Page 78 of His to Possess
I forced myself to stand, legs still shaky as I finally managed to unlock the door. The studio felt smaller than ever, suffocating me with its stark reminder of how far I had fallen. I stumbled to the tiny bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The mirror showed a woman I barely recognized - eyes red and puffy, a vivid bruise blooming on my cheek.
Three weeks. It had only been three weeks since I came back to Paris, back into Alain's web. The thought of enduring this for six months made me physically ill. I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself.
I had been so careful, so meticulous in my search for evidence. But all I had found were breadcrumbs - a discrepancy here, a questionable transaction there. Nothing concrete enough to take to the authorities. Nothing that would free me from Alain's grasp.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: I couldn't go back to the Galerie. Not tomorrow, not ever. If I did, it was only a matter of time before Alain followed through on his unspoken threat. The way he looked at me in his office, the possessive gleam in his eyes… I shuddered, remembering how close he came to…
No. I couldn't think about that. I wouldn't let him reduce me to a victim again.
But what choice did I have? If I ran, he would release those fabricated documents, destroying what was left of my reputation. If I stayed, I was putting myself in danger every single day. The walls of my tiny studio seemed to close in around me as panic clawed at my chest.
Six months. Could I really survive six months of this? The constant fear, the degradation, the threat of violence hanging over my head at every moment? I thought of the bruises hidden beneath my clothes, the ones that had barely faded before new ones took their place.
My heart leaped into my throat as someone pounded on my studio door. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet space, and I couldn't stop the small yelp that escaped me. Alain's face flashed through my mind - his eyes dark with rage, his hand raised to strike. Fear gripped me, icy and paralyzing.
No. I wouldn't be a victim again.
My hands shook as I grabbed a knife from the sink. It wasn't much, but it was something. I scanned the room frantically for my phone, cursing myself for not keeping it closer. Where did I put it? On the bed? The desk?
Another knock, harder this time. I flinched, nearly dropping the knife.
"Go away!" I tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
Tears blurred my vision as I continued my frantic search. I knew this flimsy door wouldn't hold if Alain decided to kick it in. The image of him bursting through, eyes wild with fury, made my stomach churn.
I gripped the knife tighter, backing away from the entrance. Even through my terror, a spark of defiance flared in my chest. I might be shaking, I might be crying, but I refused to go down without a fight. If Alain thought he could just barge in here and -
"Laurel?" A muffled voice called through the door. It wasn't Alain.
I froze, knife still raised. The voice was familiar, but in my panicked state, I couldn't place it. Who else would be here? Had Alain sent someone to do his dirty work?
"Laurel, are you in there? It's me. Open the door."
The voice… it couldn't be. My mind must be playing tricks on me.
"Laurel, please. Open the door."
It was him. It was really him. Rex.
My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob, still gripping the knife tightly. I cracked the door open just enough to peek out, not daring to believe my own eyes.
But there he was, filling the narrow hallway with his imposing presence. Rex Compton, in the flesh. Dressed all in black with a long coat, he almost appeared like the angel of death.
For a moment, everything else faded away. The fear, the pain, the exhaustion - it all melted into a desperate urge to throw myself into his arms. To feel safe, if only for a second.
Reality crashed back in, cold and harsh. He had left me. He had disappeared without a word, leaving me alone and vulnerable.
I tried to steady my voice, aiming for casual indifference. "Rex? What are you doing here?"
But the words came out shaky and weak. My tear-stained face and reddened cheek told a different story, one I couldn't hide.
Rex didn't even acknowledge my pathetic attempt at normalcy. His eyes darkened as they scanned my face, lingering on the bruise that was forming on my cheek. Without warning, he pushed past me, entering my tiny studio.
"Hey!" I protested weakly, stumbling back. "You can't just…"
"What happened?" Rex demanded. He turned to face me, his gaze zeroing in on the knife still clutched in my trembling hand. "Who did this to you?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The adrenaline that had been keeping me going suddenly evaporated, leaving me dizzy and weak.
