All Chapters of Untamed: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Nelly’s new apartment was cozy and stylish, a reflection of her vibrant personality. I hadn’t visited since her move, and I could tell immediately she was bursting with news, her smile practically permanent. “Alright, out with it,” I said, settling onto her plush sofa. “What’s got you glowing?” “Guess!” she urged, eyes sparkling. “You know I’m terrible at guessing games. Spill!” “Okay, okay! Tony proposed!” she squealed, thrusting her left hand forward. A beautiful, elegant diamond solitaire glittered on her finger. “Nelly, it’s stunning!” I said, genuine admiration warming my voice. “I know, right?” she sighed happily, admiring it herself. “I’m going to grab us some water. Be right back!” She disappeared into the kitchen, and I let my mind wander, only to be summoned back by her snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Raquel! You were a million miles away. What’s going on?” The weight of my secret pressed down. “Michael,” I finally said, making air quotes around hi

Upstairs, I moved with a sense of deliberate purpose, determined to translate Nelly’s advice into reality. I needed to reclaim something--the spark, the intimacy, the feeling of being desired in my own home. The bedroom was my canvas. I lit a dozen scented candles, placing them on the dresser, the nightstands, and the windowsill. Their warm, honeyed glow replaced the harsh overhead light, and the subtle fragrance of sandalwood and vanilla began to permeate the air. Next, I opened the bag of deep red rose petals I’d hidden earlier, scattering them across the polished floor. They formed a delicate, crimson path from the doorway to the foot of the king-sized bed, a silent, romantic invitation. My final preparation was the most nerve-wracking. In the ensuite bathroom, I carefully removed my day clothes. The sapphire-blue lingerie Nelly had chosen was a masterpiece of delicate lace and sleek silk. It felt both alien and empowering against my skin, a bold declaration of intent I wasn’t sur

We tailed Kwame’s sedan through the midday traffic. My mind raced, constructing and dismissing benign explanations. A working lunch off-campus. A site visit. Then I saw her. A woman with a sleek dark bob was sitting in the back seat. As Kwame’s car paused at a light just ahead of us, he turned his head and said something. She smiled--a warm, familiar smile and moved to climb into the front passenger seat. My phone felt like ice in my hand. I called him again. Straight to voicemail. The cold drip of suspicion became a flood of dread. I sat forward, my knuckles white as I gripped the seat. We followed them for twenty agonizing minutes, leaving the university district behind, turning onto roads lined with cafes and boutiques. When Kwame’s car finally signaled and turned into the discreet, tree-lined driveway of a boutique hotel called Golden, my world fractured. “Wait here,” I told the driver, my voice a stranger’s. “Keep the meter running.” I moved on legs that felt like wood, en

I was halfway down the long corridor, the wheels of my suitcase clacking frantically on the marble, when a hand fisted in my hair from behind. A scream tore from my throat as white-hot pain exploded across my scalp. He yanked me backward, my head snapping painfully. "Let me go!" I shrieked, dropping the suitcase to claw at his hand. "You're. Not. Leaving." The words were growled against my ear, each syllable punctuated by another tug. "We will work this out. In our room." "I'd rather sleep in the street!" I kicked backward blindly, my heel connecting with his shin. He grunted but didn't release me. "You're acting like a child! After all I've done for you..." I thrashed harder, panic giving me strength. My elbow connected with something soft, and his grip loosened just enough for me to wrench free, stumbling forward with such momentum that I collided full-force with a solid, unmoving form. "Ouch!" The impact sent a sharp pain through my nose. I stumbled back, hands flying

Frank's POV True to his word, my doorbell rang less than ten minutes later, an impatient, staccato burst. I opened the door to find Michael on my doorstep, his hair wind-tousled, his expression unreadable. “Hey,” I greeted him. He brushed past me without a word, his eyes scanning my apartment. “How did you get here so fast?” I asked, bewildered. “I was already in the car when I called you. Where is she?” “In my bedroom. Sleeping.” A slight frown touched his brow before he smoothed it away. “You have another man’s wife in your bed,” he stated, his voice deceptively calm. But I saw the storm brewing in his eyes--a dark, turbulent intensity I’d never seen directed at me before. “She came to me because your father hurt her,” I shot back, defensiveness rising. “He pulled her hair, Michael. She was terrified. What was I supposed to do, turn her away?” “You should have brought her home before it got this late.” His jaw was clenched so tightly I could see the muscle ticking.