Page 129 of Stranger to Love

Carrie smiled, and for once, there was no predatory glint or professional mask—just a soft, genuine warmth. "It was," she agreed. "For me, too."

We made our way upstairs, the old floorboards creaking under our feet. Back in the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom, the world felt small and safe again. The dark silver of my new necklace caught the light of the bedside lamp as I pulled my shirt off, a constant reminder of the woman watching me from the edge of the bed.

As we settled under the duvet, the house falling into a deep, Christmas-night silence, I felt Carrie’s hand find mine under the covers.

"Alex," she murmured into the dark, her tone suddenly serious. "No matter what happens, or what you hear... remember what I told you downstairs. You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine."

What the fuck did that mean?

The words echoed in my head, cold and sharp against the warm haze of the whiskey. My heart, which had finally found a steady rhythm, began to fucking gallop against my ribs again. I turned to face her, my eyes searching hers in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

"Carrie," I whispered, my voice trembling with a vulnerability I couldn't hide. "Should I be worried? Should I know something?"

Carrie didn't flinch. She just pulled me tighter, her grip firm and possessive, as she shook her head slowly. "No, darling. You have nothing to worry about. I told you—I’ll handle everything."

I wanted to push. I wanted to ask who had called and why she had looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost, but Carrie didn't give me the chance. She leaned in, her lips grazing my jawline, her breath hot and smelling of expensive peat.

"But," she whispered, her voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that made my blood turn to liquid every fucking time. "Mommy is very hungry, baby."

The question died in my fucking throat. My breath hitched as she shifted her weight, pushing me back into the lumpy, familiar mattress of my old bed. The contrast was staggering—the elite, powerful Dr. Carter looming over me in a room filled with my childhood trophies and old stickers.

She moved on top of me with a fucking terrifying, singular purpose. I tried to hold onto the lingering thread of my worry, but it snapped the moment her hands found the hem of my nightgown. She didn't hesitate; she stripped my underwear away in one fluid motion, tossing them toward the end of the bed.

"Carrie—" I started, a soft protest that sounded more like an invitation.

"Shh," she commanded, her eyes locked on mine as she settled between my thighs. "No more talking about the world outside this room. Tonight, there is only this. There is only how much I want you baby."

She dived down, her mouth finding the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I arched my back as the first jolt of electricity hit me. Whatever was on that phone call—whatever storm was fucking brewing—was locked outside. In here, under the weight of her body and the heat of her gaze, I was exactly where she wanted me.

And fuck, I didn't want to be anywhere else.

Chapter 29

Alex

The next few days drifted by in a blur of neon lights, sticky floors, and stale beer—the gruelling limbo shifts between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Ever since Carrie had left on Boxing Day, a hollow ache had settled in my chest. The contrast between the intense domesticity of Christmas and being back in the trenches of the bar with Mia felt like a physical withdrawal.

"I'm serious, Mia," I groaned, ducking behind the bar for a second of peace while a group of rowdy guys chanted for tequila. "If one more person asks me for a 'festive discount,' I might actually throttle them."

Mia laughed, popping the caps off four ciders. "Welcome to the New Year’s rush, babe. Only five more hours until they turn into even bigger pricks." She nudged my elbow. “And only a few hours until you jump straight into the car of a certain doctor."

My cheeks heated up. "Shut up. I’m still going to murder you for suggesting that... that word. You have no idea what you started."

"Oh, I think I do," Mia smirked, glancing down. "You’ve been touching that pendant every thirty seconds. You're obsessed."

I couldn't even defend myself. The tequila chant grew louder, forcing me back to the till. Mia kept a steady supply of hidden vodka shots coming to take the edge off the screaming crowd, loosening my joints and blurring the neon chaos into a hazy playground.

With the students gone, the bar was packed with affluent locals. The vodka made me feel reckless and untouchable. I caught the eye of a sharp-featured brunette in her late forties; when I held her gaze, she blushed and bit her lip. A surge of intoxicating power hit me—I could have walked home with half the room that night if I had wanted to. But I didn’t. Every flirtatious smile just reinforced the fact that I already belonged to someone far more dangerous.

Near last orders, a curvy blonde leaned over the counter, smelling of heavy jasmine. Her eyes dropped to the dark silver pendant at my throat before flicking back to mine. "Busy night, sweetheart?" she purred.

"You have no idea," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I slid her a gin and tonic. "On the house. Happy New Year."

Behind me, Mia let out an exasperated hiss. "Really, Alex? Giving away stock because she has a nice rack? I’m telling Dr. Vixen."

"Dr. Carter knows I’m a good girl," I laughed, though my thumb subconsciously traced the engraving on the back of the metal. My darling. The thrill of the flirtation was nothing compared to the cold, hard weight of that silver.

When the clock struck twelve, the bar erupted. Mia planted a loud, vodka-flavoured kiss on my lips, grinning like a maniac. "Happy New Year, you absolute slag!"