Page 78 of Her Soul to Own

And maybe he sees it… that my mood has shifted. His hand lifts to touch my face, just a light brush of knuckles along my jaw. And before I can overthink it, he leans in and kisses me.

It’s quick. No heat or fire. Just warm, steady pressure. It’s a kiss that saysI’m here,notI want you.

That alone disarms me more than if he’d pinned me to the wall.

When he pulls back, his gaze lingers on mine for a breath too long. “I’ll be out for a while,” he says. “I just wanted to check on you before I left.”

Then, just like that, he’s gone, his boots soft on the hall floor, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stand there frozen, my lips tingling, my heart somewhere in my throat. That’sneverhappened before. Not with him. Not withanyone.

I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room. My cheeks are flushed, my mouth slightly parted.Blushing?Seriously? What the hell is wrong with me?

I shake it off.

There’s no time for this. No time for softness or misread signals or whatever the hell that was. I’ve worked too hard to get back to the top. To rebuild. Toownmy image again.

I grab my phone and slide back onto the bed, scrolling through the string of unread messages. A brand manager wants to fly me out to LA next week, while another one’s offering a partnership with a skincare line. My name is hot again. My inbox proves it.

I pretty much spend the whole afternoon going through my inbox and DMs. Time flies when you’re on top. Finally, I get up to stretch a little. I glance back at my phone just as it buzzes with a new message. This time, it’s from a different number, one I don’t recognize. My heart skips, a twist of unease creeping into my stomach. I swipe the screen open, thinking it’s probably just one of those annoying text spammers that I’ve grown used to.

Except it’s not.

A link appears with a messagethat says,“Heard you like to put on a show. We all got a glimpse last night, didn’t we?”

My fingers freeze. The words blur as I stare at the screen, the dread in my chest spreading faster than I can process the message.

What the hell is this?I hit the link.

The next moment, I feel like I’ve just been hit by a fucking tidal wave.

Images. Videos. Shots from last night’s gala, but not the ones I’ve already seen. The camera angles are wrong and uncomfortably close. And there I am. In ways no one should see. In ways that I didn’t give permission to be seen.

I’m naked and on the counter in the powder room. My hands are shaking now, and I can barely see the screen because of the tears in my eyes. I’m moaning as I touch myself, not with my finger but with Silas’s gun. Fuck. A strained gasp escapes my throat as I tilt my head back in the video. I barely recognize that girl as her moans fill my ears. The video doesn’t seem to stop. It keeps going on for a full minute as I sit there and fuck myselfshamelessly. The video stops at me with my face up, the butt of the gun on my clit, my toes curled, my mouth open.

Bile rises in my throat, and my phone slips from my hands.

Who the fuck would do this?

My heart slams against my ribs as my hands tremble. I don’t even know how to process the shock, the disgust, the violation. How could anyone—anyone—get their hands on these? I try to calm myself, but dark, terrifying thoughts start to spin. It’s out there, and it’s already spreading. I can no longer go outside without people seeing this.

I scramble to close the link, but the damage is done. I know what’s out there. What’s been shared.

I pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in around me. I’ve never felt this exposed before. Not like this. Not in this way. And I can’t breathe.

I was finally happy with my social life, and it didn’t even last a full day.

The phone buzzes again. It’s Silas. His name flashing on the screen makes my heart skip, but I can’t answer. Not now. Not when the world is watching me fall apart.

I swallow the panic rising in my throat, press the heels of my palms against my eyes, and try to block out the overwhelming feelings of shame.

I need air.

I push off the bed and pace the room in an attempt to clear my head, but all I can hear is the buzz of my phone, each notification a reminder of the destruction that’s come crashing into my life. It feels like I’m being crushed under the burden of it all.

And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know where to go from here. And all I can do is wait for whatever comes next.

I can’t fucking breathe.

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