Page 85 of House Rules
But what’s the point?
They don’t listen. They don’t understand what it’s like to be used like that. To be raised by people who turn love into a fucking weapon and punish you for trying to hold on to it.
They don’t know what it’s like to hate yourself for still wanting connection. For still hoping someone will choose you for something more than what you can offer. More than what you can endure.
But I do. I know.
That’s why she makes sense to me. Why I see her so clearly, even when she hides.
She obeys sometimes, sure. She plays their games. She gives Con the chase he craves, follows Atticus’s orders when it suits her, matches Maverick beat for beat. But it’s all strategy. Survival.
She doesn’t kneel because she trusts us. She kneels because it keeps her alive.
She’ll never beg to be fucked.
And if she did?
She’d stop being who we need.
She’s the only one who forces us to evolve. The only one who doesn’t bend or break. She’ll make us workfor every inch of her. And it won’t be because she’s playing hard to get—it’ll be because she’s protecting the only part of herself that hasn’t already been stolen.
Trust.
God, it’ll take so much to earn it. Blood and time and patience most of us don’t have. And if the others give up?
Fine.
I’ll keep her for myself.
She listens to me. Not like the others. She doesn’t flinch or recoil. She doesn’t ask questions and tune out the answers. She listens like she means it. Like she gives a shit about what I say—even when I don’t know how to say it right.
If she were anyone else, I’d already have her up against a wall, hands fisted in her hair, mouth devouring her until she forgot her own name.
I’d take her to the edge of pleasure and pain until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
But not Phoenix.
With her… I want more. I want her trust. I want her surrender not because she’s scared of what I’ll do, but because she knows I won’t push her further than she can take.
I want her to feel safe with me—so when she finally gives in, it means something.
I trail her through the lobby, watching her push through the glass doors into the late afternoon heat.
The sun lights her up like fire. That ridiculous little dress clings to her hips and sways when she walks, making me want to bite the curve of her ass just to see if she’d yelp.
I hang back.
Not just because I don’t want to spook her—but because watching her like this, storming off with fire in her veins and hurt on her tongue, does something to me.
And then I see the car. My step stutters.
She has another tail.
I slow, fall back.
I don’t think they’re local. Something about the blacked-out windows, the slow crawl, and the too-smooth stop a few feet behind her tells me otherwise. They stick out.
Despite that, Phoenix doesn’t notice. She’s too wrapped up in her own head, fist clenched, spine locked like she’s daring the universe to fuck with her again.
