Ophelia’s POV:
Raymond hadn’t been wrong for saying that I’d come crawling back to him. If I had stayed in that house, I probably would have.
I had hated him for it, but this was something I couldn’t consciously control. When the heat hit, it didn't just warm the blood; it became an intoxication that slowly dissolved my mind. After a certain point, my consciousness would simply check out, leaving a blank space where my memories should be. I’d almost always wake up with bruises on my body—dark, finger-shaped maps, sometimes even paddle or belt marks that told the story of what had happened with Raymond while I was too dazed to fight back.
But I’d never cared. The bruises usually always faded. I was grateful that he still helped me during my heat. Not leaving me locked up in my room, unab
