Page 63 of Covetous

“You’re right. We do,” he says, towering over me. He’s shorter than Victor by a few inches, but his stance is intimidating as all get out. “Things were good until Cape Cod.”

I swallow hard, finding my voice. “Things haven’t been good for a long time. Way before Cape Cod, and you know it.”

His smile is unsettling, not reaching his eyes. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“I knew something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Here I am, loving you, spoiling you, treating you like a queen. I let you into my world, introducing you to my family—who adores you—and yet you push me away at every turn.” He laughs bitterly.

“You think this is all my fault? That this is all on me?”

“I saw the video footage!” He throws his hands up in exasperation, his eyes wild.

Video footage? What is he even talking about? Confusion twists my features, my brows knitting together. “What video footage?”

“From our beach house. I saw you that night, leaving with a blanket. And then Victor left not even a few minutes later.”

Oh shit.

“Neither of you came back until morning. And guess what? He comes home, using the side door, holding that same goddamn blanket.” His words are like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. “You made me think I was the problem, like I was the bad guy. When it’s been you all along.”

“Ian.” I step forward, but his glare stops me, rooting me to the spot. “I?—”

“You fucked him!” He pounds his chest, his face contorting with rage, veins bulging in his neck. “Gave him what belongs to me.”

Tears stream down my face—not for what I did but for the pain I’ve caused. I knew this would hurt him, but seeing it on his face hits me square in the chest. And as bad as things had become between us, he didn’t deserve it. I should’ve been honest with him, and with myself, that we weren’t working. “I never meant to hurt you.”

His lips curl into a sneer. “You’re a liar and a fraud. You never loved me.” His voice rises, spit flying from his mouth. “You’re not even wearing your goddamn ring!”

My stomach drops to the floor at his words. I left my ring in Victor’s room—not on purpose. Before I left for home, we made love again, this time without my ring. He’d slipped it off my finger and tossed it on his nightstand as a symbolic gesture of our newfound commitment. “I did love you,” I reiterate. “But things changed.” Or maybe they didn’t, and I just finally faced the truth. “We were toxic for each other.”

Ian grips my chin, his fingers digging into my skin, the pain making me wince. “You’re a heartless whore, just like your mother.”

His words hit their target, and I swat his hand away, my pulse going apeshit as rage, hurt, and fear course through my veins. “Fuck you, Ian.”

“Fuck me? No. You’re a terrible lay. Always have been.”

“That’s not what he says.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I regret them instantly when Ian’s hand connects with my face in a swift, stinging blow. Pain explodes in my cheek, stars dancing before my eyes as I stumble back until my shoulder blades slam into the wall.

I can’t believe he hit me. That son of a bitch! Sobs rack my body, violent and uncontrollable. Ian approaches, dipping his head to meet my eyes, and I flinch, cowering away from him. His hands, the same ones that once held me with tenderness, now bring only pain and fear. He’s cursed me out before, called me out of my name plenty of times when things didn’t go his way, but he’s never put hands on me. I’d always thought I’d fight back if a man hit me. But I’m too stunned and scared and devastated to do anything except cry.

“How could you do this to me?” His voice breaks as he grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. “You broke my fucking heart!”

I feel small and helpless, like a shell of myself. But I’m also pissed, and my anger emboldens me. “Get out!”

Ian’s grip tightens, his fingernails cutting into my skin. “You think you can do better than me? That he can love you?” He presses on, his eyes blazing with anger, as each word slices into me like a razor blade. “He’ll use you, just like he did Esme. And your family—everyone you love—will see the truth about you. That you’re nothing but a crack-baby, dirty whore.” Then he does the unexpected, kissing me rough and possessive, ignoring my attempts to turn away. I’m struggling against him, trying to shove and hit him, but I’m trapped in his arms.

Panic rises in my throat, choking me, and it feels like I’m going to throw up. He can do anything to me right now, and I might not be physically strong enough to fight him off. The thought is sobering.

“Get off of me,” I scream, my voice raw and desperate. As if my skin burns him, he abruptly releases me with enough of a shove that it sends me stumbling back. “Get the fuck out,” I cry out, my chest heaving.

A vein pulses at his temple as he sneers at me like I’m shit on the bottom of his shoe. “You dirty bitch. He can have you,” he snarls, his lips curling back over clenched teeth.

A thick gob of spit launches from his mouth, splattering warm and wet across my face. Then he recoils, his shoes hammering the floor as he storms from my room, the bedroom door slamming violently behind him.

My legs give out, and I slide down the wall, crumpling into a heap on the floor. I wipe away his spit from my face. I feel like a hollowed-out husk, as if someone reached inside and scooped out my insides with a melon baller.

The front door slams with an echoing bang that reverberates through the house, leaving me alone in the deafening silence. “Victor loves me,” I speak into the empty room, my voice trembling, hoarse from crying or screaming. “And I…I love him back. And that’s all that matters.” My ragged words offer me little comfort.

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