CHAPTER 2

Lia’s POV

His words hit me hard. Like cold water thrown in my face. Like being slapped.

I froze. My whole body went stiff. Those words kept repeating in my head. Like a little slut. Like a little slut. Like a little slut.

The warm feelings I'd had—the wanting, the desire—all disappeared in a second. Something cold and empty took their place. It sat in my chest like a rock. Shame. Hurt. Confusion.

He let go of my arm and turned his back to me. He pulled the blanket over his shoulder with a hard pull. The movement said it all—he was done with me. Within seconds, his breathing went back to normal. He was asleep again. Just like that. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just called me a slut for wanting my own boyfriend.

I lay there in the dark, frozen, staring at the back of his head. At his shoulder under the blanket. At his messy brown hair on the pillow.

His words kept playing in my mind over and over. Stop acting like a little slut. Each time, they hurt more.

Was I a slut for wanting my own boyfriend? Was something wrong with me for having needs? For wanting to feel close to him? For wanting to be touched and wanted?

The questions spun in my head, making me feel smaller and smaller.

We'd been together for a year now. A whole year. And I could count on one hand how many times he'd actually seemed excited to have sex with me.

Every time we did have sex—which wasn't often, maybe once every few weeks if I was lucky—he made it feel like a chore. Like doing the dishes or taking out the trash. He would just lie there, barely moving, barely touching me. He never looked at me the way I wanted. Never stared at my body like he loved what he saw. Never kissed me with real passion.

He acted like he wasn't even attracted to me. Like I was just... there.

I turned onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. At the shadows from the streetlight. My eyes burned with tears, but I wouldn't let them fall. I wouldn't cry over this. Not again.

My body still ached with need. But now it was mixed with shame and hurt and anger. I felt stupid for trying. Rejected. Unwanted in my own relationship.

I hugged myself. The room felt too quiet, too empty, even with Rob right next to me. I'd never felt more alone.

The dream felt more real than this. More real than him lying next to me, cold and distant. In the dream, someone wanted me. Someone couldn't keep their hands off me. Someone took me like they needed me to survive.

In the dream, I felt wanted. Beautiful. Powerful.

But that was just a dream. Something my brain made up to fill the hole in my life.

This was my real life. This cold bed. This man who didn't care. This empty ache.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but all I could think about was the dream. Those hands on my thighs. That hand on my throat. That feeling of being wanted and taken.

And I wondered if I'd ever feel that way with someone real.

The next morning, we stood on the runway ready to board the private plane Rob's dad had sent for us.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, gripping my suitcase handle so tight my knuckles turned white. The morning sun was bright and warm on my face, but I felt cold inside. Nervous. Out of place.

The plane sat on the pavement looking impossibly expensive. It was sleek and white with dark windows that reflected the sky. I'd never seen a private jet up close before, let alone been inside one. Everything about it screamed money—the kind of money I couldn't even imagine.

A crew member in a crisp uniform stood by the stairs, waiting for us. He looked professional and bored, like this was just another Tuesday. Like flying rich people around on private jets was normal.

I had never met Rob's dad, but he had invited Rob and me to his private island in Italy. His private island. The words still didn't sound real even though I'd been repeating them for weeks.

When Rob first told me about the trip, I thought he was joking. Rich people had private islands in movies, not in real life. But apparently Rob's family was that kind of rich. The kind I didn't know existed outside of TV shows and magazines.

We had been dating for a year—a full year—but Rob hadn't even introduced me to his father. Or his older brother, who I'd only heard about recently. I didn't know their names until a few weeks ago when Rob finally mentioned them. His dad was Victor. His brother was Dante. That was all I knew.

I'd asked Rob why he never talked about his family, why I'd never met them, why he kept that whole part of his life separate from me. He'd gotten defensive and said they were busy, that they lived far away, that it wasn't a big deal. But it felt like a big deal to me.

I sometimes got the feeling Rob was ashamed of me. The thought sat heavy in my chest like a rock. Like he was ashamed of our relationship, ashamed to let his family know who he was dating. Maybe I wasn't good enough for them. Maybe I was too ordinary, too poor, too plain.

I worked as a receptionist. I lived in a tiny apartment. I drove a beat-up Honda that made weird noises when I turned left. Rob had a nice car his dad bought him, a nice apartment his dad paid for, nice clothes, nice everything. We came from completely different worlds.

Whenever I brought it up, whenever I tried to talk about how it made me feel, he called me insecure. He'd roll his eyes and tell me I was overthinking things, making problems that didn't exist. He made me feel like I was overreacting, like I was being crazy and needy and difficult.

But was I? Was it really crazy to want to meet your boyfriend's family after a year? Was it insecure to wonder why he kept me hidden like a secret?

"Come on," Rob said, cutting through my thoughts. He was already walking toward the plane, not even looking back to see if I was following.

I followed behind him, my cheap suitcase bumping and rattling on the pavement.

Inside, the plane was even more intimidating than the outside. Everything was cream-colored leather and polished wood.

Rob threw himself into one of the seats near the window and pulled out his phone, already scrolling through something. He didn't look at me, didn't ask if I was okay, didn't seem to notice or care that I was standing there frozen in the doorway trying not to freak out.

A flight attendant appeared, also in a crisp uniform with her hair pulled back in a perfect bun.

She was very beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made my stomach twist. Tall and slim with perfect skin, high cheekbones, and full lips painted soft pink. Her uniform fit her perfectly, hugging her curves in all the right places.

She walked into the cabin with confident steps, her heels clicking softly on the floor. But she didn't even look at me. Her eyes slid right past me like I was invisible, like I was just another piece of furniture.

Instead, she turned all her attention to Rob. Her whole body shifted toward him, her posture changing, becoming softer somehow. More inviting. She smiled at him—a slow, warm smile that showed perfect white teeth.

"Is there anything you need, sir?" she asked, her voice smooth and sweet like honey. She leaned in just slightly, just enough that her perfume probably reached him. Just enough that he could see down the front of her uniform if he wanted to.

And Rob smiled back at her.

Actually smiled.