"I can't."
My voice comes out as a whisper and dread knots in my chest.
I cannot keep doing this.
"You can and you will."
"People will ask questions. Irina already suspects?—"
"Let her suspect."
He takes the necklace from the box and scoots closer to me.
"Turn around."
All I can do is follow orders, despite wanting to tell this man to turn his fucking car around and take me home.
And this time it's not fear of his gun that has me molding to his will, it's an inability to upset him or hurt his feelings.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I care whether he is disappointed by my reaction and I should be clawing his eyes out for my freedom.
His fingers brush my neck as he fastens the clasp.
The diamonds feel cool against my skin.
When he's finished, his hands rest on my shoulders for a moment.
I feel him press a kiss to the back of my head.
"There," he says.
I touch the necklace with trembling fingers.
"Why?"
"Because you're mine."
Those words he's said to me a number of times now, but they're starting to lose the novelty.
His possessiveness pushed a button I had the first few times he said it.
Now I'm beginning to feel like I'll lose my individuality and freedom because of them.
"I shouldn't be here," I whisper.
"But you are."
"I should go home. To my family. To my real life."
I say the words and I fully mean them because they're true.
But somehow, there's a deep gnawing sadness in my chest when I do.
I hate that I clean up after him and help him bury his crime, but my life changed when I met Xander.
I feel alive and seen.