Page 104 of The Most Perfect Wrong

I flinch, and he notices. Of course, he notices. He feeds off reactions like this. And now he knows he’s on the right track.

“You think Ryan wants you?” He laughs, bitter and cruel. “He’ll drop you as soon as he realizes what a mess you are.”

“Stop, Brad.” My voice shakes, but I force myself to hold steady. I meet his gaze, and for the first time, I realize something: I fucking hate him.

Not just right now, in this moment—but deeply, truly, in a way that’s been building for years. I’ve spent so long trying to talk myself into loving him, clinging to the idea of us, that I never saw it for what it really was.

He takes another step toward me, and I instinctively back up. “Or maybe he’ll realize that you’re just an average fuck, and he’ll tire of you like I did.” He shrugs, his tone dismissive, like what he’s saying is no big deal—like I’m no big deal.

That one hits. I can practically hear Ryan’s voice in my mind, calling me incredible, telling me I’m everything. But Brad’s words claw their way in, dragging me back to all the times he made me feel small, unworthy. My chest tightens, and I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to hold on to the memory of last night—Ryan’s gaze. The way he said he was crazy about me. That was real… wasn’t it?

I open my eyes, meeting Brad’s icy stare, and force the words out. “Fuck you, Brad.” I turn and move toward the door, the overwhelming urge to escape drowning out everything else. I don’t even care about grabbing my things anymore. I can deal with that later. Right now, I have to get out before his words bury themselves too deep.

Just as I reach the door, Brad’s calm, steady voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… Not if you care about Ryan.”

I freeze, my hand hovering over the doorknob.

“And both your jobs.”

Goddammit. I turn, frustration boiling over as he once again finds a way to get under my skin. “What are you talking about?”

He holds out a stack of papers, a winning gleam in his eyes. He makes no move to hand them to me, his smugness dripping like poison. I exhale sharply, my patience thin, and step closer. When I reach for the papers, he pulls them back, just out of reach. A smile tugs at his lips and it sickens me.

“You know, Ryan seems like such a stand-up guy. Honest, even. I wonder what people at work would think about him if they knew about your little affair.”

It’s like the air’s been punched from my lungs. Threatening me is one thing. But Ryan? It’s a line I never imagined Brad would cross. Panic and fury swell in my chest as my hand balls into a fist at my side. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Ryan out of this.

Anything.

Brad lowers the papers, and the second they’re within reach, I snatch them from his hand. My stomach coils as my eyes skim the page. My breath catches in my throat, and I instinctively bring a hand to my mouth.

It’s mine and Ryan’s text thread from Christmas morning—the one where he asked me to touch myself, and I did. The one where I came to his words while Brad was inside, asleep—or worse, reading this thread as it happened.

I stare at the page, the words blurring together as humiliation and rage wash over me like a tidal wave. This wasn’t just manipulation. This was invasive. Predatory. He’d taken something private—something vulnerable and, in its own twisted way, beautiful—and turned it into a weapon.

My knees weaken, and I clutch the edge of the counter to keep myself upright as bile rises in my throat.

“Christmas morning, huh? While I was sleeping in the next room? That’s when you decided to finger yourself for him like some desperate porn star? Jesus, Cooper. That’s pretty low… even for you.”

Tears threaten, but it’s too late—they slide down my cheeks as shame hits me. I want to scream at him, throw the papers in his face, tell him he’s a monster. But his words slice too deep, and the threat of what he might do freezes me in place.

Brad smirks, leaning casually against the counter. “Do you think he’ll still want you once everyone knows what a slut you are? Or should I just send them out now and save you the trouble of pretending to be respectable?” He grins.God, he’s enjoying this. He actually enjoys this.“What do you think his boss will say when he sees these texts?” He straightens, closing the distance between us, and I instinctively step back, my legs brushing against the wall. “I mean, I’m sure your company has a strict policy about this sort of thing, right? Probably won’t sit well that the VP’s screwing the new project manager. And on company time, too? Traveling together? It practically writes itself.”

He chuckles again. “Yeah, real fairy-tale ending from here.”

There’s that knife again, tearing through every ounce of strength I have left. He’s always known how to find the weakness in my armor and twist the blade.

God, I can’t breathe.

My chest tightens, and my heart is pounding so fast I feel like it’s going to explode. Am I having an anxiety attack? The room tilts, the walls closing in, and my legs threaten to give out.Fuck. I can’t do this.He’s going to trap me, again. My hope—everything I dreamed of with Ryan—slips further out of reach with every word.

A sob escapes me, raw and uncontrollable. I clutch my stomach, the pain radiating through me like an open wound, my hands trembling as I gasp for air.

Brad tilts his head, his expression softening into something almost kind. Almost.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, his voice suddenly quiet and concerned, the cruel edge vanishing like it was never there. He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Baby, don’t cry. You don’t have to go through this. Look, I get it. You’re confused. Things got messy, but it’s not too late. We can fix this. You don’t need him, Cooper. You’ve never needed him. You have me.”

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