Chapter 3

Before I could react, the passenger door was yanked open.

Frederick stood outside the car, his jaw clenched tight with barely suppressed fury. He didn't even glance at Felix—just grabbed my wrist and hauled me out.

This was exactly what I'd wanted. Jealousy. Loss of control.

"Get in the car." His grip was crushing, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. "As your guardian, it's my responsibility to keep you from making a scene and embarrassing yourself."

Just when I thought this was his way of masking jealousy, a warm female voice called out near a black Range Rover:

"Frederick?"

My entire body went rigid.

Jane walked over in heels—beige trench coat, wavy hair, effortlessly polished.

The moment she spoke, Frederick's hand released. The fury in his eyes died instantly, smoothing into perfect calm.

"Jennifer?" Jane glanced between me and Felix's wary face in the car, then smiled knowingly. "What's going on?"

She slipped her arm through Frederick's like she'd done it a thousand times. "You're being too hard on her. College kids go out on weekends—it's normal. Relax."

Standing before her easy grace, I felt like a child throwing a tantrum.

I'd worked so hard to make him jealous, but watching them together—watching her defend me with that casual authority—crushed what little dignity I had left.

Frederick let her hold his arm. His shoulders relaxed as he stepped back.

"Since Jane says it's fine," his voice returned to that clinical detachment, eyes flat, "be home by eleven. Stay safe."

The intimacy between them—that unspoken understanding of an actual couple—slapped me across the face.

I was the only one spiraling. One word from Jane and he pulled back from the edge, shoving me right back into the box marked "responsibility."

"I don't need you to care!"

I couldn't stand another second of this humiliation. I shoved past him and ran into the parking lot's darkness.

Cold night air bit at my face. I heard Felix call after me, confused, but I didn't stop—just kept running toward the exit.

Not until I'd left that drive-in far behind did everything finally break. All the hurt I'd been swallowing, the anger, the pathetic hope—it all came flooding out in tears.

My vision blurred completely. I stumbled down an empty gravel road, scrubbing at my face, screaming into the night:

"Frederick, you're a fucking asshole!"

"I hate you—God, I hate you so much!"

I ran until my lungs burned and I couldn't breathe, finally collapsing against a wall in some dim alley far from the main street.

Everything around me was dark. Too dark.

That's when I heard footsteps on the pavement.

Slow. Deliberate. Getting closer.

I started walking faster. The footsteps matched my pace.

I spun around. A tall guy in a dark hoodie was cutting through the shadows between streetlights, heading straight for me. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. He didn't veer off—just walked faster.

Ten yards. Seven.

Pure panic seized me. I broke into a run. Behind me, heavy boots pounded the asphalt.

The distance closed fast. I could hear his breathing now, rough and close.

Terror took over. I fumbled for my phone and hit Frederick's number.

A ringtone cut through the darkness, maybe forty feet behind me.

It rang once. Twice. Then the call dropped and the ringing died.

Before I could process it, the man who'd almost grabbed my jacket let out a sharp, pained cry.

Something—someone—yanked him backward with brutal force and slammed him into the brick wall.

I froze.

The sickening sound of fists hitting flesh echoed from the shadows. Bone on bone. The man's screams. No words. No warning. Just ruthless, one-sided violence.

"Frederick?" My voice came out shaking, barely a whisper toward the darkness.

The beating stopped.

Dead silence. No answer. Just the collapsed man's ragged, wheezing gasps.

Fear drowned everything else out. I didn't want to know who was in those shadows. I stumbled back to the lit street, called an Uber with shaking hands, and didn't look back.

When I got home, the apartment was dark. Water running in the master bathroom.

Frederick was home. Showering.

That sound gutted me. Every pathetic hope I'd clung to in that alley died instantly.

What had I been thinking?

That he'd abandoned his perfect fiancée to follow me? That the maniac in the dark was actually this controlled law professor?

That ringtone was just fear playing tricks on me.

He'd come straight home. Done his duty, moved on. Tonight was just another box checked. Beyond that responsibility, I was nothing to him.

Every time I read into things, I paid for it twice over.

I should give up. I knew I should. But standing there listening to the shower, that self-destructive desperation rose in my throat again.

I wiped my face and took a shaky breath.

One last time. I swore it.

If after tonight he still felt nothing, I'd pack up tomorrow and leave. Stop humiliating myself.

I dropped my coat and walked into his bedroom.

On his nightstand sat a glass of water. I pulled out the tiny bottle Chloe had slipped me last night and added several drops of clear liquid.

A powerful nerve relaxant that made the rounds at frat parties. It had a reputation—people called it "liquid truth."

"Just a few drops," Chloe had said with a wink, "and even the most uptight guy will drop every defense and tell you exactly how he feels."

I shrank back into the corner, heart pounding so hard I could hear it.

I knew this was insane. But I didn't care anymore. I just needed to know—even for one second—if he'd ever felt anything real for me.

The bathroom door opened.

Frederick came out, steam still clinging to his skin. He looked exhausted. Sat on the edge of the bed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the water and drank it all in one long swallow.

The drug hit fast. Viciously fast.

Less than three minutes later, he grabbed his forehead, breathing suddenly harsh and ragged in the silence.

I stepped out from the shadows.

His head snapped up. The second he recognized me, his gaze dropped to his own trembling hands. He understood instantly.

"What did you put in that water..." His voice came out through gritted teeth, eyes burning an alarming red.

"Something to make you tell the truth." My own eyes were filling with tears as I reached for his face, my hand landing on his chest. "You want me—I know you do. Why won't you just admit it?!"

"Don't touch me, Jennifer." He caught my wrists hard, his Adam's apple working violently, voice already roughened and distorted. "Don't."

"No."

I didn't back down. I yanked my hands free and climbed onto his lap, immediately reaching for his waistband.

Something inside him snapped.

The world tilted. He grabbed my waist and slammed me down onto the mattress.

A sharp rip—he tore straight through my blouse. Buttons scattered. Fabric fell away, leaving skin exposed to cool air.

He forced my thighs apart, one hand pinning both my wrists above my head. His other hand went under my skirt, fingers digging hard into my inner thigh.

Raw, masculine aggression poured off him. His chest heaved. Those red-tinged eyes looked feral, predatory—like he was about to tear me apart.

I thought this was it. Finally.

One more second and he'd lose control completely. He leaned down, his breath hot and unsteady against my mouth—