Chapter six

Liora pushed the door open ,her whole body and pussy still aching. She wasn't even walking well. She dropped her bag by the entrance and scanned the space, spotting Thorne sprawled on the couch, remote in hand. Her jaw tightened as she fixed her stare on him.

“Where have you been?”He asked her

"And what are you still doing here?"

Thorne sat up straighter, setting the remote aside. He tilted his head, brows furrowing. "What do you mean by what am I still doing here? This is our house. Where else do you want me to be? And what the heck happened to you? You are embarrassing."

He rose and approached her, steps measured. As he neared, his gaze dropped to her neck. "Is that a hickey I see? You went out there cheating on me."

The accusation hit her. Audacity .Without pause, she raised her hand and struck his face with full force. The blow knocked him off balance, his body swaying as he caught himself against the wall. Rage boiled up inside her, words tumbling out in a rush. "You son of a bitch. You dare ask me where I have been? And you have the fucking guts to tell me that this is our house? How dare you? Whose name is on the stupid rent? Who the fuck is paying the house rent? And you open that stinking mouth—ahhh."

She threw her head back, almost laughing at the sheer nerve of him. Thorne steadied himself, rubbing the spot on his face. His expression hardened. "You actually laid your hands on me? After everything I have done for you?"

She stepped forward, invading his space, her finger jabbing toward his chest. "Don't you dare say another word. You are the one living off my hard-earned salary after getting your stupid ass fired."

Her voice rose, each syllable laced with venom. She continued, unrelenting. "I don't want to see you here. If you dare spend another ten minutes here, I will throw your crazy asshole out the building."

Thorne paused, noticing that she was angry. He shifted tactics, extending his arm. "Come on, babe. You know you are the one I love most."

He reached out to touch her shoulder, blind to the charging cord coiled in her grip she had reached out for it at the stool next to her.. She swung it hard, the length connecting with his arm. He recoiled, a sharp intake of breath escaping him.

"Don't you dare come near me," she ordered, her grip tightening on the cord. "Go back to your fiancée and continue playing house with her."

Thorne's eyes narrowed, and he surged forward, hands outstretched to seize her. She reacted instantly, whipping the cord again. It struck his torso, halting his advance. "Get out," she commanded.

She advanced, swinging the cord repeatedly. Each contact pushed him backward, step by forced step. He twisted to avoid the next, but she adjusted, driving him toward the door. His retreat quickened as the cord met his side once more. Finally, he fumbled with the knob, yanked it open, and stumbled into the hallway. He turned and fled down the stairs, his voice carrying back. "I will make you pay for this humiliation, Liora."

“ Oh yeah,try me you brainless maggot,the next time I see you here I will erase you from the face of earth idiot".

Liora slammed the door shut, twisting the lock with deliberate force. Her heart pounded against her ribs, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She released the cord, letting it drop to the floor in a tangle. Leaning against the wood, she pressed her palm to her chest, willing her breathing to even out. The apartment, once shared, now felt like her domain alone.

She moved to the window, peering out to watch his figure disappear into the street below. Satisfaction mingled with the exhaustion weighing on her limbs. Thorne's departure marked the end of pretense, the unraveling of months of deception. She recalled the discovery—stumbling upon him with Victoria, their bodies entwined in his apartment, the ring on her finger a mocking symbol of his lies.

Turning away, she paced the living room, bare feet sinking into the rug. The couch bore the imprint of his lounging form, a reminder she intended to erase. She grabbed his jacket from the armrest and tossed it toward the door, joining the growing pile of his belongings she planned to evict.

Memories surfaced uninvited: the promises he whispered during quiet dinners, the way he leaned on her support after his job loss, never acknowledging the imbalance. Her salary covered the rent, utilities, groceries—everything—while he contributed excuses and infidelity. The hickey on her neck, a mark from Riven's night, served as her counterclaim, a physical assertion of moving beyond his control.

She entered the kitchen, pulling open drawers until she found a trash bag. Starting with the counters, she swept away his scattered items—keys, wallet, loose change—dumping them inside. Each piece removed lightened the space, stripping away his presence. The fridge held remnants of his habits: half-empty beer cans, takeout containers. She cleared them out, the clink of glass a punctuation to her task.

Pausing, she filled a glass with water, sipping slowly. The coolness grounded her, sharpening her focus. Riven's proposition echoed in her mind—the two-month arrangement, a facade of romance to twist the knife in Thorne's ego. Last night's intimacy with him had blurred lines, his touches awakening dormant desires, but this confrontation reaffirmed her need for distance from the past.

She returned to the bedroom, yanking open the closet. His shirts hung beside hers, an intrusion she ended by pulling them free. Armful by armful, she carried them to the door, stacking them in the hallway. Drawers followed: socks, underwear, belts—all ejected. The bed, where they once shared sheets, now awaited fresh linens to banish his scent.

Standing in the emptied room, she allowed a moment of reflection. Vulnerability had kept her tethered to Thorne too long, ignoring the signs of his wandering affections. Victoria's engagement ring had been the final revelation, but his financial dependence grated equally. No more funding his charade.

She stripped the bed, bundling the sheets into the laundry hamper. Fresh ones from the shelf replaced them, the fabric crisp against the mattress. Sitting on the edge, she traced the outline of the hickeys with her fingertips, each tender spot a testament to her agency. Riven's hands had explored with purpose, drawing responses that contrasted Thorne's selfish encounters.

Rising, she moved to the bathroom, running water into the sink. She washed her face, the routine a small anchor. Towel in hand, she dried off, then combed her hair, preparing to reclaim the day. The phone on the counter vibrated—likely a contact checking in—but she silenced it, prioritizing her solitude.

Back in the living room, she organized the shelves, removing books he had borrowed and never returned. Each adjustment reshaped the environment to her preferences. The clock ticked past noon, marking time since his exit. Hunger prompted her to the kitchen, where she assembled a sandwich, eating at the table without distraction.

Thoughts drifted to logistics: notifying the landlord of the lease change, securing her financial boundaries. Thorne's threat hung in the air, but his pattern of empty bluster offered little concern. She had endured his manipulations; now, empowerment guided her steps.

Afternoon light shifted across the floor as she vacuumed, the motion pulling dust and memories alike. The apartment transformed under her hands, becoming a sanctuary. Riven's role in her plan warranted boundaries, ensuring the revenge remained calculated, not consuming.

She paused by the window again, the street below empty of his return. Relief settled in, deepening her resolve. The cord lay forgotten by the door, a tool of defense she might need no longer. With Thorne gone, the path ahead cleared for retribution and renewal.