All Chapters of TRAPPED WITH THE STRANGER WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO SIN: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

~LIAM. *~FLASHBACK~* FOUR YEARS AGO. The gate creaked shut behind me, its sound soft yet final. Mission complete. There had been no struggle as she never woke up. It was all easy, just how I fucking preferred it. I didn’t look back. The gravel crunched under my boots as I made my way to the motorcycle parked beneath the shadows. My gloves were already off, helmet under one arm. The night felt cold and familiar. The ride back was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the noise in my head. When I pulled into headquarters, it was late. I parked, killed the engine, and walked in. No chatter, no footsteps, just the sterile buzz of lights and the sharp scent of disinfectant. Our dorm was on the second floor. I pushed open the door and saw that only one bed was occupied. Jake sat hunched forward on the edge, shirtless, with his phone glowing in his hands. No sign of Kelvin. “Yo,” he muttered without looking up. “Mission?” “Clean,” I replied, peeling off my jack

~SCARLETT. They never tell you what to do when the ghosts of your past come knocking, especially after you’ve clawed your way out of hell, piece by piece, and built something resembling peace. After you’ve buried the memories so deep that even your dreams forget them. After you manage to become someone new. And just as you start breathing freely, without flinching or remembering—boom. One of the very faces you never wanted to see again finds you. And the worst part is, you have nothing to say because moving on only works if you never have to see them again. That’s the whole damn point. But now here she is. I stared at her wide eyes, those stupid glasses, her face exactly the same as it was the last time I saw her. She hadn’t aged a second. How was that even fair? You help destroy someone’s life, and you still get to look innocent? Meanwhile, I’d lived through a year on the streets: stealing food, sleeping in alleys, fighting

~SCARLETT. I shoved the front door open and stepped into The Velvet Fang, the cool air hitting me square in the face. The lights were low and moody, the bass a slow, steady heartbeat under my feet. A haze of smoke and stage fog filled the air, and the place smelled like cheap cologne, cinnamon vodka, and secrets. It was barely 3 PM. Too early for the club to be alive, too late for me to be running on fumes. My body was wrecked: tired, hungry, and still humming with adrenaline. I hadn’t breathed properly since I left my goddamn house with Liam’s voice still echoing in my skull. Who the hell did he think he was? Showing up like that. Breaking into my house. Demanding answers he had no right to ask for. Goodbye? He thought he deserved a goodbye? I knew he’d show up eventually. I just thought I’d have time, time to build some armor, time to prepare. Instead, I got a home invasion and a ruined appetite. And now I had to come here and pretend everything was fine. Smile,

~LIAM. I’ve never felt such fury burning through my veins as I do right now, watching those damn college kids staring at her like she’s some piece of meat, some fucking object for them to gawk at and claim. When she told me she was a stripper before walking out the door, I couldn’t fucking process it. My brain just refused to accept it, because the Scarlett I knew four years ago wasn’t this woman. She was the woman who’d bolt into the closet the second I’d caught sight of her bare skin after a shower—the one who flinched at the idea of letting me see her like that. I had to earn her trust, piece by piece, showing her she was safe with me. And now? She’s up on that goddamn stage, half-naked, dancing in front of a room full of horny assholes like her body means nothing. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Tearing my furious gaze away from them, I locked onto her as she spun around the pole with a fluid, unapologetic grace. She moved like she completely fucking ruled the stage, lik

~SCARLETT. “Twenty,” I managed, the word fracturing in my throat like shattered crystal. My voice quivered, just like the rest of me. The last spank still echoed through my skin, each one before it, stitched into me like fire, the burn spreading down my thighs, curling behind my knees, and searing into the hollow beneath my ribs. It was everywhere now, coiled in my muscles, throbbing in my wrists where he’d held me down, and pulsing in that twisted knot of heat low in my stomach that refused to die. I hated it. I hated him. But more than anything… I hated myself. Because no matter how much it stung, no matter how humiliating it was, I didn’t cry, not for him or this. But I was soaked. Soaked and pathetic. Clenching my jaw, I squeezed my eyes shut as a fresh wave of shame washed over me. My legs quivered. My breath seized. My pride was hanging by a thread, slipping fast. And still, I could feel every inch of me hot, sore, and aching in pl