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I storm to the bedroom, rip off my shirt and trousers. My cock springs free, heavy and leaking, begging for release. I yank the massive dildo from the wardrobe, the one I brutalize my hole with whenever my brain keeps obsessing over him. Tonight? He’ll watch me wreck myself on it. Consent be damned.

I lean against the headboard, legs spread wide, and check my phone. No reply to that last text, but seen. I scoff; he’s chickening out now? No fucking way.

No, I’m not letting him do that.

I tap his name and FaceTime him, but he doesn’t pick up.

I call again

And again.

Each time he doesn’t pick up, something in me winds tighter, like a spring about to snap. It’s ridiculous how quickly it escalates, how irritation turns into heat, into something restless that crawls under my skin.

Every ignored ring winds me up and makes me hornier. Fuck, I don’t know why, but I’m completely feral. My hole keeps twitching, and I know only he can drag me out of this hell.

Pick the fucking call, Tristan, or I swear I’ll mail your stupid ex-husband’s head to your doorstep.

He reads it but doesn’t reply. Anger explodes through me like lightning. This motherfucker.

Look here, dipshit, right now I have nothing to lose and don’t mind jail for the rest of my miserable life.

I’m calling now, and you’re gonna show me your stupid face, or I swear on everything, you’ll find that fucker’s head in your office.

Don’t you dare underestimate me.

I’m breathing so hard that I’m shocked I haven’t had a heart attack yet.

Then I hit FaceTime one more time.

Chapter 12

TRISTAN

Maksim has threatened to kill Jake so often that the words barely register any more. It started long before I married Jake and even after—back when everything between Jake and me still had the illusion of permanence.

I never took Maksim seriously. Not because I thought he couldn’t do it, but because I knew he wouldn’t. Jake was my world back then; touching him meant war with me, and Maksim never crossed that line.

Even after the divorce, the threats never stopped. They just… changed shape and became more frequent.

But still empty because he believed I still cared about Jake.

I don’t.

I haven’t for a long time.

Whatever I felt for Jake died slowly, then all at once. Burned out by disappointment, exhaustion, and the simple realization that I was done.

As far as I’m concerned, Maksim can feed the bastard to the pigs for all I care.

And yet—

My eyes stay on the message glowing on my screen, unreadable in its simplicity and far too loud in its intent.

A slow breath leaves me.

Fuck.

I don’t care about Jake.