Page 64 of Ex- Factor
“Yeah. Okay.”
He narrowed his eyes, jaw ticking. “You were supposed to beg, Eshe. Cry a little. Tell me you can’t sleep without this dick.”He shook his head like I disappointed him. “See. That’s what I get for being noble.”
I laughed, still breathless. It was good to see him returning to normal after the whole thing with his parent’s death. “Boy, shut—”
Before I could finish, he flipped me onto my stomach. Rough. Possessive.
“You know what?” he growled. “I lied.”
He shoved into me, his dick thick, the stretch enough to steal every word from my throat. I arched, mouth falling open on a breathy moan.
“Fuck—Silas…”
He leaned down, voice right in my ear. “Say it again. Say my name just like that.”
Chapter Thirty Seven- Silas
Dr. Bailey was waiting. His silence gave me the urge to fill it—with jokes, with deflection, with anything but the truth. But I’d promised Eshe I would talk to him—be real, be truthful about how I felt. I couldn’t let her down.
“My parents died.”
The words should’ve had a ripple effect, but they just sank.
“I’m very sorry, Silas,” Dr. Bailey said. His voice was calm, steady—not dipped in that syrupy sweetness everyone else had been feeding me. I appreciated that.
I nodded, eyes fixed on the bookshelf behind his head, on the neat rows of spines. “Yeah.”
Pressure built in my chest, a scream lodged behind my sternum. I picked at the frayed edge of the bandage on my knuckles.
“I should be… sad,” I forced out. “Just… gutted. Right? That’s how other people are when they lose a parent. I lost both, and I feel nothing.”
“Is that what you’re feeling?”
“Yes,” I admitted, tapping my chest. “Inside me, it’s this… empty hole.”
“What created that hole?”
I finally met his eyes. “Guilt.”
The word tasted like ash.
“It’s just… guilt. A three-ring circus of fucking guilt.”
He didn’t pounce on the metaphor. He let it hang between us, ugly and true.
“What does the guilt tell you?” he asked.
“That I wanted this,” I said quickly, the words scraping out of me. “That I wished them gone. And now they are, and I can’t stop thinking maybe I caused it. Like my hate summoned it. And the fucked-up part? I don’t even feel bad about that.”
My voice cracked, but I pushed on.
“And then there’s the company. Already I’m getting calls—lawyers, board members, strangers who somehow got my number. They’re talking about ‘succession,’ about me stepping in, about legacy. And all I can think is, I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that belonged to them. But then I feel guilty for that too.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to cry but forced it down.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the carpet until it blurred.
“I hated them. Both of them. But I still feel like I’m failing them—and part of me is glad about that. What the fuck is that, Doc?”
