Page 81 of Inked Desires
I won’t confirm his theory. That bastard knows me too well.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Checking in. You’ve been darker than usual lately.”
I roll my eyes. He checks on me every week. My mood was already shit before Andrew walked back into my life—so I don’t see why he’s suddenly so concerned.
“I’m fine.”
CHAPTER 19
ANDREW
Arès claims he isn’t avoiding me—but that’s exactly what he’s doing. Sure, he talks to me more now, but always carefully, skirting around anything real. Nothing deep. Nothing honest.
Still, I’m sure I’ve hit a nerve. Hefeelssomething for me. I know it.
And me? I can’t even figure out my own emotions. More than ever, I just want toremember. How did I forget years of my life? How could I forgethim? It makes no sense. I feel safe around Arès—comforted, grounded. And yet I have no memory of this man.
I stand and walk toward the large front window, watching the flow of people rushing through the streets. Some are doing Christmas shopping. Others are heading home from work, weighed down by long days. The world is moving, fast and chaotic.
Then something shifts. A hush settles over everything. A single white flake drifts down from the sky.
Snow.
I freeze.
It’s cold. The snow is piling up on the frozen planks beneath my knees, and more flakes swirl around me like they’re mocking me. Just like the man behind the glass.
My husband.
Jace is seated inside, warm and smug, his chair placed right in front of the patio door like he’s watching a show. He sips from a steaming mug and stares at me with quiet satisfaction. The cold doesn’t touch him.
I glance down at myself. My hands are trembling. My teeth are chattering. My breath clouds the air, and my fingers are stiff with cold.
And Jace? He just watches.
His gaze glows with twisted delight. His lips curl into a smile. I used to love that smile. It used to be gentle. Sweet. Now it means one thing: this is only the beginning.
I picked the wrong shirt. Too many buttons undone. Meant to be worn only for his eyes. I should’ve known better. But I like my shirts that way—they give me a little confidence. I wasn’t thinking.
I try to stand, hoping to regain some warmth, but it only makes it worse. Now he sees how violently I’m shaking. My whole body is seized by convulsions I can’t control.
A single tear escapes, warm against my frozen skin. It’s the only warmth I feel.
It’s only when I break—when the sobs tear out of me and the ice numbs my bare feet—that the door finally opens.
“Oh, my poor little doll,” he says, faux pity dripping from every word.“Come inside. I’ll warm you up.”
I stay frozen on the steps. Going inside won’t save me. I’d rather die out here in the snow than feel his hands on me again.
His eyes darken when I don’t obey right away. Two steps, and he’s on me. His hand clamps around my arm like iron.
“You’re coming in, you filthy little whore,” he snarls.
“Andrew!”
A voice pulls me back violently. I blink, trying to scatter the storm in my head. The fog thins, and I slowly remember where I am. I’m not there. I’m not with Jace. I’m in a tattoo parlor. I’m safe.
