The ride home passed in heavy silence. The familiar streets and my house felt altered, heavy and foreign, until I bolted to my room and slammed the lock.
My purse thudded onto the bed as I sank to the edge, clutching the mattress, my breath uneven, my eyes scanning the room.
How dare he act like this, like he owns everything, like I’m nothing but an object to be claimed? I thought bitterly, trying to steady myself.
Who does he think he is, imagining he can command me with that smirk, those eyes, that presence just because that makes my chest tighten?
I pressed my thighs together, nails digging into my skin through the blue jeans, tension flaring through me. I hate him. I hate him more than anything.
And yet, I couldn’t ignore the weight of the years in his face, the way the lines arou
