Page 72 of Arranged Addiction
But I keep thinking about him circling around me, thinking about me, imagining me.
Wanting me more than any man in my life ever has.
All those other boys were scared away, but he never left me.
Am I really trying to rationalize this?
I’m terrified. I hate him so much right now.
But he’s also beautiful and he clearly cares about me in a way I doubt I’ll ever understand.
“Get out,” I whisper, shaking as I hug myself. “Just please, get out. I need space.”
“I’ll leave, but you aren’t going anywhere. Senesi killed my driver tonight.”
I let out an ugly, bitter laugh. “Of course he did. That’s really convenient.”
“I sat in his blood to drive to you. He was a good man. I’d do it all over again, just to make sure you’re safe.”
“Fine, okay? Our deal still stands. I’m still your wife. But that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I don’t have to care about you. From where I stand, you’re just a monster.”
“Good.” His lips twist. He’s masculine and gorgeous. It’s scary, the sharpness and the fire in his eyes. “So long as you’re mine.”
He turns and walks out. I watch him go, and once the door clicks shut, I run to the handle to turn the lock.
Only when I’m alone do I finally let myself break down as the sheer weight of what I just learned threatens to crush me.
All this time, he’s been there. Nudging my life from afar. Then taking me as his own little by little.
Until now I’m trapped with his ring on my finger.
And no way out.
Chapter 24
Casey
Here’s the thing about life: it keeps going.
Even if you want it to stop. Even if you want it to slow down.
Life keeps on marching along.
Offices are like that too. Days blend into each other. They become one big blob of corporate hallways and bland carpeting.
For some reason, I feel safer at work, sitting at my desk, right outside the office of Boss Bastard, my husband, and my stalker.
Mostly because I know he’s not going to show up here for a little while.
But little gifts start to show up. There’s a necklace one morning. A new travel coffee mug the next. Flowers on the third day. Those go straight into the garbage. But more get delivered an hour later and I decide to keep them since they’re nice and it isn’t their fault they got sent by a total asshole.
It’s like he knows me better than I know myself.
I love everything he sends—and it pisses me off that he gets me so well.
I don’t actually have work to do. For the first couple of days, I sit at my desk, scroll on my phone, and pretend like I’m busy when someone walks past.
Until I slowly start to process the shitshow my life’s become.
