Page 16 of Vintage

I glared at him, plotting my revenge, envisioning the moment I would stab him, end his twisted game, and escape this nightmare.

Willow Crest is buried in dark tales, its air thick with the weight of its criminal past. Another story wouldn’t change much, but it would certainly give the townsfolk something new to gossip about.

And they love their gossips.

“I’ll kill you,” I hissed.

He merely grinned at my threat, his fingers brushing my cheek, drawing lazy circles that made my skin crawl.

"You can try Mrs. Rowan. We can discuss the prospects of a murder weapon." The sheer audacity of his words, spoken with such fucking innocence, sent a shiver down my spine.

I shot him a glare, trying to escape his grasp, but he seized my throat, yanking me closer until our faces were mere inches apart.

His grip was tight, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

I gasped, yet I summoned every ounce of defiance within me to meet his gaze, to show him I wouldn’t break.

"Nothing will ever take you from me, Mrs. Rowan. Didn’t we promise, till do us part? But I said, fuck the death. I’ll follow you into your grave." His smile was a wicked curve.

I don’t care about vow that he ditched first. The vows he dishonored first.

I hissed, clenching my jaws, and he shoved me onto the bed, his hands still constricting my throat, looming over me.

Each breath felt like a burden, a debt owed to this monster.

He came close, and lips crashed onto mine, consuming me in a ravenous kiss. No matter how fiercely I struggled, I was powerless against him. I was weak—weak to his touch, weak to his obsession. Weak when he was the variable in my life.

His tongue explored my lips, his teeth marking my skin, and his mouth silenced my cries.

"You belong to me, Mrs. Rowan. And what is mine will remain mine. Forever by my side." His voice was a low growl, each word dripping with madness.

I swallowed hard, fear wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. The thought of this familiar stranger was both repulsive and terrifying. Yet,I pushed the thought aside, unable to look in the eyes of those haunting shadows, and question, 'who are you?'

The shadows would never answer. I know they never would. They’ll leave me to wander in my own despair. They thrive on it.

A breathy moan slipped from my lips, "Ro," as his fingers danced along my thigh, leaving a fiery trail in their wake.

Each inch they ascended ignited my skin, a searing heat that consumed me whole. It was as if he was a human sculptor, molding himself to the jagged contours of my being, and he fit me like a glove. He knew me, every secret, every fear, and that knowledge was a double-edged sword, sharp enough to cut deep.

His lips slithered down my throat, kissing the delicate curve of my neck, and when his teeth grazed my skin, a hiss escaped me, a mix of pleasure and pain.

I wasn’t naive, I recognized the darkness lurking beneath his surface.

Ro had always been possessive, a truth I had buried deep, but the gentleness he often showed me was a mask for this feral side I was now witnessing.

This was no fantasy; this was my Ro, unveiled, raw, and terrifying.

He nipped at my collarbone, forcing my thighs apart, and a gasp tore from my lips, shock coursing through me. In my nightdress, I felt like prey, laid bare for his hungry gaze, every inch of me a feast.

As he released my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pooling at the corners, a mix of fear and exhilaration.

When did I lose him?

I sniffled, choking over the overpowering emotions.

The rustle of fabric drew my attention, and through my blurred vision, I saw him—naked, a towering figure at the edge of the bed.

The buzzing in my head from the lack of air was maddening, a painful reminder of my vulnerability. I shut my eyes again, feeling his touch like a whisper against my heated skin.

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