Page 56 of Dark Therapy

I didn’twantto be saved.

I wanted to fuckingdestroyher.

But I couldn’t.Notyet. Maybe not ever. Because the truth was, the more I tried to break her, the more I was breakingmyself.

And I couldn’t stop.

Iwouldn’tstop.

I knew her game. She thought she couldfixme, patch me up like I was some cracked vase waiting for her soft little hands to glue me back together. But she didn’t fucking get it. She didn’t see the jagged edges or the venom that seeped from the cracks. She didn’t understandwhatI was, what I was capable of.

And it didn’t matter. Even if she did—especially if she did—I wasn’t letting her go. She was mine. Mine to ruin, mine to keep, mine todestroy.

Her tear-streaked face flickered in my mind, the way her lips trembled as I pressed too far, too hard. That delicious little shiver when the edge of my blade danced across her skin, carving promises I hadn’t even begun to fulfill. It wasn’t fear in her eyes; it was something far worse. And it made me fuckingfurious.

She thought I could besaved. She thought Iwantedsaving.

I didn’t.

Breaking her wasn’t the goal. Not really. Breaking her would be too easy. I didn’t want her shattered on the floor, discarded andlifeless. No, I wanted her in pieces, sure—but pieces I couldrebuild. Pieces I could twist into somethingunrecognizable, something onlyIcould hold together.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, the pain sharp enough to ground me for a second. Just a second. Then thepullhit again, like gravity with its claws sunk deep into my chest. The urge to take her in my hands and ruin her all over again, was almosttoomuch.

But not yet.

I needed to figure out thissicknessin me first, this gnawing,rottingthing that made my heart beat too fast whenever I looked at her. That made my chest feeltight, like it was going to explode from the weight ofwantingher.

It wasn’t love. Ican’tfeel love. And I didn’t want to.

She stirred in her sleep, peaceful, innocent, her breathing soft in the quiet.Thatface… it made the things I’d done feelwrong. But it also made me want toruinher again. To tear her apart piece by piece and make her mine.

Because that’s what this was really about.Control.Obsession. I didn’t just want her body—I wanted her fuckingsoul. I wanted to own her in a way no one else ever had.

And she’d hate me for it. She’d fight me. But that was fine. That was how Iknewshe was worth it.

Because no one else ever mattered. No one ever got close.

Untilher.

I forced myself to stand, every step dragging me further into the nightmare I’d built for us. I paused at the door, glancing back one last time.

She was mine.

And one day, she’d fucking understand that. Even if I had to burn us both to ashes to make her see it.

?????????

The day had started like any other. I’d gotten dressed in my a dark, tailored suit, the one that made people take me seriously, made them understand that I was a force to be reckoned with. Claire had reached out earlier, her voice calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency. Another job. Another contract to fulfill. Simple. Precise.Acleanhit.

But as I adjusted the tie around my neck, the doorbell rang, interrupting the quiet.

I knew who it was before I even reached the door.

I glanced at the camera feed. A group of officers stood on the other side. Detective Mark Lawson—no surprise there. That damn cop had been sniffing around my business for too long, but this was different. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Thesuspicion, the assumption that Amelia had given him a lead. I smirked at the thought.

She wasn’t done with me. Not by a long shot. She was scared. But she was alsoconfused—unsure of how deep this all went, of what I wastrulycapable of. She was fighting to hold onto whatever version of herself she thought she had left.

I could feel the edge of something sharp digging at the back of my mind. An urge to reach out, totwisther even more. But that wasn’t necessary right now.