Page 18 of Pastel Kisses

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sarah purrs. I can practically hear the smirk in her voice, imagine the way she must be inching closer to him, placing a hand on his arm, perching like a vulture ready to feast.

“You stopping by means a lot,” Jaxton murmurs, and my stomach clenches.

“You know I’ll always be here for you guys. We’ll always be repeatedly drawn back together.”

Then, a sound—a rustling, a shift of movement—before muffled noises turn into something far worse. A moan.

Sarah clicks the stop button and turns to me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “In case it wasn’t clear, that’s when he leaned over and kissed me.”

My entire body locks up, every muscle seizing. No. No way.

My first instinct is to reject it outright but then doubt slithers in like poison. Would he?

They’ve been together before. They have history. He was the one who caved to her before, sleeping with her at that party weeks before we met. If he was vulnerable, grieving, lost in desperation… could he have gone back to her?

No.

I grit my teeth, shoving the thought away like venom. “They love me. Jaxton loves me. I don’t know what that recording was, but I don’t believe anything you say.”

Sarah’s grin widens, her laughter slicing through me like a rusted blade. “Believe whatever you want,” she coos, “but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s coming around again. He always runs back to me when things get difficult.”

My lips part, but no words come out. I snap them shut, my throat tight with suppressed rage and uncertainty.

“Soo…” She draws out the word as she stands. “If you behave tonight, I’ll bring you a surprise tomorrow.” She practically winks, playing the role of gracious host as if she’s not keeping me prisoner in a damn basement.

I nod once, not trusting myself to speak.

My heart pounds, a lump of sorrow sitting like a stone in my gut. I want to believe in Jaxton. In all of them. But Sarah is planting seeds of doubt, and even though I don’t want them to take root, the fear is there. How can I fight the past? How can I compete with years of history when I’ve only had them for a handful of months? If I tell her she’s won, if I tell her she can have them, would she let me go?

A bitter laugh bubbles up inside me. No. She wouldn’t.

She’s already won.

The panic claws at me, my entire body trembling with the force of fear, rage, and helplessness. I force it down, swallowing the emotion like a poison I refuse to let take me under. I promised myself I’d only allow one moment of weakness. That moment is over. No matter what happens, I will fight.

The chain rattles as I shift on the bed, scissoring my legs as exhaustion drags at my bones. The cold air seeps into my skin, making the blankets on the bed all the more tempting. Sarah is good at psychological warfare—better than I gave her credit for. She wants me to comply, to accept my captivity, to let her win.

But she underestimated me.

I crawl toward the plate of food she left, stomach growling in betrayal. She’s calculated, manipulative, and cunning. That’s what all of this is—the food, the blankets, the surprises.

It’s control.

Well, two can play that game.

I eat every last bite, knowing she’ll take pleasure in it. She’ll think I’m accepting my place, letting her win. That’s fine.

Let her think it.

She’s smart. She’s educated. She’s absolutely fucking unhinged. But she’s also lonely. She wants attention. She wants to be needed. That’s her weakness.

I plan to exploit it.

Becoming her friend, playing into her delusions, might be the only chance I have. She thinks she’s untouchable, that she holds all the power. But if I can get her to let her guard down—if I can make her think I’m broken enough to be compliant—then maybe, just maybe, I can find a way out.

It’ll take time. Patience. Restraint. And every ounce of willpower I have not to rip her throat out with my bare hands.

I settle into the sheets, letting the warmth soak into my bones, staring up at the ceiling with one single thought searing through my mind.

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