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“Glad to see you can put two and two together,” I tease, before raising my voice. “Rush, I know you’re watching right now. Let’s go.”

Marnix scoffs, but doesn’t argue back as Rush makes his way toward us. I knew he was listening. He’s still wearing that all-black ensemble, looking like he’s ready for battle. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was getting ready to go hunt Zayan down once we all go to bed.

I give Marnix a taunting wave before walking out the door, leaving him standing there, scowling. He wanted us to keep our distance from each other in the first place, so I don’t know why it bothers him if I leave and get out of his hair.

Just as Zep pulls up, a smile crosses my lips, knowing I’m about to pretend it’s Zayan’s face I’m fucking up each time my knuckles hit the punching bag.

* * *

It’s beena week of avoiding Marnix and Cohutta. Every time I’ve heard them coming toward the kitchen or living room, I’ve darted out of there like my ass was on fire. It usually ends up with me hunting down Rush and keeping him company in the security room. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit there in comfortable silence, doing our own thing.

Either way, there’s a comfort I feel around him, like he doesn’t have any expectations of me. Like I can just be free with whatever I say or do, without the worry of judgment coming from him.

Surprisingly, it hasn’t been weird since I tried to kiss him that day Zayan showed up at Star of India. I’m glad it hasn’t, because otherwise I’d have no one. I’d be all alone in this mansion.

I haven’t spoken to Marnix since the morning after I left to go train with Zep.

“What did that bacon ever do to you?” I ask, watching Marnix angrily stare down at his breakfast. He jumps at my voice, like he was deep in thought before I walked up.

“Huh?”

“You’re looking at your bacon like it’s betrayed you, and you want to murder it.” I move around him to grab a glass of milk.

“I was just thinking about two other betrayals I’ve experienced this past week.”

“Right,” I scoff. “You’re just mad because you didn’t think to include in the contract exactly who I could and couldn’t fuck. You’re pissed at us, but I can see it in your eyes—you’re beating yourself up over it.” Low blow, but he deserves it.

His grip tightens on the fork he’s holding, and his stare hardens. “I’m pissed because you’re trying to do everything you can to fuck with me. You hate me so fucking much that you’d screw my best friend out of spite. Well, guess what? I won’t let you take him down in your petty little games.”

He thinks I’m playing games. That I slept with Cohutta just to fuck with him. Well yeah, that’s something I’d probably do, but I actually feel something for Cohutta.

“I might dislike you, but being with Cohutta had nothing to do with you. Your ego is just too damn big to see that. I might’ve been pissed at you that night of the party, but fuck, Marnix. You’re not the center of everything like your daddy probably led you to believe as a kid.”

I don’t even want to hear what he has to say anymore. I have worse things to worry about than Marnix being jealous. Until he can grow the fuck up, I’m staying as far away from him as I can.

“I have to get ready for work,” I murmur, before turning to head back upstairs with my milk. Coming down here was a mistake.

“It’s only seven a.m. The restaurant doesn’t open until eleven.”

I stop in my tracks, but don’t look back at him. “I’d rather look at the books until my eyes cross than be near your pissy attitude.” Climbing the stairs toward my room, I ignore the frustrated growl that escapes him.

As much asI’m avoiding him, I think he’s been doing the same to me. Pretty sure he’s still trying to process seeing Cohutta and I together. Hell, I’m still trying to process everything that’s happened.

Between Zayan reappearing, Marnix giving me whiplash, and my confusing feelings for both Cohutta and Rush, my head isn’t in the right place. I’m not okay, but I’m going to do what I do best. Put on a fake smile and cover my pain with sarcasm and sex, to avoid letting anyone see the hell I’m living in.

Being with Zayan was like being trapped in a vortex that you could never escape from. He did things to my mind, to my body, and to my soul that I’ll never forget. When he left, I was relieved but also felt like I wasn’t me anymore. I’ve been trying to reclaim my body, my choices, and my own free will since then, but I’ve always felt empty. That is, until I found myself in a fake marriage that brought me three men who confuse the fuck out of me.

Earlier today, Marnix finally broke the icy barrier that’s been lingering between us, asking me to have dinner with him at home tonight. Not going to lie, it's suspicious as hell that he even asked. I was at Star of India when he called, and I was tempted to ignore it, but I figured it must be important. We barely speak to each other, so it wasn’t like he’d be calling for a friendly chat.

Now I’m wishing I did ignore him, so I wouldn’t have to sit through what I’m sure will be an agonizing dinner. On the other hand, I’m curious what angle he’s trying to play here. I feel like he wouldn’t ask me to join him if he didn’t have something he wanted to say. He doesn’t usually waste his time on something as trivial as having dinner with the wife he doesn’t even want.

Who knows what kind of mood my asshole husband will be in. Maybe he’s going to rip me to shreds over a candlelit dinner. It would make sense—try to make me let my guard down, so he can attack when I least expect it.

Forcing myself to get up, I head to my bathroom to freshen up. Hopefully Marnix isn’t expecting me to look classy tonight. If he wanted that, he should’ve specified. I’m just wearing my usual attire of jean shorts and a red tank top.

Looking in the mirror, I can see the exhaustion shadowed on my face from this past week. The dark circles under my eyes make it obvious I haven’t been sleeping well. This past week of anxiously wondering when Zayan was going to strike next has really taken its toll on me.

Deciding this is as good as it’s going to get, I take in a deep breath before turning and heading downstairs. It’s quiet down here, and the atmosphere feels eerie. Maybe it’s just me being on edge, but I feel a sense of dread.

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