23

When I’m ready, I face the mirror. My makeup is flawless, my long black hair curled perfectly, but none of it matches how dead I feel inside tonight. My fists tighten at my sides, rage simmering beneath the surface, and before I can stop myself, I grab a packet of makeup wipes from the desk. I tear a few free and scrub at my face, wiping away the layers until there’s nothing left—no foundation, no lipstick, no mask. Just skin.

I grab my hairbrush, dragging it through the curls until they fall into messy waves. My heels hit the floor with a sharp kick, and I don’t hesitate as I rip the tight dress off my body, throwing it aside. My steps are quick and purposeful as I storm toward the wardrobe, pulling out a simple oversized black T-shirt, a cropped leather jacket, and a pair of black tights. I grab my boots and sit on the edge of the bed to put everything on.

Once I’m dressed, I stand and turn back to the mirror, staring at the reflection looking back at me.

No fancy dress. No heels. No perfect hair. No layers of makeup and false eyelashes.

This is me.

The real fucking me that I keep burying, hiding away just to keep everyone else happy.

Except one person. Rook.

His deep words echo in my mind: “You don’t always have to be flawless, Bunny. You don’t have to always be perfect—to be perfect to me.”

My eyes well up again, tears threatening to fall, but I force them back with a deep, steady inhale. A new wave of willpower washes over me as I square my shoulders, turning toward the door.

When I step out of the cab in front of my dad’s mansion, the place is alive with energy. Snow still clings to the edges of the driveway, melting under the glow of lights and the rumble of engines. I stare ahead, watching people pour through the doors, the base of music vibrating in the air even from here as luxurious motorbikes line the street. I take a shaky breath, readying myself, and move forward.

Inside, the chaos swallows me whole. People are drinking, laughing, and grinding to the music, the air thick with sweat and the smell of liquor. Bikers party hard—I’ve known this my whole life—but all I care about is making it to the kitchen to pour myself a strong drink.

I weave through the crowd, dodging elbows and sidestepping spilled drinks until, finally, I reach the kitchen. It’s surprisingly empty compared to the rest of the house, a small pocket of calm amidst the madness. A few people nod as I pass, but I barely acknowledge them. My focus is on the counter.

I grab a cup and a bottle of whiskey, my hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. Pouring a shot, I throw it back in one swift motion. The burn hits instantly, scorching my throat and making me cough, but it’s exactly what I need.

“Ebony?” my deep dad’s voice cuts through the noise behind me, loud and unexpected. “Why aren’t you dressed? You’re…”

I spin around to face him, my pulse quickening, but the words die in my throat as my world shrinks, my gaze locking onto one figure in the haze of people behind him—Blaise.

A flash of anger rushes through me, but I snap out of it as soon as my dad steps forward, gesturing at my outfit with his hand. His expression changes: he's disappointed, but I glance down at myself as the room around me blurs.

“I like it,” I say flatly, almost robotic, my voice void of emotion.

He stops in his tracks, his jaw tightening as he studies me. The tension between us is already brewing, thickening the air, I can feel it creeping around my spine, tightening, but I push through it, lifting my chin and moving my eyes back to Blaise. He’s standing there, glass of whiskey in hand, his tattooed fingers wrapped around it like a taunt, staring at me.

“What’s he doing here?” I demand, shooting a pointed look at my dad.

My dad side-eyes Blaise for a moment, but his gaze quickly returns to mine. “Listen, Ebony—”

“No, Dad,” I snap, my voice cracking like a whip as I cut him off.

Then, my eyes squeezing shut, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. When I open them again, his expression is stunned, like I’ve just smacked him.

“I am not fucking being with”—I jab a finger in Blaise’s direction— “that.”

Blaise smirks, lifting his glass and taking a small sip, his eyes glinting with amusement, like he’s enjoying every second of this fucking disaster.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” my dad bites as his face flushes a deep, angry red.

Blaise steps forward now, and I feel my body tense instinctively.

“You made it just in time,” he says as his gaze moves over my outfit, taking it all in.

“In time for what?” I ask, confusion flickering across my face.

Blaise doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and when I see it, my stomach drops, and my eyes widen in disbelief. He flips open the lid, revealing a sparkling diamond ring that glints cruelly under the light.

“It’s our engagement party,” Blaise sneers.

My breath hitches, and my eyes snap to my dad’s. Tears well up instantly as I shake my head, my plea quiet but desperate.

“No—”

“You’ll do as you’re told, Ebony,” my dad repeats, his tone colder now, more final.

“NO, I WON’T!” I shout as my anger flares, wild and uncontrollable, and it makes him straighten, his jaw clenching.

“I’m not marrying that piece of shit! You can’t make me—I’m done!”

I move to push past him, but his hand snaps out, grabbing my upper arm with a brutal grip and yanking me back.

“Ebony!” he growls, the warning in his tone echoing through me, but all I see is red.

“Fuck you, Dad! I fucking hate you!” The words rip out of me, my chest heaving with rage. “How can you do this to me? Your own daughter!”

“Because it’s for your best interest!” he fires back.

“MY best interest?” I scoff. “You mean YOUR best interest.”

For a moment, we’re locked in a battle of furious stares, his eyes blazing with fury while mine overflow with defiance.

“You don’t give a fuck about me!” I croak, the words spilling out now, unfiltered, unstoppable. “This isn’t about me—it’s about business. You’re willing to sell your own fucking daughter off for a deal.”

His chest heaves, his lips part to say something, but I cut him off.

“Mom would never have allowed this. She would have fucking killed your ass for destroying her daughter’s life!”

He loses it suddenly, his hand striking my face with such force that my head whips to the side, my hair falling like a curtain over my stinging cheek. The sharp, metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and before I can even think, his fingers grip my face harshly, forcing me to look at him.

Tears stream down as I breathe harshly, my chest heaving while his face is inches from mine, his eyes burning with anger.

“Don’t ever talk about your mother like that in front of me again,” he growls. “This is about your future. Your fucking kids' future. Put your selfish, childish bullshit aside and stop living in your little bubble for once. This is reality, princess.”

I don’t say a word, and his grip tightens for a second, then his voice drops to a near whisper.

“You have no future with him, Ebony. He can’t give you what you fucking need. You know that don’t you? It’s all a fucking fantasy. That little cunt is lucky I haven’t blown his kneecaps off with my shotgun already. He’s lucky I love his mom. But love?” He sneers, his breath hot and whiskey infused against my face. “Love isn’t always enough. Not when it comes to my daughter.”

I don’t need him to say the name—I already know he’s talking about Rook.

“You keep this shit up, keep defying me for him, and I’ll do what I’ve always wanted to do.” His grip loosens slightly, his tone chillingly casual now. “I’ll end him. It’s your fucking choice. Choose wisely.”

With that, he shoves my face away and turns, walking off as if nothing happened. I stand there, frozen for a moment, my whole body rigid. Slowly, I wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand before Blaise steps closer, looming over me like a shadow.

I refuse to meet his eyes. Instead, I move to walk away, but his hand clamps down on my arm and the touch sends a jolt of disgust through me, but I don’t stop to think. I try to yank my arm free and spin around, shooting him a glare so sharp it could shatter glass.

“Don’t touch me, motherfucker,” I seethe.

Blaise’s lips curve into a smug grin as he leans in. “Where are you going, princess? I’m proposing to you in five minutes.”

I tilt my chin, raising an eyebrow. “I’d rather fucking die than be with a prick like you. I’m leaving.”

I turn sharply, determined on storming off, but his hand grips my arm again, yanking me back. Before I can spit another insult, he presses his phone to my ear. His dark eyes bore into mine as I listen, the pounding bass of the music fading into the background.

At first, I don’t register the sound—but then it hits me. It’s me, moaning, breathless. Then Rook’s voice follows, deep and unmistakable. Finally, my voice again, gasping his name.

My blood turns to ice.

Blaise pulls the phone away and tucks it smoothly into his pocket.

“I think you understand now,” he says. “You’re not dumb, are you?”

My body shakes with barely contained rage, my chest rising and falling.

“Just accept the proposal, Ebony, and I won’t tell your daddy how you spent Christmas night fucking your own brother. Then, Rook doesn’t die.”

A tear glides down my cheek, burning hot against my skin. My mind races, piecing it together—the stupid hairclip he gave me. It must have had a recording device. He set me up.

But why?

Blaise’s fingers brush over my wet, bruised cheek, his touch sickeningly tender and I jerk back instinctively, but his grasp tightens on my arm.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he breathes. “I’m gonna take real good care of my fiancée. I’m taking you home tonight to solidify our engagement. You won’t escape me twice.”

His gaze lingers on my face a moment longer, relishing my torment, before he finally releases me and strides off.

As soon as he’s gone, my breath comes in shallow gasps, my chest tight as my vision blurs with tears. My thoughts spiral, panic clawing at me as I watch Blaise and my dad talking in the distance, their figures blurring in the haze of the crowd.

An uncontrollable sob escapes me, tearing through my chest and I feel defeated—trapped. But then, something inside me snaps.

I won’t do this anymore.

Without another glance back, I stride through the crowd, my steps quickening as I head for the garage door. When I enter, I hit the button on the wall to open the shutters, the hum of the machinery barely reaching my ears.

My hands tremble as I snatch a set of keys off the hook before I climb onto a sleek black motorbike, jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, the sound rumbling in my chest. Kicking up the stand, I grip the handlebars tightly and gun it forward, flying out onto the now rainy street.

The cold, wet wind tears at my hair as I leave the mansion—and the monsters inside it—far behind.