Page 56 of Until You Break

I stiffen slightly, trying to pull away, but his arm tightens around me, his voice rough with sleep.

“Where do you think you’re going, Little Sinner?” I freeze, my breath hitching, and he chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Thought you’d run off in your dreams too?”

I don’t respond, my cheeks burning as the memory of the dream lingers; his words, his touch, too vivid to ignore. He shifts slightly, his hand brushing against my back, and I hate the way it makes my heart race.

“Dominic,” I murmur, my voice shaky, but he just hums, his eyes still closed. I hesitate, my chest tight, before finally whispering, “Do you think… do you think we could’ve had something? Back then?”

His eyes open slowly, his gaze locking on mine, and for a moment, he just looks at me. Then he smirks, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck. “We already did,” he says simply. “You just forgot.”

Dominic’s words hang in the air like a storm cloud, dark and heavy. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block them out, but they sink in, wrapping around my chest and pulling tight.

You just forgot.

The worst part is, I can feel the truth in them, like an itch at the back of my mind that I can’t quite reach.

His hand stays on my neck, his thumb brushing small circles against my skin, a movement so casual it’s like he doesn’t realize what it’s doing to me.

My heart pounds, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of him—his warmth, the weight of his arm holding me in place, the faint scent of pine and something darker, something that’s undeniably him.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, his voice rough but quieter now, like he’s reading my mind. “I can see it. Feel it.”

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes still closed. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Don’t I?” he asks, his tone low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and knowing. “You’re wondering if I’m right. If you forgot because it was too much, too real, and you couldn’t handle it.”

I flinch, the words cutting deeper than I want to admit, but I force myself to stay still, to not let him see how much he’s getting to me.

“Or maybe,” he continues, his voice soft but relentless, “you’re remembering just enough to scare the shit out of you. Because if you remember everything, you’ll have to face the fact that you didn’t just survive in that cell. You found something in there. With me.”

“Stop,” I whisper, my voice trembling, but he doesn’t.

“You felt alive,” he adds, his grip on my neck tightening. “And you hated it, didn’t you? Hated that in the middle of all that chaos, all that fear, I was the only thing that made you feel like you were more than just a victim.”

I open my eyes, glaring up at him. “You’re so fucking arrogant,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “You think you’re the center of everything, don’t you?”

He smirks, completely unfazed. “Only when it comes to you, Little Sinner.”

“Stop calling me that,” I bite out, trying to push his arm away, but he doesn’t budge, his strength a reminder of just howpowerless I am against him when he decides he’s not letting me go.

“Why?” he asks, his smirk fading, replaced by something more serious. “Because it reminds you who you are when you’re with me?”

I glare at him, my chest heaving, but I don’t respond. I can’t. Because he’s right again, and I hate it. Hate him for knowing me so well, for breaking down every wall I’ve built like they’re nothing but paper.

He leans in close, his face inches from mine, his eyes boring into me like they’re trying to strip me bare. “You can run from it all you want, Aria,” he says, every word a blade slicing through my defenses. “But you and I both know the truth. You’ve always been mine.”

“That’s not true,” I say, my voice weak, cracking under the weight of everything he’s throwing at me.

“Isn’t it?” he challenges, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Tell me, then. Why are you here? Why didn’t you run when you had the chance? Why do you let me get this close if you hate me so much?”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

“Because you won’t let me leave,” I whisper, even though I know it’s not entirely true.

He chuckles softly and leans back slightly, his hand still brushing against my cheek. “Won’t let you leave?” he repeats, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, Little Sinner, you’re giving me too much credit.”

I frown at this, my irritation dimming. “You mean you’re not?”

“The doors aren’t locked,” he says casually, like it’s a throwaway comment. “Your keys are downstairs by the door. And your bike is in the driveway.”

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