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I didn’t ask her, and she has no idea, but it’s happening whether she likes it or not.
It’s going to be tricky, but it has to happen. Her phone buzzes and I glance at it again. If they don’t see her there, they’ll wonder why. They might even come looking, and I can’t have that. We’re treading on thin ice, but I’ve planned for this. I always plan ahead.
“You’re thinking about them, aren’t you?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Her body stiffens for a moment; then she turns to me. “What?”
“Your friends.” I tilt my head toward the phone, watching her carefully as I lean back in my chair. “Friendsgiving’s coming up, right?”
Cara shifts in her seat, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place yet. The cornered look is there, but she tries to mask it behind indifference. “I—uh, I haven’t been keeping track of the days,” she says quietly, her voice flat. “Everything’s just… blurred.”
She’s lying. I can see it in the way she avoids my gaze, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She knows. She’s known this was coming, just like I have. She’s been waiting for it. And now she’s pretending she’s clueless, like she doesn’t have a plan already simmering in that sharp little head of hers.
“Well, guess what?” I lower my voice, stepping closer, leaning down so my breath brushes her ear. “This year, you’re hosting, my little nightmare.”
Her head snaps up, and I catch the flicker of panic in her expression before she reels it back in. “What?”
“You heard me.” My tone is deliberate, soft but dangerous, the kind that leaves no room for argument. “They’re coming here, and you’re going to play the perfect little hostess. Smile, laugh, and act like nothing’s wrong. If you don’t—if you so much as slip up for one fucking second—” I let the threat hang between us, unsaid but thick in the air. She knows what I’m capable of. She’s seen it.
Cara’s pouty lips part, but nothing comes out. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing as she tries to keep her composure. “Rhett...” Her voice is soft, a little shaky. She’s scared. Good, she should be.
I step in closer, my chest brushing hers, and reach out to tilt her chin up. “You’re going to dress up,” I whisper. “And you’re going to make them believe that everything’s perfect. That we’re a perfect happy fucking couple, because if you don’t...” My griptightens, just a fraction. “I’ll hurt them. I won’t kill them, not right away. No, I’ll make sure they scream for you, make sure they beg for mercy while you stand there watching.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes wide, but I see it—just for a second. That flicker of something inside her, that thrill that comes when I remind her how deep my control goes. She’s afraid, sure, but there’s more. That twisted part of her that responds to the threat, that darkness she can’t quite suppress.
“Why?” she finally whispers, barely able to get the word out, her voice fragile, trembling like a leaf caught in the wind.
I run my thumb slowly over her lower lip, savoring the way her breath stutters beneath my touch. She’s trying so hard to hold on, but I can feel the cracks forming, feel her unraveling. “Because, Cara,” I murmur, my voice like gravel, low and possessive. “You need to understand something.” I pause, leaning closer until my lips are a breath away from hers. “You belong to me. Not just your body, not just your life. Every. Single. Part of you. Your mind, your thoughts, your soul—it’s all fucking mine, little nightmare. You’re mine to break, to shape, to own. And you’re going to learn that one way or another.”
She exhales shakily, the sound barely audible as her control slips. She’s mine, and she knows it. There’s no escape, no running, no pretending otherwise. I may have her confined to her own house, but it’s nothing like the tiny cage I have her trapped in that she can’t see. The one I know she can feel tightening around her with every day that passes.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” she admits, her voice small and quivering like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “They’ll know something’s off. They’ll see—”
I chuckle darkly, cutting her off with a slow, deliberate shake of my head. She’s not getting it yet, not fully. “No,” I whisper against her skin, my lips ghosting the shell of her ear. “They won’t. You’ll make damn sure they don’t. You’ll smile, you’lllaugh, you’ll play your part perfectly,won’t you?” I trail my lips down her neck, savoring the way her pulse jumps beneath my mouth, the way her breath quickens. “And if you don’t…” My voice drops lower, more dangerous, as I press a soft kiss against her collarbone. “I’ll make sure you watch every second of their pain. Every scream, every plea for mercy—you’ll stand there and know it’s because of you.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and her body stiffens against me, but she doesn’t pull away. She never does. That’s the thing about Cara—no matter how much she tries to fight it, no matter how much she tries to convince herself that she’s afraid of me, there’s that dark part of her, that tiny twisted piece of herself that she tries so fucking hard to hide, that craves this.
Cravesme.
“I—” She hesitates, her voice so small, so fragile. But she knows there’s no way out of this. Not with me. “Okay,” she finally whispers, barely audible, the words heavy with resignation.
“Good girl,” I say, smirking as I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, watching as they glisten with unshed tears. I can see it—the battle inside her, the war between fear and that darker thrill she can’t deny. She’s already lost, but I’ll let her think she’s still fighting.
I straighten up, pacing slowly around her, my steps deliberate, predatory. “Start making the list of everything we’ll need,” I say casually, glancing at her trembling hands. “Everything—turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce. We’re going all out, baby, and we’re going to do it together.”
She nods, her fingers already reaching for the notepad on the table, and trembling as they grip the pen. She’s trying to focus, trying to steady herself, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s teetering on the edge of breaking. She knows what’s at stake.
“Except the pie.”
Her head jerks up, her brows furrowed in confusion. “The pie?”
“I’m making that,” I say, softening my tone just enough to let her think there’s still some piece of me she can reach. “My mom’s recipe. She made it every Thanksgiving. It was… one of the only things that felt normal.”
Something flickers in her expression, something almost like sympathy, maybe even understanding. It’s fleeting, but I catch it. Cara still believes she can find something good in me, still thinks there’s some part of me she can pull into the light. She’s wrong, of course. But I let her think it, because it makes what I’m about to do all the sweeter.
“You’re going to help me,” I say, my voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that I know makes her weak. The shift is immediate—her breath stutters, her body reacting before her mind can catch up. “You’ll follow every step exactly as I say. And if you mess it up...” I let the threat hang in the air, watching her face to see the way her pulse quickens at my words, and the way her skin flushes just a little. I see her legs press together ever so slightly, and it takes everything not to grin. She knows exactly what I mean, even if my girl won’t admit it.
“I won’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling but trying to sound sure. “I’ll get it right, I promise.”
