I should’ve felt relief.
That was the lie I told myself after I gave in—after I let the words leave my mouth, raw and trembling, and handed him my body like it was just another form of currency. Like survival was worth the price of my soul.
But instead, I felt like I was falling.
And there was no bottom.
“Asher…” I whispered, unsure what I was asking for. Mercy? Space? A single second to breathe without his shadow swallowing me whole?
But he didn’t move away.
No. He stepped closer, until his chest was against mine and I could feel the steady pound of his heart—calm, controlled, inhuman.
“You gave yourself to me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “So don’t act like you’re still free.”
I flinched.
His hand didn’t leave me. It drifted down, slow, like he was learning
