Sin
Genevieve He called my name, softly at first—“Genevieve”—like a prayer, like a regret. My name had never sounded so heavy, like it had been resting on his tongue for years, waiting for permission to be said again. “I missed you,” he said. But I was too far gone. The words I needed to say were already fighting their way up my throat. “You think I’m going to wear this necklace and act like everything you did doesn’t matter?” I snapped, my voice shaking—not from fear, but fury. “You’re a psychopath, Saint Laurent. You play these games like people are puppets, like my life is just a thread in your stupid little plan.” His smile faded, and I reached for the necklace, fingers fumbling at the clasp—but it wouldn’t come off. “What the hell—” I whispered, tugging harder. It was locked. Of cou
- Writer
