Chapter 8: Bargains and Bruises

It was midsummer in D.C.—air thick as soup, mosquitoes everywhere.

At ten p.m., the heat still clung to the city. Nathan’s Bentley rolled through the streets, low-key but unmistakable.

It felt like déjà vu—years ago, Thompson had come for me, standing outside my shabby apartment, a ghost among the working-class.

I was twenty-one then, fresh from GWU, still believing in fairytales.

Now I was twenty-six, engaged, older but still vulnerable. I wore the ring Derek gave me, a symbol Nathan despised.

After tonight, I knew everything would be ruined. Our wedding plans, my future—all bubbles.

Nathan stood on the terrace in a navy robe, smoking a Nat Sherman. The D.C. skyline glittered behind him.

I entered the penthouse, silent. Peeled off my clothes in the bathroom, stared at my thinner reflection—just a woman who’d lost.

When I returned, naked except for the engagement ring, Nathan’s gaze swept over me, clinical, judging.

He shook his head. "How did you get so thin? Not eating?"

"Nathan Brooks, do what you want. When you’re done, spare my fiancé, okay?" My voice was flat, numb.

He glared at my ring. "Throw that thing away."

I yanked it off, tossed it in the trash. I didn’t look back. If I did, I might’ve dug it out of the trash and begged for a different ending.

"Come here."

I walked to him, mechanical. He stroked my cheek, fingers tracing my bones, possessive and cold.

His hands turned bruising, rough—like he wanted to leave fingerprints just to prove he could.

The marble floor was cold under my feet, but I felt nothing. Numb, like the part of me that cared had finally died.

Tears slid down my cheeks as he claimed me, his grip punishing. He bit my skin, leaving marks.

"Don’t be stubborn. Seduce me like before—what wouldn’t I do for you?" His breath was hot against my ear.

He pressed me to the window, city lights watching. "When I saw you today, I wanted this." His voice was raw, three years of anger in it.

His grip turned bruising, rough—like he wanted to leave fingerprints just to prove he could.

I tried to fight, but he held me down, unyielding.

"If you don’t want him to die, be good."

I went still, becoming what he wanted: compliant, broken.

He spanked me, hard, reminding me what he liked. Eager. Obedient. His.