I should’ve known better than to think I could control him.
The next morning, I woke with the weight of his voice still coiled around my throat like a noose. His threats played on repeat in my skull — every word meant to cut, meant to bruise deeper than any blow. And the sickest part?
It worked.
I could still feel him.
Everywhere.
Under my skin.
So I made a decision.
If Asher Beaumont wanted a war, I’d give him one.
But on my terms this time.
I called security before dawn, demanded a private session. No cameras, no guards inside — just me and him, locked in the therapy room together.
They pushed back, of course. Said it was dangerous. Said I was compromised.
And maybe I was.
Maybe that’s why I smiled when I told them to approve it anyway.
Because if I was going to exorcise thi
