All Chapters of Worship Me, Duncan: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE— Aphrodite —They say you never forget your first love.I think that’s a lie.You forget.Eventually.You forget the kisses, the late-night promises, the trembling hand that first reached for yours.What you don’t forget—what stays—Are the moments when you thought you were finally safe.---Godric was safety, once.Before he became a curse, before his voice made my spine stiffen, before I forgot how to sleep without waking in guilt—he was everything.The boy with bloody fists and bruised ribs who pulled me away from hell.The boy who gave me his coat on a freezing night and told me, “No one touches you unless you want them to.”I was fifteen.And in that moment, I believed him more than I believed in God.---We starved together.Slept in alleyways.Fought for scraps.But we smiled, too.He made me laugh when I hadn’t in years.Taught me how to spit like a street kid, how to lie like a rich one.I gave him my first kiss.He gave me the only name that’s ever stuck—

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE— Aphrodite —It’s strange, the way absence becomes a presence.The way silence starts to feel like a scream if you sit in it long enough.Godric hasn’t spoken to me today.Not one word.Not good morning, not a command, not a kiss on the forehead dressed up as affection.And yet I feel him everywhere.In the walls.In the cold air blowing through the vents.In the stillness of the bedroom, where nothing moves unless he allows it to.He’s not here.But his control is.His silence isn’t absence.It’s dominance.And I’ve learned that silence from Godric is never empty.It’s loaded.Waiting.---I used to fear his anger.Now I fear his quiet.Because that’s when he’s thinking.That’s when he’s watching.That’s when he decides who I’ll become next.---I sat on the floor this morning.Wrapped in the thin silk robe he gave me—champagne-colored, barely reaching my thighs.My legs curled beneath me, head resting against the edge of the bed, staring at the locked door like

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE— Duncan —Three days.That’s how long I held out.Three days of pretending I wasn’t thinking about her. Three nights of lying awake in my penthouse, glass in hand, eyes locked on the ceiling as I replayed a seven-minute conversation like it was a symphony I didn’t understand. Three days of pretending it meant nothing.Sera Vaughan.A woman I’d never heard of. Never planned to meet. A woman who wasn’t her—not Aphrodite—and yet still managed to disarm me with a single look.Three days.I made it three goddamn days.And now I was here.Again.---Her gallery sat quietly tucked into the curve of a narrow street in SoHo. No flashing sign. No gaudy displays. Just a subtle brass plate engraved with her name, and a glass door that opened like a secret.It was late. Past ten. The rain had thinned to a mist that kissed the pavement, casting halos beneath every streetlamp. I stood outside her door for a minute longer than I should’ve, one hand in my pocket, the other clenche

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN— Aphrodite —They called it a return.But it didn’t feel like one.I hadn’t come back.I’d just… put the mask on again.And tonight, the mask was red.The kind of red that doesn't fade in photos. That lives forever in the flash of a camera. A color so bold it felt like war paint.The dress was custom—tight in all the right places, soft where it needed to glide, a backless masterpiece that bared more than skin. It bared the version of me they all expected to see.Aphrodite, sculpted and shining.Aphrodite, reborn in silk.Aphrodite, who never breaks.---The car ride to the exhibit was quiet.Godric sat beside me, legs crossed, cufflinks glinting, phone in hand. His fingers moved across the screen in calculated swipes, always conducting something I wasn't allowed to see.I kept my eyes on the window.The streets of Milan blurred past, a collage of cobblestone, gold lighting, and people pretending not to look at us as we passed.I used to love this city.The way it

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE— Aphrodite —He didn’t say his name at first.He never did.Godric liked to keep the illusion that I still had choices.So he only gave me the folder.A sleek black envelope, slid across the glass table like a silent command.I didn’t open it right away.I let it sit between us, untouched. Like a bomb I wasn’t ready to defuse.---“You’ve been quiet,” he said, voice calm.Measured.The way he always spoke before something cruel.I looked up from the folder. “I’ve been tired.”“Of what?”I didn’t answer.Because we both knew the truth.---Of being someone else.Of dressing up like a goddess and stepping into rooms just to watch men burn.Of smiling with blood on my hands and perfume on my skin.Of pretending this was a life.Of pretending I chose any of it.---Godric leaned back in his chair, sipping his scotch.“I gave you space. Time. You wanted a break, I let you vanish. But I think you forgot what we are, Aphrodite.”I opened the folder.Not out of obedience.