I woke up at three in the morning. The house was deathly quiet, but my skin was humming. The sheets felt too rough against my sensitive body, and the ghost of Marcus’s tongue still felt like it was branded into my skin. I tried to close my eyes, but I kept seeing him on his knees. I kept seeing the way he looked at me—not like a daughter, but like something he wanted to consume. I couldn't stay in bed. I stood up, my legs still a little shaky, and walked out into the hallway. I didn't turn on any lights. I made my way downstairs, my bare feet silent on the wood. I thought I was alone, but as I passed the kitchen, I saw a tall, dark shadow standing by the window. It was Marcus. He was leaning against the counter, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He was still shirtless, his muscles looking like carved stone in the moonlight. He didn't turn around when I entered, but I knew he felt me there. “You should be sleeping, Lila,” he said. His voice was like sandpaper—rough and low. “I couldn
Last Updated : 2026-05-09 Read more