressing mine into the wall until I can feel every taut, furious line of him.
“You’re right, Scar,” he spits, low and savage. “I don’t want anyone else to have you. Not anyone. Because you’re mine.”
His thumb drags under my jaw, forcing my chin higher as his eyes blaze down at me. “So don’t stand here screaming about being broken when you’re the one who begged me to ruin you. Don’t act like you didn’t fucking want it.”
His words slice sharper than his grip, and I can’t breathe around the shame flooding me, can’t stop my body from trembling even as I try to spit back.
His mouth crushes mine before I can spit venom back, his tongue forcing past my lips like he owns every breath inside me. I shove at his chest, fists beating against muscle, but he only snarls into the kiss and drags my wrists above my head, pinning them hard against the wall.
“Say you didn’t want this,” he growls against my mouth, grinding his hips into me until I feel the hard, brutal truth of him through his jeans. “Say it, Scar.”
I try, I swear I try, but the sound that comes out of me isn’t no—it’s a broken moan.
His free hand is everywhere at once—cupping, clawing, tearing at my shirt until it burns across my skin. His teeth scrape my throat, leaving marks that will bloom dark, and I arch helplessly even as shame rips me apart.
“You hate me?” His words are filth whispered hot in my ear, his hips rutting harder against me, grinding me into the plaster. “Then why are you soaking? Why’s your little body begging when your mouth still lies?”
I gasp, head knocking back against the wall, wrists aching under his hold as his fingers slip beneath my waistband, cruel and sure.
His grip bruises my wrists against the wall, the pressure so harsh I can feel my pulse hammering against his palm. His other hand shoves past denim and lace, no hesitation, no mercy—just heat and thick fingers splitting me open like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it.
I struggle to breathe, flailing, but the noise I make is a desperate, filthy sound. His mouth catches it, swallowing my cry as his fingers drive in deeper, curling until my knees nearly give out.
“Don’t fight me, Scar,” he growls into the corner of my mouth, his breath ragged, his body grinding mine into the plaster. “You can’t. You fucking want this too much.”
And it’s true. God, it’s true. The slick mess between my thighs betrays me, every desperate clench around his fingers dragging another broken sound from my throat.
His thumb circles cruelly, fast, making me sob against his chest. He bites down hard on my jaw, snarling, “Tell me how much you hate me now. Say it while I make you cum.”
Tears burn down my cheeks, my head thrashing against the wall. I want to scream that I do, that I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone—but my body’s already convulsing around his fingers, humiliating me, wringing the truth out in wet, filthy cries.
He rips his hand from between my thighs so suddenly I almost sob at the loss, my body clenching down on nothing, left aching and wet. He shoves his slick, rough, and demanding fingers against my lips before I can even breathe.
“Open.” His voice is pure venom, threaded with hunger.
I shake my head, panic flaring, but he presses harder, smearing the mess across my mouth until I taste myself anyway, bittersweet and humiliating. His thumb digs into my chin, forcing me open, and then his fingers are past my lips, pushing deep onto my tongue.