Stopped Belonging to Him
Jason Schwartz had been a close friend of my father's, despite the age gap.
The year I met him, I was fearless, the kind of girl who thought nothing could touch her.
I bit down hard on the hand he offered me.
Jason just laughed.
"You're adorable," he said. "Like a little wolf."
On my 18th birthday, he shoved me onto the bed, his eyes red, as if he had been holding back for years.
"Diana, I've finally waited long enough for you to grow up."
He was the one who pulled me into that first flutter of desire, the one who led me across every line I wasn't supposed to cross.
I grew into exactly the kind of girl he wanted.
The day my father was hacked to death by his enemies, Jason took my hand and stepped into his place without hesitation.
When I was pregnant, he brought home a girl covered in blood.
"Diana, she's not like you. She's like wild grass, tough and stubborn."
He said he admired wild grass.
But he forgot something.
He was the one who raised me into a rose that only knew the shelter of a greenhouse.
Good thing I didn't need him anymore.