Chapter Twelve — Drowning in Desires
881 Words
Naomi couldn’t breathe.
Her vision blurred.
Her chest tightened, squeezing so hard it felt like her ribs would crack.
Not here. Not now.
Not in front of him.
She wouldn’t break.
But the walls were closing in.
Her mother’s face.
The screams.
The blood.
Her father’s voice, slurred with whiskey, talking about selling her like she was nothing.
The moment she realized that she wasn’t escaping this life—only choosing the lesser evil.
And today, when for one stupid, pathetic second, she thought he had come for her—
Only for him to try to sell her again.
It was too much.
Naomi staggered back, her breath coming too fast.
Rhys caught her wrist. "Naomi—"
"Let go of me," she gasped.
His grip tightened. "What’s wrong?"
She tore her hand away, stumbling toward the window, fingers digging into the cold glass.
She needed air.
The room was spinning.
She tried to pull in a breath, but it caught in her throat.
Her nails scraped against the window frame. Breathe, Naomi. Breathe.
"Naomi."
Rhys’s voice was different this time.
She heard him move behind her.
A chair scraped against the floor.
A glass clinked.
She shut her eyes.
Think of something else. Anything else.
The smell of blood.
The bruises on her mother’s arms.
The way her father’s voice turned cold when he talked about selling her.
The way Rhys had looked at her tonight—like she was already his.
Her stomach twisted.
Her head spun.
And then—
Darkness.
---
When Naomi’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing she saw was warm light.
A fire.
The second thing she felt—
Strong hands.
Big. Calloused. Holding her wrist, pressing against her pulse.
"She’s awake."
A new voice. Not Rhys.
"Of course she’s awake," Rhys snapped. "She’s not weak."
Naomi blinked, her body sluggish.
A man crouched beside her—mid-thirties, sharp features, smirking like this was all some joke.
He let go of her wrist. "Panic attack. That’s all."
Rhys scoffed. "She’s fine."
The man arched a brow. "Then why did you bring her to me?"
Silence.
Rhys’s jaw clenched.
The man looked back at Naomi. "Drink this."
She pushed the glass away.
"She said no," Rhys growled.
The man chuckled. "She’s dehydrated, you i***t. She needs sugar."
Naomi’s fingers twitched.
She wasn’t weak.
But she took the glass.
It was warm. Sweet. It burned down her throat.
The man watched her carefully. "You ever had one before?"
She didn’t answer.
"Figured." He leaned back on his heels. "I’m Leo, by the way. But you probably don’t care."
Naomi glanced at Rhys. "Why is he here?"
Rhys scowled. "Because apparently, I needed someone to tell me you weren’t dying."
Leo snorted. "And because I have a medical degree."
Rhys shot him a glare.
Naomi pressed the glass against her forehead.
She hated this.
Hated that her body had betrayed her.
Hated that she had collapsed in front of him.
"You should rest," Leo said. "First time’s the worst."
Naomi’s fingers tightened around the glass. "I don’t need to rest."
Leo smirked. "Yeah. You definitely belong to him."
She shot him a sharp look. "I don’t belong to anyone."
Silence.
Rhys’s jaw ticked.
"Leo," he said darkly. "Leave."
Leo raised his hands in surrender, but the smirk never left his face. "Try not to break her."
Then he was gone.
Rhys turned to her.
Naomi forced herself to sit up. "I’m fine."
"You’re not."
"I said I’m fine."
He stared at her, eyes too sharp, too intense.
She hated that she still felt his touch on her skin.
Hated that when he touched her, her body reacted like he was the only thing keeping her from shattering.
"Is this about your father?" His voice was low.
Her stomach clenched.
She didn’t answer.
"You knew what he was," Rhys said. "Why are you acting like this is a surprise?"
Naomi’s chest burned.
She did know what her father was.
But it was one thing to know.
It was another to watch him try to sell her to someone worse.
She had done this to herself.
She had chosen this.
Rhys stepped closer.
She refused to move.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
"You are mine," he said, like it was a fact.
Her breath caught.
"You made that choice," Rhys murmured, tracing a single finger down her arm. "And I don’t share."
She swallowed hard.
His touch sent a violent shiver through her.
She hated it.
She hated that she didn’t hate it.
"I’m not a toy, Rhys," she whispered.
His eyes darkened.
"No," he murmured. "You’re not."
His hand slid into her hair, gripping just enough to tilt her chin up.
"You’re the first thing I’ve wanted in years," he murmured.
She swallowed. "I don’t want to be wanted."
A dark smirk tugged at his lips.
"Liar."
Her body betrayed her when he leaned in.
Her breath caught.
His lips hovered over hers.
Heat.
Possessiveness.
A promise of everything dangerous and unholy.
"I’ll give you what you need," Rhys whispered. "But don’t expect me to be gentle."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She should pull away.
She should stop this.
But she didn’t.
She let him kiss her.
And for now—
She let herself drown.
- Writer
