“Why do you dislike him so much?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You really have to ask?” His tone is incredulous, like I’ve just asked if the sky’s blue.
“Yes, I do. He’s always been polite to me. Friendly even.”
“He asked you out.”
I blink. “What?”
“He asked you out. You said yes. He stares at you every time you walk into a room. He finds excuses to talk to you.” Henry’s jaw tenses. “I don’t share, Matilda. I’m selfish with what’s mine.”
That one word —mine— sends a spark straight down my spine.
“Mine?” I echo softly, daring him to repeat it.
He doesn’t. Instead, he waves Thomas in, dismissing me with a look that’s equal parts lust and frustration.
I walk back to my desk, hot, flustered, and trying not to smile like a lunatic. My phone pings with a new email.
From:[email protected]
Subject:Mine.
Yes, Matilda. You are mine.
And for the next seventy-two hours, I’m going to show you exactly how much you belong to me.
I stare at the screen, my heart doing somersaults.
Well… fuck.
Thirty Nine
Henry
“Are you going to finally tell me where we’re going?”
Matilda’s voice breaks through the hum of the engine as she stares out the window. We’ve been driving for two hours, and so far I’ve managed to keep the location a surprise — though her pleading eyes are starting to wear me down.
“We’re nearly there. Promise,” I say.
She lets out an exasperated huff. “You said that an hour ago.”
I chuckle. She’s like an impatient child on Christmas Eve, and I kind of love it. I make a mental note to surprise her more often.
She keeps her gaze fixed on the trees whipping past outside, as though she might guess where we’re headed if she just stares hard enough. But she won’t. No one could.
I was five years old the first time my family came here — a tiny log cabin buried deep in the forest. I fell in love with it instantly. Not because of the scenery, but because it wasquiet.No city noise, no phones, no work — just us. For the first time in my life, I’d understood what silence felt like. Pure, easy silence.
When I bought the place from the old owners years later, I told myself I’d use it as a retreat, but I never did. Too many ghosts tied to these walls. But now, with Matilda, it feels right to come back. She needs space to breathe before her big presentation next week. And, selfishly, I want time — time with her, just us.
When I pull into the clearing, she’s out of the car before I’ve even switched off the engine.
“Henry—this place isincredible!” She beams, rounding the bonnet to stand beside me.
Her excitement is infectious. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close.
