Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Her gaze shifts to the side and she gulps, which means she’s nervous and out of her depth.
Naomi is here. Even if it’s a day late.
Seeing her in front of my door all pretty and done up awakens something inside me.
The beast that’s been dormant since she left.
The beast that I thought would someday rip his way out of my chest.
That someday is today.
The longer I stand here not opening the door, the more she fidgets, watching her surroundings.
The new Naomi doesn’t get anxious or show her vulnerabilities. She doesn’t have her lips parted or allow her eyes to widen.
She’s a blank, respectable slate—like her husband.
Not this Naomi.
This is different. She’s different from the person at the charity event or even in my office.
That version was for the public, this one’s for me.
And because she came to me on her own accord, there’s no way in fuck I’m letting her slip between my fingers.
I don’t open the door right away, though. She needs to have to wait like I did for seven years.
By the end of tonight, she’ll remember why the fuck she’s mine.
She’s not Akira’s or anyone else’s.
She’s fucking mine. Always has been and always will be.
25
Naomi
This is a terrible idea.
The worst I’ve had in years.
Or ever.
And yet, I can’t make my feet cooperate and take me away from here.
I can’t listen to the voice of reason ringing at the back of my head.
I steal a glance sideways to make sure no one is watching me. Sebastian’s building is vast and sophisticated, but it’s, thankfully, not full of people. So far, I’ve only seen a lovely old lady who was more than happy to let me in when the security outside asked who I was.
The thing is, I didn’t plan to come over.
I had an all-nighter at the office yesterday, approving designs and plotting Chester Couture’s next show.
In my mind, if I stayed busy, I‘d forget all about where I really wanted to be.
I’d forget about the star quarterback from my past.
But I was only fooling myself.
All I could think about was him. Sebastian fucking Weaver.
I typed and retyped a dozen messages but deleted them and kept obsessing all night long. My brain couldn’t stop for one second and the more time passed, the more questions filled it.
Was Sebastian mad that I stood him up? What if he goes to Akira?
That’s what brought me to his doorstep today. Or, at least, that’s what I tried to convince myself when I drove here.
I push the doorbell again, my finger trembling.
Am I too late? What if he really went to Akira? If it gets ugly—and it will—I have no clue how the hell I’m going to react.
My shifty gaze flits to my surroundings as the seconds tick by. They echo in my head like time bombs, increasing in volume the longer I stare at the closed door.
I reach into my clutch bag to retrieve my phone. I should’ve called him first. But I wasn’t exactly thinking when I drove all the way here.
The door clicks open and I startle, my hand pausing halfway in my purse. I straighten, my spine jerking upright as I wait for Sebastian to appear in the doorway.
One second passes.
Ten…
Twenty…
He doesn’t show up.
I push the door with a careful hand. “Sebastian?”
No answer.
Something malevolent pulls at the base of my stomach and my lips part as I slowly walk inside.
Is it even okay for me to go in when I wasn’t invited?
As soon as I step a foot into the apartment, pitch darkness greets me. I can’t even see my hands, let alone where I’m going.
My heartbeat thunders, rattling through my whole body as I take a tentative step and then stop. My toes curl in my high heels and my nails dig into the strap of my bag.
“Sebastian?” My voice is low, haunted.
I have no idea what this is, but it’s obviously not going to end well for me. I wonder if I should turn around and leave, but then another more urgent thought hits me.
What if he’s injured and needs help?
The door clicks shut behind me and I jump with a small yelp.
Shit.
I’m so hyperaware that I can hear the sound of my breathing and can feel the cold air licking at my skin.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a state of sensory overload. It’s like my own body is unable to contain me.
“Sebastian…” I try again, my voice so breathy, I barely recognize it.
A blur of movement comes from behind me, and when I quickly spin around, I stumble forward.
I don’t have time to scream as a hand wraps around my throat and shoves me back so hard, I shriek.
The piercing sound slashes through the silent air like sharp knives. My back hits something solid with a loud thud that knocks the breath out of my lungs.