In his Trap

Polly’s POV

I thought I could take the hit. I thought it would sting for a moment, like ripping off a band-aid.

But when James sent the reply—just one line—"You filthy whore. Don’t bother coming back."

It felt like my chest was collapsing in slow motion.

He didn’t ask for an explanation. Didn’t even try to confirm if it was real. He didn’t need to. He knew Logan’s name on my lips wasn't a fluke or a lie. Anyone could tell. And if that didn't hurt his freaking ego, I didn't know what else could.

By noon, my father was on the phone. By one, I was disowned.

"I never want to see you set foot in this house again you fucking disgrace!"

By three, my bags were waiting outside the gate. And then the sky opened and it began to rain. Of course it rained.

I found shelter in the only place I could think of: Mick’s Bar. A place that smelled of old leather, bourbon, and cigarette. I curled up in a corner booth like a stray and tried not to cry.

It didn’t work.

"Jesus, Polly."

Tara slid into the booth with a coat still dripping rain. Her red lipstick was fresh, her boots were loud, and her eyes softened the moment they met mine. We worker at the same place but barely saw each other due to our different departments.

I looked up. "Don’t say anything."

She did anyway. "Come home with me. I mean it. You’re not staying in a damn bar, Polly."

I wanted to argue. But my voice had abandoned me hours ago.

We left, huddled beneath one umbrella as if that could protect me from everything I’d lost.

That night, curled up in her apartment on the scratchy grey couch, I told her everything. I unloaded it all. The wedding. The airdropped video. My father's fury. James' betrayal. The cold echo of the door slamming behind me.

Tara didn’t bat an eyelid. "I always knew James was bad news with those damn eyes looking around like a predator."

She handed me a warm mug of tea and wiped my tears with her sleeve. "Screw all of them," she said, voice hard with conviction. "James is gone. And now you’re free. You can start again. Find a better dick instead."

I nodded, numb, hollow and too tired to laugh at her jokes.

She leaned in. "Pol… can I ask you something?"

I side-eyed her. "That tone never leads anywhere good."

"Just answer it. That video. The one you sent James… was it just revenge?" Her eyes twinkled. "Or did you actually feel something… about your boss?"

I choked on the tea. "Logan Sanchez? Are you serious? Why would I ever feel anything about someone who demoted me?"

She raised an eyebrow. "True. But you chose him rather than a random man. I’ve seen you stammer around him like a baby deer."

"I don’t stammer."

"You blink like your lashes are malfunctioning."

I threw a pillow at her and collapsed back onto the couch. "It was just revenge, okay?"

She didn’t believe me. I could feel it in the silence. In the way she smiled but didn’t speak.

The next day at work, I felt a lot of things I wasn't sure I could get used to at work. Thankfully, my space was nowhere next to the gossip mongers or I would have been the topic of discussion. 

Yet, I couldn't ignore the whispers, the sideways looks and the look of pity.

"Did you hear she got dumped right after the wedding?"

"God, the shame…"

"She probably cheated."

"Even worse...You know Miss. Self Righteous didn’t want to give up her coochie. So he gave it to who was willing."

I swallowed hard, shoulders squared. I refused to cry again. I was done with that.

I buried myself in work, pushing through reports until the sun dipped and the office emptied. It wasn’t until I checked the clock—11:04 PM—that I realized Logan hadn’t left either.

His office door was cracked open. I passed by quietly, but the sound of his voice stopped me.

"I want all her records. Everything. Friends, family, history—get it done."

A pause.

Then, "No. She doesn’t know. And I want to keep it that way."

I froze. Was he talking about me? His eyes lifted then, catching mine through the crack in the door.

I flinched and kept walking, heart pounding as I grabbed my bag. Tara would be waiting. I just had to get through the parking lot and—a shadow moved.

I barely made it down the hallway when I felt the heat of his body behind me.

"Snooping around, peeping kitty? That was very naughty of you."His voice was dark and deep, causing a kind of vibration to travel down my legs.

I turned, steadying myself on the heels I wore. He stood there, tie loosened, jaw tense, hair a mess like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

"Sorry, I was just going home," I said, stepping aside.

He didn’t move.

"Funny," he said, "because you were standing by the door, eavesdropping. Weren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

He leaned in, just a little. "Why do you need to pretend, Pollyana? Was it guilt about the fact that you got caught moaning my name with your fingers buried in your sweet little pussy?"

I gasped. "Y-You—that's inappropriate!"

"Shhh." His voice dropped into a growl, one hand leaning agaisnt the car behind me as he towered over me, the warmth of his body seeping into mine. "Pretending is exhausting, Pollyana. You sent it. You wanted me to see it."

I backed up. He followed, body now pressed agaisnt mine, surely feeling the way I was shaking. 

"And now you avoid my eyes like you didn’t beg for me in that video. Like you didn’t fall apart to the thought of me fucking you senseless."

"Stop," I whispered, eyes closed, face burning with embarrassment. "Please." 

His grin turned feral. "I love it when you beg like that, Polly. But why? I'm not lying. I saw it in your eyes."

He stepped so close my chest was pressed agaisnt his abs. That touch, despite the fabric, made my nipples harden again. Fucking hell. Why couldn't my body stop betraying me? 

"I’ll give you a ride," he said.

"I’ll walk. Never mind, sir."

I made to move but he was faster and stronger, whipping me over his shoulder like I was simply a sack of cloth. His arm wrapped securedly around my waist, and before I could breathe, he was placing me into the passenger seat of his black Jaguar. The door slammed. Locked.

"Mr. Logan—!"

He leaned in, his hand gripping my chin, lips barely brushing my cheek.

"You moaned my name, Pollyana, without the formality," he whispered, voice like silk and smoke. "Now I need to hear you say it… to my face."

My face drained of color as I stared

into his eyes, his breath fanning my face. And suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or lean in and say it louder.