Masuk♠️ ETHAN ♠️Marlene stood under the rainfall shower, water tracing every curve of her body, eyes closed as she tilted her head back. I couldn’t stay away. I stripped and stepped in behind her, arms sliding around her waist, careful of the fading bruises on her ribs.She sighed, leaning into me. “Thought you were making coffee.”“Changed my mind,” I murmured against her neck, lips brushing wet skin. It was morning, and I joined her in the shower.My hands moved slow, soap-slick, reverent over her shoulders, down her spine, pulling her tighter against me. She turned in my arms, water cascading between us, and kissed me like she was starving.We didn’t speak. Just touch, need, and heat.I pressed her gently against the tiled wall, lifting her legs around my waist. She gasped as I slid into her—slow, deep—the water making everything slick and urgent. Her nails dug into my shoulders, head falling back as I thrust steady and strong, my mouth on her throat, her breasts, anywhere I could reac
♠️ ETHAN ♠️We stood in the warehouse parking lot. Caspian lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.“We have the phone,” he said, voice low. “Texts, recordings—everything. Jamila’s fingerprints all over this.”I nodded, rage still simmering in my veins. “So we end it. Now.”He looked at me, eyes sharp. “No. Not yet.”I frowned. “What?”“Marlene can’t know. Not right now.”My fists clenched. “She almost died, Caspian. She deserves—”“She deserves to heal,” he cut in, firm but quiet. “Jamila’s been her friend for years. Someone she trusted. Finding out it was envy—pure, twisted jealousy—that put her in that hospital bed? It’ll break her in ways bruises never could.”I hated that he was right.I thought of Marlene at home, laughing through the pain, forcing smiles while her body mended. She was strong, but this… this was betrayal from someone inside her world.“She’s not ready for that kind of hurt,” Caspian conti
♠️ ETHAN ♠️A few days later, the warehouse felt colder than before when we stepped in. The blood on the floor had dried into the concrete.Brandon was barely recognizable—swollen eyes, split lips, fingers bent at wrong angles from Caspian’s pliers. He hung forward in the chair, chains rattling with every shallow breath. The blowtorch sat cooling on the table, the smell of singed skin still lingering.Caspian circled him slowly, sleeves rolled up, knuckles raw. Dre leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching like this was just another Tuesday. I stood closer, fists clenched, waiting.We’d been at it for hours again. Questions. Silence. Pain. Repeat. The same old cycle—but something shifted tonight.Brandon’s head lolled up, one eye barely open. “Okay…” he rasped, his voice like gravel. “Okay… I’ll talk.”Caspian stopped. Didn’t say a word. Just waited for him to speak.Brandon coughed blood onto the floor. “It’s… Jamila.”The name hit like a slap.I stepped forward. “Jamila? Marle
♠️ ETHAN ♠️The hospital smelled like antiseptic and bad coffee. Ever since we came in, I’d been pacing the private waiting room for hours. Dre kept me company until he got a call and stepped out. Every time the door opened, my heart stopped—waiting for news, any news.When the nurse finally came, her words hit home.“She’s stable. Minor concussion, bruises, fractured rib. She’s lucky. You can see her now.”I didn’t run. I damn near flew into my girlfriend’s hospital room.Marlene was in a dim room on the VIP floor—Blackwood money at work—hooked to monitors, her face pale against the white sheets, a few cuts and bruises blooming across her cheek and arms. But she was breathing. Alive.I pulled the chair close, taking her hand gently, careful of the IV.“I’m here, baby,” I whispered. “Not going anywhere.”The door opened again twenty minutes later. Georgia walked in first, eyes red but composed, followed by the cavalry: Caspian, Thane, Miguel, Liam, and Hans. The room shrank with all t
♠️ MARLENE ♠️The studio mirrors reflected a version of me I barely recognized.Sweat dripped down my temples as I landed the final fouetté sequence, arms slicing through the air, body spinning like it could outrun everything chasing me. The instructor clapped once—sharp, approving—but the sound felt distant. Blackwood Academy’s elite ballet program didn’t pause for scandals. If anything, the whispers got louder.I could feel them even now, between counts.“Did you see the headlines? Her mom moved out…”“Her dad threatened to ‘end’ her—can you imagine?”“Bet the family’s done sponsoring the spring showcase.”I ignored the side-eyes from the other dancers as I unwrapped my pointe shoes, toes bleeding through the lamb’s wool. Pain was familiar. Pain I could control.Ruby was waiting by the barre, arms crossed, looking smaller than usual in her oversized hoodie. She hadn’t been to class in days—said she was “sick,” but we both knew better.“Hey,” I said, dropping my bag beside her. “You
♠️ ETHAN ♠️The warehouse smelled like rust and damp concrete, old oil, and now, the sharp tang of blood.We’d dragged Brandon to one of Dre’s safe spots on the outskirts of the city—a forgotten industrial shell where screams didn’t echo far. He was tied to a metal chair in the center, wrists raw from the zip ties, head lolling from the punch I’d given him earlier.Dre flipped on the single hanging bulb, casting harsh shadows across Brandon’s face. He stirred, groaning, eyes fluttering open to the nightmare.“Wake up, princess,” Dre said, cracking his knuckles. “Time to chat.”Brandon blinked, blood trickling from his split lip. He tested the restraints, then laughed—wet, defiant. “You idiots. You think this scares me?”I stepped forward, grabbing his chin hard, forcing his eyes to mine. “The tape. Where is it?”He spat in my face.I wiped it off slowly, then drove my fist into his nose. Crack. Blood sprayed, warm and sticky, soaking his shirt. He howled, head snapping back.Dre hande







