His Comfort, His Claim
380 Words
I thought I could walk away.
I thought I could gather my things, nod politely, and leave without letting his presence shake me. But nothing about him was polite. Nothing about him was easy to ignore.
I was shoving the last of my belongings into a bag when he spoke again.
“You shouldn’t waste your tears on him.”
The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, steady, almost commanding—made my chest tightened. My ex had always spoken with arrogance, as if love was something I owed him. But his father… his father, spoke with certainty. Like his words were fact, and I had no choice but to believe them.
“I’m not crying,” I muttered, though my voice cracked.
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, until I felt the weight of his presence behind me. I froze when his hand brushed lightly against my chin, tilting my face upward. His touch was firm, not gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either.
“You deserve more than a boy who hides behind lies,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. “You deserve a man who knows what he wants.”
My breath caught. My body betrayed me, leaning into that touch, craving it even as my mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.
He wasn’t supposed to look at me like that.
I wasn’t supposed to want him to.
“You’re his father,” I whispered, the words trembling, half reminder, half warning.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Exactly.”
The meaning hit me like a storm. He wasn’t trying to soothe me. He was marking territory. His son had thrown me away like something disposable. But to him, I wasn’t disposable at all. I was something to claim, to keep, to ruin just by possessing.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice a weak whisper.
“Because,” he leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, “he doesn’t deserve his prize. I do.”
My heart pounded, heat flooding through me in a way I couldn’t deny. For the first time since the betrayal, I didn’t feel broken. I felt wanted. Desired. Consumed.
And as much as I hated it, I wanted more.
- Writer
