ONE: ISABELLE
It’s been ten days.
Ten days since I walked out on Cam. Ten days since I looked him in the eye and lied like I’ve never lied before: told him that who he is disgusts me, and that I wanted to end our relationship before it had barely begun.
I didn’t mean a word of it. It broke my heart to walk away, and now that pain has haunted me every minute of every day since.
I want to call him. Reach out, just to see him again. I want to tell him I didn’t mean the cruel things I said. I want to swear that I’ve never felt so safe, so loved, as when I’m in his arms. Submitting to his commands.
Surrendering to the pleasure only he can give.
But I have no choice. Not with Brent blackmailing me like this: using the most terrible secrets of my life to buy my loyalty. He ordered me to leave Cam and move back into my old apartment with him, and I obeyed, but that hasn’t stopped me from spending every waking moment trying to think up a way to leave him again, and all my time asleep dreaming of Cam: his voice, his touch. His mouth. His demands.
If anyone learns the truth about me…
I stop that thought dead, turning away from my grim reflection in the dressing room mirror. I’m back in my old bedroom, surrounded by pretty things: soft blue velvet curtains and a gold silk bedspread, gilt-edged mirrors and a walk-in closet full of designer clothes that’s bigger than most people’s apartments.
None of it means a thing to me. Not without Cam.
There’s a noise at the door and then Brent comes barging in. “Get a move on, I’m ready to go.”
“I told you, you’re not allowed in here!”
Brent sneers. His gaze scans over me. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
I tense. He told me I had to go with him to dinner. I didn’t realize it came with a dress code. “What’s wrong with it?” I’m wearing a simple black dress and heels, not feeling like going the whole nine yards when inside, I can’t stand being near him.
Brent snorts. “You look like a fucking depressive nun. Put on something decent, show off that body of yours.”
I cross my arms over my chest, shuddering at the thought of his eyes on me. “No.”
Brent stalks closer. “Aren’t you forgetting something, sis?” he demands in a low voice. “I’m the one calling the shots this time. I let you get away with running off to that Scottish asshole once, but now you need to make it up to me.”
He reaches out to touch me, but I shrink away. “Keep your hands off me! That was our deal, remember? I came back, I’m paying your bills, but you don’t ever get to touch me, ever again.”
Brent’s eyes flash with anger. “Frigid bitch,” he curses. “Time was, you were begging for it. Couldn’t get enough of me.”
That was never true, but I can’t afford to push him too far.
“Times change,” I spit back, bile rising in my throat. “Now, do you want me at this dinner? If so, let me get dressed in peace.”
Brent pauses, then decides. “We’re not finished here,” he says, backing away. “You belong to me, and that means all of you.” He grins lasciviously. “Just wait.”
He walks out, slamming the door behind him.
I sink onto the bed, my heart pounding. I’m so tired. I’ve kept him at arm’s length all this time: filling my days with appointments and social events, and locking my bedroom door at night. But I know Brent, and he won’t stop – not until he gets what he wants. I’ll never be safe.
I swallow back my fear and go pick out a new dress: something short and tight and silver, to turn heads the way he wants. Maybe if he gets enough jealous attention, he’ll be in a more forgiving mood.
Either that, or he’ll get too drunk and high to pay attention to me.
I can dream, can’t I?
* * *
Brent drives us downtown, speeding too fast in the sportscar I’m still paying off for him. Ever since his trust fund got cut off, he’s been depending on me to maintain his lavish lifestyle. It’s the only leverage I’ve got with him, but I don’t know how much longer it will keep him from crossing the line.
“Behave yourself at dinner, OK?” Brent snaps at me, as he pulls up by the valet. “This is an important investor, could be my big break.”
I don’t reply. He’s always talking about his next big business venture, but most of the time, it’s just an excuse for expensive dinners and partying with his preppy rich friends.
He grips my arm tightly and steers me into the restaurant.
“Welcome back, Mr. Ashcroft!” The hostess flashes a smile at Brent. “So nice to see you again.”