Wild Submission(13)

“Hey, sis.”

Brent’s voice makes me freeze. I whirl around, suddenly panicked. He’s waiting on the sidewalk for me with a smug, menacing grin.

I flinch back. “What are you doing here?” I gasp, my heart racing. Just seeing him brings all the bad memories flooding back, how I trusted him—and how he repaid me with cruelty and betrayal.

Brent strolls closer. “You didn’t change the password on your calendar.”

I stifle a groan of frustration. I thought I’d covered my tracks so well, but of course I forgot the one thing that would lead Brent directly to me.

I cross my arms and try to glare. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“With your new boyfriend?” His smile turns angry. “Are you running off home to fuck him like the good little whore you are?”

His words cut me, but I try not to show my emotions.

“What I do is none of your business,” I answer coldly, raising my hand to signal for a cab.

Brent grabs my hand and yanks me closer. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit. You’re coming home with me right now.”

His eyes are steely, furious. I remember that there’s nothing Brent hates more than losing what he wants.

“I gave you your money,” I whisper, hating the fear that’s snaking cold in my blood. “It’s over. Please, leave me alone.”

Brent snorts. “You think ten grand is going to fix this? That’s bullshit. I know you’re sitting on millions in your trust fund—and that money should belong to me.”

My heart sinks. Ever since Brent got disinherited, he’s been obsessing over the wealth he always thought he’d get. I’ve been supporting the both of us all year, letting him stay in my apartment, paying his astronomical credit card bills.

“So how much will it take?” My throat feels dry, and I’m worried someone will hear him. Any minute now, Olivia or one of the others could come out and see us like this. I couldn’t bear it if they knew the truth.

“A hundred k, for starters.” Brent gives me a mean grin.

“That’s crazy!” I protest.

He darkens. “Think of it as payment—for my silence. Unless you want everyone knowing the truth.”

“You’re bluffing,” I tell him, hiding my fear.

Brent sneers. “Try me.” He pulls out his cellphone and dials. “Yeah, put me through to Cam McCullough’s office.”

Fear slices through me. “Brent, no!”

“I think it’s time me and your new man had a little chat about where you came from…and who you really are.” Brent looks so happy, it sickens me. My life, my future is on the line, and he’s relishing his power.

I can’t risk it. I don’t know what I would do if Cam discovered the truth.

“Fine,” I whisper, fighting back sobs. “I’ll give you the money. Whatever you want.”

“Good girl.” Brent reaches out and strokes my cheek before I can pull away, and the gesture makes me shudder with revulsion. “This isn’t over, sis,” he adds, threatening. “It will never be over. Not until I’m satisfied. Not until I have everything I want.”

A cab pulls up in front of us. I lurch away from him, and practically stumble into the car. “Please, just drive,” I beg, slamming the door behind me.

We pull away from the curb, leaving Brent there with that smug grin on his face.

I try to catch my breath. I’m shaking, my whole body in a panic. How much longer can this go on? What will Brent demand next in exchange for keeping my secrets?

What happens when I can’t stop him anymore, and he reveals the truth?





EIGHT: CAM


My apartment has always been a place of solitude: my sanctuary away from the high-pressure demands of running the company. But finding Isabelle waiting for me in the evening, curled up on the couch with her laptop and a glass of wine, it’s become a home.

She looks like she belongs here.

“What are you working on?”

Isabelle jumps. She’s miles away. But when she sees me, her face lights up.

“You’re back. I thought you might be working late again.” She comes up and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Then she catches herself, and looks anxious. “Sorry,” she mutters quietly. “Is that OK? I mean, am I allowed…?”

I soothe her with a smile. “You’re allowed. You should feel free to act normal around me, until I tell you different.”

She nods, as if she’s taking mental notes.

I put my briefcase down and loosen my tie. She’s still dressed in a designer outfit, looking polished and put together. “Did you have a good day?” I ask.