Chapter 9: Aftershocks

When Nathan finally carried me to bed, I was limp, every muscle spent. He was still hungry for more, but I begged him to stop, voice hoarse.

He relented, going to the bathroom. I forced myself to get up, legs shaky, gathering my clothes.

Nathan watched, his eyes turning cold. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

He laughed, bitter and mocking. "Still so naive."

My hands shook as I dressed, zipping up, slipping on my shoes—Cinderella in reverse.

He crushed his cigarette, the ember turning to ash. Everything between us, burnt and gone.

"Rachel Morgan."

I walked out, ignoring him. He didn’t stop me. Just watched, as if the show was over.

Downstairs, his staff waited. "Miss Morgan, Mr. Brooks asked us to take you."

I nodded, numb, and got into the car. It smelled like his cologne, like defeat.

Nathan’s driver dropped me at the airport—Reagan National, late-night flight to Richmond. I boarded, still dazed, a flight attendant handing me tissues I didn’t realize I needed.

He let me go. But I was only beginning to understand the depths of Nathan Brooks’s cruelty. The kind of man who breaks you slowly—so slowly you don’t even realize you’re shattered until it’s too late.