Page 6 of You're Mine Now

He smirked, pushing off the doorframe and closing the distance between us. “You should say thank you when someone gives you a compliment.”

“Thank you,” I spat, the words dripping with venom.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped closer, the heat radiating from his body, making me weak even as my veins pulsed with fury.

“You act like you hate me,” he teased, circling, his eyes roaming over my body like I was on display. “But I know you fantasize about me. I bet you touch yourself when you read those letters.”

I froze, my hands halting mid-sculpt. My breath quickened, but I forced myself to stay composed.

How could he possibly know that?

I willed my expression to remain neutral, ignoring the furious thrum of my heartbeat. My lips parted as if to respond, but no words came.

I ignored him, letting my irritation bleed into every movement as I resumed working the clay despite his prying eyes. If he’d noticed the hesitation, he didn’t let on. Instead, he only tsked, shaking his head like I was the one who was out of line.

“One day, Scarlett,” he murmured, his voice lowering as he leaned in close. “One day, you’ll be mine. And when that day comes, you’ll be begging me…”

Even now, the memory left a bitter taste in my mouth.

What a creep.

I couldn’t believe that he’d touched me today—brushed his fingers along my collarbone, lower even, grazing the swell of my breasts like it was nothing. Like he owned me.

My cheeks flushed at the thought. But he wouldn’t try anything more. He knew how I felt about him—how much I despised him. He wouldn’t push me.

Right?

I glanced at the clock, torn. It was getting close. I thought about calling my best friend, Emma. She knew all about Adrian. We went way back, long before high school. She’d been there through it all—the letters, how I’d memorized his schedule just to avoid running into him.

But she didn’t know my secret. That I’d kept every single letter.

Only one person knew that.

My gran.

I smiled as I glanced at the large framed poster hanging on my bedroom wall. In her glory days, Ginger had been a pin-up girl, her image plastered on billboards, welcoming soldiers home from the war. Wild, unhinged, and unapologetically herself.Gran was a woman who said whatever came to mind without a second thought.

In the poster, she was breathtaking. Her hourglass figure, the deep V of her cleavage. Dark red hair styled into perfect victory curls.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I sat at my dressing table. I was lucky to have inherited her looks, though in a different color palette. My hair was a softer, light coppery auburn, and where she had warm brown doe eyes, mine were a piercing Caribbean blue—bright and striking, framed by dark lashes and strong eyebrows.

Her eyes, though. Those wide, sweet eyes, feigning innocence with every coy flutter of her lashes. It always made me laugh. It was an act she perfected when it suited her.

Gran had been my confidant, the only adult I trusted with anything, even the darker parts of my life—like Adrian’s letters.

I’d shown her one once, nervous and unsure of what she’d think. Her eyes widened as she read, but the smirk on her lips told me everything. She wasn’t disgusted. If anything, she looked… impressed.

“This kid’s in high school?” She asked, her tone laced with humor. “What a wonderful imagination he has.”

I’d laughed coldly. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“The important thing is… what does he look like?”

I shook my head, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.

“He’s kinda…well, he’s smoking hot, okay?”

“So what’s the problem then?!” she hollered, lounging in her floral armchair, a martini in hand. “Don’t be such a prude. It sounds like he’d give you a wild ride.”

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