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“Shut up,” Rager growls, his free hand holding me against the wall as he violently forces a kiss onto me. The taste of his lips is bitter, like poison, and I struggle to breathe as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth. I gag and claw my nails into his forearm, drawing blood.
“Feisty, aren’t you?” he grunts, his grip on me slackening just enough for me to wrench myself free.
With a burst of adrenaline, I shove him away, sprinting toward Control’s office. My lungs burn as I skid through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it with a shaking hand, my breathing ragged and my body trembling from the shock of Rager’s attack. The bitter taste of his kiss lingers in my mouth, making me want to gag.
How has it come to this? How could my own father have agreed to let that monster claim me?
As I lean against the door, the weight of what has happened crashes down on me, leaving me feeling more vulnerable and betrayed than ever before.
Pressing my ear to the door, I listen to Rager moving around.
It seems like an eternity, but it’s probably only about ten minutes before I hear him leave the main room.
I’m about to leave when I catch a glimpse of something familiar peeking out from under a stack of papers on Control’s desk.
It’s the image of Leon I sketched after our first night together.
What the fuck?
How did Control get hold of this?
Oh, hell. He must have had someone go through my apartment, I realize.
I’m still staring down at the sketch when I hear the door to the office open behind me. Spinning, I realize it’s not Rager, and for a moment, I heave a sigh of relief. But it lasts only a bare second since I immediately realize it’s Control—the only person I might want to see even less than I want to see Rager.
I can’t let him know what I’ve told Leon.
“Rebellion,” Control’s voice echoes through the dimly lit office, deep and gravelly. His stare drills into me, but I refuse to look up from the sketch of Leon. “Nice drawing.” He takes a step closer, the heavy thud of his boots on the wooden floor making me flinch. I feel like a cornered animal, trapped with no escape. “How did you find this?”
“Maybe you should be asking yourself why you were snooping around in my private things,” I shoot back, anger momentarily overriding my fear.
“Your apartment isn’t exactly Fort Knox, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk. His eyes glint with amusement, but there is an undercurrent of darkness that makes me uneasy. “And maybe you should be more careful with your . . . artwork.” His sentence ends with a sneer, making it clear what he thinks of my work.
“Stay out of my life,” I warn, my voice wavering ever so slightly. I can’t let him see how much his invasion of my privacy affects me. But deep down, I know that Control discovering my connection to Leon changes everything.
“You don’t have any right to question me,” Control says firmly, his voice like steel. “It’s obvious that Leon is Zeus’s son, and Zeus and I go way back.”
And not in a good way, I presume.
The air in the room seems to thicken at the mention of Zeus, making it difficult for me to breathe. My heart races as I try to keep up appearances, knowing that if Control senses my fear, he will exploit it.
“Zeus?” My voice stays convincingly steady despite the terror clawing at my insides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the crap, Rebellion.” My father leans in, his face inches from mine, eyes narrowing as he studies me. I feel the heat radiating off his body and fight the urge to step back. “We both know who your new friend really is. And we both know what that makes you.”
I swallow hard, maintaining eye contact even as my stomach twists into knots. “You’re wrong,” I insist, injecting a note of irritation into my voice. “Leon is just some guy I met, nothing more.”
Control straightens, his eyes never leaving mine. He seems to weigh my words, searching for any hint of deceit. I hold my breath, willing myself to appear calm and collected, though every instinct screams at me to run.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he finally drawls, stepping back and giving me a little space to breathe. But the tension in the room remains as if the very walls are closing in on me. I know then that I have to get out of there.
“Stay out of my life,” I say through gritted teeth. My heart hammers in my chest, but my voice is steady and firm.
“Is that a threat, darling?” he asks, a dangerous glint in his eye. I clench my fists at my sides, willing myself not to back down. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how terrified I truly am. The air between us crackles with tension as we stand there, locked in our silent battle of wills.
He leans in close to me, his breath brushing my cheek, and I wince at the memory of the last beating he gave me. “Remember, sweetheart,” he says, “you can only push me so far.”
With every ounce of dignity I have left, I turn on my heel and stalk out of the office, my anger propelling me forward. But even as I shut the door behind me, a shiver runs down my spine. I can’t shake the feeling that Control’s eyes are still watching me, waiting for me to slip up.
