The shed smelled of rot and rain. Every breath burned my lungs, sharp with mold and fear. Daniel’s presence filled the cramped space, a storm in human form, his shadow blotting out the little light that leaked through the broken roof.
He crouched in front of me, so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my damp skin. His eyes—God, those eyes—were steady, unblinking, as if he could bend me to his will with a look alone.
“Stop fighting me, Emma,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Running, lying, pretending you belong to anyone but me.”
My back pressed harder against the warped boards, splinters digging into my shoulders. “You don’t own me.”
His smile was small, sharp. “Don’t I?”
I flinched as he lifted his hand, brushing muddy strands of hai
