The Sweetheart Who Stopped Bowing

The craving began as a low hum under my skin. Within minutes, it had turned into the familiar ache that only Elijah could soothe. I leaned against the cool hallway tile and tried to breathe. I had to reach him before the attack got worse. His voice carried from the basketball team's locker room. Then Mia, the head cheerleader, laughed from inside. My body went still. “What if your perfect little fiancée finds us?” Mia asked. Elijah laughed. I had always relaxed at that sound. Now I pressed one hand over my mouth. “Don't worry about Phoebe. When she gets like this, she's a monster in heat. A good f**k and she's purring again.” My eyes burned. I stayed by the door. “I need her right now,” he went on. “As long as she loves me, she'll keep fixing the holes in my family's foundation accounts. She's my perfect little cleaner. A beautiful, brainy puppet who will do anything I say.” The ache under my skin kept building, but I barely noticed it. I had spent years fixing those accounts because I thought we were building a life together. To him, I was free labor with an engagement ring attached. I pulled out my phone and hit record. Whatever happened next, I wanted proof of what he had said. Black spots crowded my vision. My knees buckled, and I stumbled away from the locker room. The CAMPUS HEALTH CENTER sign came into focus at the end of the hall. I made it to the door just as it opened, then pitched forward. Instead, I fell into a solid chest. Someone caught me around the waist. His shirt smelled of antiseptic and clean linen. “Easy there. I’ve got you.” The voice was deep, steady, and unfamiliar. I looked up at the new campus doctor, Gavin Driscoll. He studied my face, lifted me, and carried me to an examination bed. His firm, professional grip steadied me. After Elijah's laughter, that was enough to make the clinic feel safe. “Just breathe,” he said. I fixed my eyes on the room to stop it from spinning. That was when I saw the light. Through a gap in the metal blinds behind him, a red light blinked. Once. Twice. A hidden camera. Aimed directly at me. My fingers dug into the paper sheet beneath me. Dr. Driscoll leaned close enough that his breath touched my ear. “You're safe now, Phoebe,” he whispered. “I'm going to take very good care of you.” The red light blinked again. The clinic had never been safe. I swallowed the scream in my throat. Then I let my eyes close and went limp in his arms. While he adjusted his hold, I kept my breathing even and memorized the camera's angle.