Page 90 of Colton
I want to respect Luella’s independence, her strength. I admire the fire in her eyes, the way she refuses to bend to anyone’s will. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and I want to be the one to stand by her side, to support her as she takes on the world. But there’s this other part of me that’s been conditioned by my father, by the life I’ve led, that screams at me to protect her, to keep her close, to possess her.
My footsteps echo down the hallway, each step a battle between the man I want to be and the monster I know I am. I want to change, to be better for her. But how can I change when every fiber of my being is woven with the need to control, to dominate?
I push open the door to the parking lot, the harsh sunlight blinding me momentarily. I blink away the spots in my vision, my hand tightening around my car keys. The therapist thinks I can just walk away, leave Luella to fend for herself. But they don’t know her like I do. They don’t know the darkness she’s faced. They don’t know the strength she possesses, or the vulnerability she hides.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life with a twist of the key and I grip the steering wheel. I want to be the man who stands beside her, who lets her shine. But the thought of her out there, alone, facing the world without me…it’s too much. She’s mine to protect—no one else can do what I do. And if that makes me a monster, then maybe that’s what I’ll be.
For her, I’ll be whatever she needs. Even if it means embracing the darkness I’ve tried so hard to escape.
Chapter 3
LUELLA
Iswing the door shut behind me with a little more force than necessary, letting it break the silence. It’s too quiet here sometimes, as if this whole sleepy town is under some kind of mute button. Which, granted, was the entire point of moving to Meadowgrove. But still, the silence bugs me.
So, I let my keys clatter onto the counter, and then I kick off my shoes, groaning as the ache in my feet throbs onto the cold floor. I’m learning to enjoy these little moments, the basic things—like going to work and not plotting a murder. Having my own space. That’s the thing I like best about being here, space and peace.
Or so I keep telling myself.
I pour a glass of water and lean back against the counter, staring into my quiet kitchen, all pristine white cabinets and bare counters, as if my life here is some kind of blank slate. But the empty spaces don’t fool me. No matter how many places I try to leave behind, there’s always something I can’t quite shake.
It's him.
I’ve got to let him go. I’vegotto make this work.
But tonight, it’s like an itch I can’t ignore. A faint prickle at the back of my neck, the sense that I’m not as alone as I think. It’s ridiculous, really. I left Colton behind—a year of living quietly, no threats, no control, no man telling me who I am or what I should be afraid of.
But now he’s here, lurking in the shadows.
And why does that excite me?
I shake my head, forcing myself to brush it off.Paranoia—that’s all it is. I can’t help that the guy left an impression, like a scar. Even if I can’t see him, I feel him.
You don’t need him, Luella. You’re free now.
I down the water in one gulp, setting the glass down with a satisfying thunk, and head to the bedroom, tossing my clothes onto a chair in a half-hearted attempt at being tidy. I roll my shoulders, finally letting the tension slip away. When I crawl into bed, the sheets are cool against my skin, the silence settling in like a blanket, comforting and familiar.
And yet…
Just as I close my eyes, that feeling prickles at the edge of my awareness again. It’s probably just the usual tricks my mind likes to play when I’m trying too hard to relax. I sit up, glancing around, my eyes searching the dark corners of the room, looking for nothing and everything all at once.
Nothing. There’s nothing there. Just me and my overactive brain, still wired to expect the worst.
“There’s something really wrong with you,” I tell myself, irritated that I can’t seem to relax even now.
I flop back down with a sigh, the memory of Colton’s eyes—dark, intense, always watching—floating up in my mind. God, I swear he’s in here with me, even when he isn’t. Like some part of him got lodged under my skin, refusing to leave, no matter how many towns I run to.
It’s probably nothing. But as I drift off to sleep, I can’t shake the feeling that somewhere out there, he’s closer than I want to believe.
And that sends a thrill through me.
Jesus, Luella. The man who raped you and kept you captive sends a thrill through you?
I groan before I tumble into a spiral of dreamless sleep, where dark eyes haunt me and a hand tightens around my throat.
I wake a few hours later,groggy and desperately thirsty. I know my way around the apartment well enough now to navigate it in the dark. My eyes still half closed, I make my way to the kitchen, stifling a yawn as I fill a glass tumbler with water. The hum of the refrigerator plays like a lullaby in the background, and the chill of the apartment makes me yearn for the warmth of my bed. As I gulp down the cool liquid, a sudden sound makes me freeze. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough to make every hair on my body stand on end. A creak, like a floorboard shifting under weight.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I slowly turn, my hand tightening around the glass. I strain my ears, listening intently, my breath caught in my throat.
