Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Why the fuck would Atlas play along with Punk’s narrative.
Punk: His eyes would go dark at the end of every sentence while he looked directly into the camera, like he was looking right at me when he’d answer.
Punk: Like he was mocking me. Us.
Punk: I always blew it off as me being a little more paranoid than usual because it was the first time we’d broadened the scope so far out to four people, instead of just the one and maybe a stray parent or sibling. I’m sorry. I should have said something.
Punk: I’m sorry. I should have said something.
My world tilts as I type out a final text.
It’s not your fault.
Clearly, it’s mine, for underestimating them both.
The drive stretches, silence thick between us.
Twenty minutes later, we pull through a high-wire fence and onto a tarmac where his familiar black jet waits.
I open my mouth to ask if I can get changed out of this ridiculous dress, but he’s already out the door.
My side opens and I turn to see a set of honey brown eyes.
“Hello, I’m Sinead—“ They nod their head over their shoulder. “His assistant… of all things.”
“Are you new?” I ask, because I’ve never met them before.
Their eyes dart sideways. “Not new, no, but to you I guess I am. Come on.” They take my hand and I let them, shifting my dress to step out into the wind.
Sinead starts directing me across the tarmac. “Your bags are in there already with clothes already packed. Asher won’t be too much longer.”
I step through the space, memories flick through my head of the last time I was in here, when he came with me to Veilarath to sign the papers of the manor. It feels like a lifetime ago. Veilarath feels like a lifetime ago. I check in with Jasper now and then; he lives in the guest house, maintaining the property, but other than last winter… I’d never been back.
My hand grazes the top of the chair as the lighting dims. The cockpit door is open, and an attendant is shuffling glasses and food around on a table.
She spots me. “Oh, Ivanya! Take a seat and I’ll bring you a drink. You still like it neat?”
I smile at her. “Yes, thank you.” Gathering the dress, I find my bag sitting on a chair and swipe it up just as I hear footsteps on the stairs.
I freeze. I feel him before I see him. I always will. In every room, every lifetime, I’d feel him near.
He leans against the wall, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Such a shame, Venom. Would have loved to fuck you in that dress.”
My mouth snaps closed as I quicken my steps down the narrow aisle and to the door of the bathroom.
As soon as I’m shut inside with gold fixtures and marble surrounding me, I press my back against the door, eyes closed, lungs burning with every breath.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Twisting my arm to my back, I find the buttons and ties and tug at them aimlessly to tug them off.
Luce knotted me up real tight, probably because she was too busy yapping about her latest adventure to notice.
The first clip doesn’t budge.
I twist my arm further, shoulder screaming in protest, but I can’t get them off.
“Come on.” I yank at the fabric. “Come the fuck on.”
The second clip catches on something. Lace, maybe. Or my own desperation.
I yank and hear a small rip, but the dress stays locked in place, something I stepped into willingly and now can’t escape.
My reflection catches in the mirror, but I force myself to look away, unable to acknowledge this situation.
I try again. Both hands this time, contorting my spine in ways that would make Leon proud.
Sweat beads at my hairline. The makeup Luce spent an hour perfecting starts to slide. I don’t care. I just need this dress off. I need to feel like myself again, whoever that is.
The third attempt leaves my arms shaking and my patience shredded.
I lean my forehead against the cool marble and count to ten, then twenty. The jet’s engines hum beneath my feet, a vibration that travels up into my bones.
We’re moving. Taking off. Going somewhere I wasn’t told about with a man I don’t recognize wearing the face of someone I loved.
The clips dig into my spine when I straighten.
I could ask him. On any other day, I would have. I would have walked out there and turned my back to him without a second thought. His fingers knew every inch of me. Every clasp and zipper and hidden hook.
But that was a different Asher. A different me.
This version of us doesn’t get to touch each other like that anymore.
My hand finds the door handle. I crack it open, just enough to see the main cabin. He’s sprawled in one of the leather seats, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The attendant hands him a glass of something amber. He doesn’t look up.