Page 136 of The Secrets That Kill

“But,” he adds, “I’m not particularly inclined to share certain parts of my property.”

“I’m not your property.”

“Right now you are, Ivy. It’s the game.”

I hate it when he puts it that way. It weakens what rages in the air between us, what flares up in my heart every time we touch. “I let you strip me down to nothing in front of strangers, I let you turn me into a creature that craved your attention, every speck of pain and crumb of pleasure. You made me cry. And tonight. I wasn’t me, I was just a plaything.”

“I’d argue that you were your true self, doing exactly what you wanted to do. What you wanted me to do. I gave you that safe word for a reason. We were playing on the edge where you needed that control. Everything was in your hands. If you used it, I’d have stopped, no fucking questions asked.”

“This is…”

“Still new for you. And I’m a fucking terrible teacher.”

“You hate me.”

He turns me to face him, water sloshing over the side. “I did. Once. But, Ivy?—”

“No. Stop. That’s enough.”

And it is, because whatever else he might say I think will hurt more than him hating me.

Because I fear it’s that he’ll never love me. Never want me more than in the capacity of kinky sex play. As long as he doesn’t say it, I can ride the wave of him and me and all of this until I have to walk away…

Or until he does.

It’s a goddamn slap in the face.

After the other night, with Mercer being so sweet—for Mercer—I wake to a cold bed. Mercer stands next to my bed in a suit.

“The invite,” he says, handing me the envelope the hostess gave him. “I was offered both membership and the coveted ball invite, with a handwritten note to bring my lovely slave. I have to prepare.”

I frown up at him. “What?—?”

“Do not leave the house. I’ll send your meals over while I’m gone and will be back with a dress in time for the party.”

His voice is cold, unfeeling.

Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Make that a double slap.

For the rest of that day and the following, I’m lost, hurting. And it’s not just from the bruises. It’s like he just shut down on me. His housekeeper shows up to check in, and she’s a delight, but that was yesterday.

I’m alone again today.

Without him.

With a deep sigh, I wander into his media room and play around with the television until I come across the news.

Mr. Trenton’s face flashes on the screen. Snatching up the remote, I’m about to change the channel when I realize what’s happening.

He’s dead.

The reporter speaking claims it could be death by suicide or just natural causes, they don’t know for sure. He’d been fired from Thornton Enterprises, and his personal life was in freefall. I switch off the television and sit back against the sofa.

I should be happy that the manipulative bastard got what he deserved, but I only feel relief flood me.

He’ll never touch me or another girl again.

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