Hunter stepped in close, his accent thick, and voice syrupy sweet. “He still cares for you,mo chróí.”
“I know.” I scraped my nails at their polish, anything to avoid his eyes.
Then—like a switch flipped—he snapped. His drink hit the floor with a splash, and his hand clamped around my face, jerking me up to meet his gaze. The grip was brutal, heat and pressure biting into my cheeks.
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“What?” My brain scrambled. Hunter had never touched me like this—never.
My pulse screamed.
“Is he going to be… a problem?”
“I-I-no-I don’t know what you mean.”
His eyes burned, blood-red with anger, jealousy, something darker. His fingers dug in harder, like he could squeeze the truthout of me.
“Hunter, that hurts.” I tried to peel his fingers away, but his hand snapped back, then cracked across my face.
A sharp yelp escaped me. My cheek bloomed fire; tears stung hot behind my eyes. Everything tilted. I held my burning face like it might fall off. Confusion wedged itself into every breath.
“You’re mine now. Remember that.” His voice was thin with rage as he snatched my wrist. “Bring him to our bed tonight.” He let go and adjusted his sleeves. “I want to see where you stand.”
Then he was gone, storming out like a goddamn tantrum wrapped in a man.
Where I stand?
I stared at the empty doorway, vision blurred, pulse jagged. Pain seared along my cheekbone.
What the hell was going on?
He fucking slapped me.
That slap wasn’t playful. It didn’t land like something from bed where I had asked for more. It landed like contempt—like I’d become the thing he hated. And somehow, that one strike nailed something in me that felt eerier than the pain.
Something I had been too selfish… too naive to even consider.
What if I cursed the wrong man into loving me? What if his obsession was no longer lust and admiration? What if it had transformed into a need to control what was his?
A moment later, Graham was back, and I finally let the breath I’d been holding slip out. Hot tears blurred my lashes—one tracked down my cheek.
“Hey. Hey… What’s the matter?” He crouched in front of me like gravity had folded him there.
I wiped at my face too fast. “It’s—it’s nothing. Just my ankle. I think I really screwed it up.”
His gaze dropped to my foot, then he carefully set a towel-wrapped ice pack on it with an unnecessary gentleness. “I’ll take you in.”
“No.” I grabbed for control like it might float away. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
“Max—”
“Graham.” I held his eyes, searching for something I couldn’t name. My voice came out smaller than I meant. “Come over tonight.”
His brow tightened. “Max?—”
“I want you,” I said, the words raw and flat. “It’s the only way I can have you.”
He didn’t answer. He looked at me like someone who’d swallowed a knife—hurt and furious and too aware. He knew me well enough to know I wasn’t a cheater. He knew what I’d done, and what it cost.
