Chapter 3

Teresa’s Pov

If boredom could kill, I would’ve flatlined three hours ago.

Another office. Another white room. Another pointless check-up I didn’t ask for. I swear the doctors in this building must think I’m made of glass with how they keep prodding and poking. Meanwhile, Caroline walked beside me like she owned the entire damn hospital, heels clicking, perfume loud enough to choke someone.

I hated being here.

But I hated the consequences of refusing her even more.

Lunch break finally came, and Caroline abandoned me in her office like she always did. I didn’t complain. Silence was better than her voice anyway. I curled into the chair and scrolled through social media, pretending that the entire day didn’t feel like a punishment someone forgot to name.

And then, stupidly, my mind drifted back to him.

The man from the morning.

Dark hair. Grey eyes. Built like sin and carved like he was daring someone to touch him. I’d barely looked at him for five seconds, yet somehow he burned into my memory like a scar.

Whatever. Men like that only existed to ruin someone’s life, and I’d had enough of that species. I wasn’t about to start crushing on a stranger when I could barely stand the idea of being touched.

Caroline eventually returned, smelling of expensive salad and bad decisions.

“They gave us off today,” she said, grabbing her bag. “We’re going home.”

Finally.

I didn’t say it. I only nodded.

“You know you can use your words,” she snapped.

“Okay.”

She muttered, “You piss me off so badly,” under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

I followed her out. Because I'm her responsibility, her punching bag — depending on the day.

Outside, a sleek black car sat near the curb. Flashy. Too shiny for this place. And it looked like it was waiting for someone. I couldn’t see inside, so I shrugged it off and slipped into Caroline’s car.

But minutes later… that same black car was behind us.

Following.

I stared at it through the side mirror, a strange pull in my stomach tightening. But maybe I was overthinking.

We stopped at a café, and I followed Caroline inside. She was already on another call, she was always on a call — leaving me to lean on the wall like an unwanted suitcase.

That’s when my stomach dropped.

Ray.

Of all places in the world, of all days, it had to be here.

He looked exactly the same: cute enough to fool you, toxic enough to ruin you. My childhood crush before I realized crushes were just lies with better packaging. Four or five years older than me, handsome in that dangerous, boyish way that made you forget he had sharp edges. And for the record? He slept with Caroline.

He walked over to our table with that stupid smile.

“Hey Teresa. Hey Caroline.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t owe him a syllable.

Caroline ended her call and beamed like she’d seen free money.

“Oh, Ray! What are you doing here?”

“Just stopped by. Thought I’d grab something.”

“You should join us.”

I shot her a look so sharp it should’ve cut her.

Why the hell would she invite him?

She pretended not to see me.

Ray sat down, talking and talking and talking about things no one cared about. I tuned him out and went back to scrolling through my phone.

My eyes drifted to the window.

The same black car. Parked across the street.

And this time… the window began to roll down.

Slowly.

I leaned forward, heart thudding. I couldn’t explain it, something about that car tugged at me, a strange, cold curiosity crawling up my spine.

But just as the inside of the car began to show…

The window shot back up very fast.

I blinked. Maybe I imagined it.

By the time Caroline’s guest arrived, she shoved a small envelope into her bag and stood.

“We’re leaving,” she said, then turned to Ray. “Stop by soon, okay?”

Ray grinned. “Of course.”

I felt my jaw clench.

Stop by? Really?

Caroline turned to me, eyes narrowing.

“Do you have a problem with him stopping by?”

“No.”

“Good.” She smiled the way a knife smiles before cutting.

We walked to the car, leaving Ray behind.

*****

The second the front door slams behind us, I’m gone. Up the stairs two at a time, door locked, clothes peeled off and kicked into the corner like they’re contaminated. The shower is scalding; I scrub until my skin is raw and red, trying to wash the whole day off me. The smell of that office, the weight of strangers’ eyes, Caroline’s perfume clinging to everything. It never really leaves.

I’m still dripping when her voice slices through the house.

“Teresa! Down here. Now.”

I pull on an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants and walk downstairs like I’m heading to my own execution.

They’re already waiting. Caroline on the couch, legs crossed, wineglass dangling from her fingers. James or John, who cares… sprawled beside her like he owns the place. Same smug grin from this morning.

“Yes?” I say, flat.

Caroline smiles the way a shark smiles. “You’re eating with us.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She sets the glass down. “You’ll need your strength tonight.”

My stomach drops through the floor. I already know what that means. I’ve known since I was eighteen and Dad wasn’t cold in the ground yet.

I sit anyway. The food tastes like cardboard and shame. Caroline chats like we’re a normal family; James’s eyes keep crawling over me. When Caroline excuses herself to “freshen up,” he leans in.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs. “Bet you taste sweet.”

I stare at my plate and count heartbeats until she comes back. I absolutely had nothing to say to James.

She tosses something at me. Black lace, thin as a whisper.

“Put it on. Living room. Two minutes.”

I carry it upstairs like it’s radioactive. In my room I unfold it: a scrap of nothing held together by strings. Tears come fast and useless. I hate them almost as much as I hate her. I want to swallow every pill in the bathroom cabinet. I want to open my wrists in the bathtub. I want to disappear so completely no one ever finds the pieces.

But wanting and doing are different things. I’ve learned that the hard way.

I wipe my face, twist my wet hair into a bun, and pull the lingerie on. It doesn’t cover anything that matters. The mirror shows a stranger who looks bruised even when she isn’t.

Downstairs, the lights are off except for one red bulb Caroline keeps for occasions like this. Music throbs low, something with a filthy bass line. A single chair waits in the middle of the room like a stage.

Caroline and James are tangled together on the couch, half undressed already, eyes glittering in the red glow.

“Dance,” Caroline says.

I move because I always move. Hips swaying, hands trailing over skin I don’t want touched. James groans. Caroline’s hand is already between her own thighs, watching me like I’m her favorite show.

After an eternity she holds up a hand. “Stop.”

James fishes something from the cushion beside him and tosses it. It lands at my feet with a heavy thud.

A vibrator. Thick. Black. Still in its plastic case, like that makes it clean.

Caroline laughs at whatever’s on my face. “Use it. Sit. Spread your legs. Let us see.”

My body obeys before my mind catches up. I lower myself into the chair. The lace panties slide aside easy; they were designed that way. The toy is cold at first, then warm, then too much. The vibrations tear a sound from my throat I didn’t know I could make.

Caroline’s breath hitches. Her fingers move faster. James palms himself through his jeans, licking his lips like I’m dessert.

I stare at the ceiling and try to leave my body the way I’ve practiced a hundred times.

Then, out of nowhere, Caroline sits up. “Stop.”

The vibrator keeps going in my hand. I’m shaking too hard to turn it off.

“Enough,” she says, almost bored now. “I’m tired. Long day saving lives and all that.” She looks at me like I’m a stain on the carpet. “You were adequate, I suppose. Clean up and go to bed.”

Just like that. Show’s over.

James looks disappointed, but he won’t argue. Nobody argues with Caroline.

I pull the toy out, wrap it in the lingerie like toxic waste, and walk upstairs on legs that don’t feel like mine. In the bathroom I throw everything in the trash and turn the shower back on, hotter this time.