5

In the kitchen, the hushed chatter of leaving guests fades as the mansion begins to empty. The silence that follows the sudden cutoff of Christmas music feels like a vacuum, pulling me into the dark corners of my thoughts. I lower my head into my hands, my elbows resting on the cool countertop, and exhale shakily.

Rook’s face flashes in my mind—the fury etched into every line, the fire blazing in his eyes as he looked at me. I went too far this time. Pushing him was a mistake, one that almost cost that guy his life. But as guilt gnaws at me, another thought surfaces, darker and angrier: When will this end?

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep controlling everything I do. This thing between us—it’s toxic. It’s dangerous. And it’s gonna destroy us both. I’ve felt it creeping closer and my dad isn’t blind to what’s happening. He’s not a stupid man. Every day, his gaze lingers a little too long, his questions cut a little too deep. He knows something’s wrong. He sees the difference between Rook’s natural protectiveness and the possessiveness that now radiates from him like a warning sign.

And Rook? He doesn’t give a shit. He’s reckless in a way that terrifies me, willing to risk it all—his life, my life—just to keep this twisted connection alive between us. It’s not love anymore. It’s desperation, an unhinged obsession that threatens to wreck everything in its path.

I press my palms harder against my temples, as if I can somehow block it out in my mind. My heart aches, torn between what I know is right and the gravitational pull that Rook has always had on me.

How do I stop him? How do I stop myself?

When I hear footsteps behind me, I lift my head, still feeling the haze from the alcohol in my system. My father enters and moves across the kitchen before pouring himself a whiskey at the far end of the island. I avoid looking at him, keeping my gaze fixed on the countertop.

The space between us feels charged, especially now when all I want to do is think about Rook, the mess we’ve created, and the anger and confusion I can’t seem to stop. But where did he go after everything? I haven’t seen him since the fight outside, and him not being here feels like a wound I can’t stop picking at.

I hear my father knock back the whiskey with a hiss, the sound of the glass slamming back onto the counter making me jump, my body reacting involuntarily. I squirm in my seat as he rounds the island, his heavy footsteps drawing closer. I can feel his gaze on me even before I dare lift my eyes.

When he finally reaches me, he leans both his forearms on the counter, his face coming close. My stomach tightens, and I stare into his blue eyes, trying to hold my ground. The intensity of his gaze is a force, like he’s searching for something I’m not willing to give.

“Everything okay, princess?” he asks, his voice taking on a fatherly softness that always makes my insides coil uncomfortably.

I don’t know why but hearing him say that makes something inside me want to break. I want to scream that it’s not okay, that everything inside me feels like it’s falling apart, but I don’t. Instead, I stay quiet, a lump forming in my throat.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if I could tell him. If I could say the words and explain how Rook and I—how we can’t seem to escape each other. But then I think of how my father would react. I imagine his face, the fury and disgust that would settle in his eyes. He’d never accept it. He sees Rook as a threat, as much as Rook sees him the same. And me? His daughter, his baby girl—he would never allow us to cross that line. To him, Rook and I are strangely family. End of story.

He watches me, studying me so closely, as if he can see right through my skin. I’ve always hated how well he knows me—how he can tell when I’m hiding something. He’s Ryker Huxley, after all. Known for sniffing out weakness, for tearing down every wall you think you’ve built. There’s no fooling him. Not for long.

I swallow, feeling the lie before it even leaves my lips. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his eyes lowering, watching the way my throat constricts.

To get him off my back, I force a soft smile, one that’s phony, and shake my head. “I’m fine, Daddy,” I say nervously. “I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”

The smile doesn’t reach my eyes. I can see the hesitation in his, but he doesn’t press further. Not yet. He simply nods, lingering before he leans over, pressing his lips against my forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Ebony. Go get some shut eye and I’ll see you in the morning.”