~CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN~
I can’t take whatever he brings me.
So I lie back down and close my eyes, slowing my breathing, letting my body go slack—playing asleep like my life depends on it.
Because with him, it just might.
A few minutes pass.
Then the door opens.
Soft footsteps.
A gentle tap on my shoulder.
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe too fast.
Then his voice—low, deep, unyielding—cuts straight through the act.
“Amelia. I know you’re not sleeping,” he says calmly.
“Now sit the f**k up.”
My eyes flutter open slowly, like I’ve been caught mid-crime.
I turn toward him, deliberately avoiding his gaze, and push myself upright. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup in his hand, steam curling lazily into the air.
He holds it out.
I hesitate.
“Drink.”
The word lands heavy.
My
