8

Sitting on the couch with Cindy, I pull my dark hair forward, letting it cascade over my shoulder as she fastens the necklace she bought me. Her fingers work delicately, the clasp clicking into place. When she’s done, I glance down at it—a small token of kindness in the madness—and then swivel to face her, giving a soft, grateful smile.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet, but genuine.

Before she can respond, the air changes. Rook strides into the room, his vibe demanding attention as always. He doesn’t spare me a look as he moves toward the kitchen, but my eyes follow him instinctively, drawn like a moth to a flame I should know better than to touch.

And then I feel it—a piercing gaze. My stomach constricts, panic winding inside me as I realize my dad is watching me. His stare is heavy, probing, challenging, a clear warning until finally, he looks away.

My focus snaps back to Rook as he downs a glass of whiskey in one smooth motion, the tension in his posture showing he's agitated. I watch him grab his helmet off the counter, preparing to leave already and my heart rate spikes. Cindy notices right away and she’s on her feet in seconds, hurrying toward him. I stay where I am, rooted to the couch, unsure whether to say goodbye or let him go without a word.

This is what we’ve become. Awkward. Fractured. Our once-normal—well, normal-ish—family life now a tangled mess of avoiding each other or forbidden lust. We’re like a spreading blemish, dark and poisonous, infecting everything around us. And no matter how much time or distance keeps us apart; the rot doesn’t fade. It just lingers. It festers into something so much fucking worse.

My eyes fix on him, the vivid flashbacks in my mind. The way he just manhandled me in that bathroom, lifting and dropping me down with a grip that stole my breath, taking exactly what he wants. The way he fucked my ass with that ornament, his tongue annihilating me at the same time, pulling muffled sounds from me that didn’t belong in this fucking world.

It’s clear as day. Rook still has me, body and soul, wrapped around his little finger. And no matter how far he walks away, how many years he leaves, no matter how much I want to avoid us, I’ll never be free. And I know that now more than ever since he’s clearly been hacking my shit and watching me. Psycho.

I’ve thought about it for years, wondering if fate would’ve been kinder, if life had played out differently. If he hadn’t been my brother, would our souls have still found their way to one another? Could we have had the freedom to love without the judgment crushing us? Without the watching eyes, the whispers, the smothering control?

People don’t understand the agony of it—loving someone so deeply and knowing they’re right there in front of you, so close you can feel them, but being stopped from reaching for them.

Cindy leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her voice soft, her smile beaming. He then walks toward the door without stopping, without looking at me. Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me wondering when I’ll see him again and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room.

I lower my head, closing my eyes as the ache in my chest spreads. It’s the same old feeling, familiar in the worst way. My hands tremble on my thighs, and I press them into fists to make it stop. The sting behind my eyes grows sharper, hotter. Feeling like I’ve lost him all over again. Lost the other part of me.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

I tug on my jacket as I stand, then sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way toward the kitchen. My dad’s eyes are waiting for me as I step inside, suspicious and calculating. His gaze rakes over me like he’s looking for flaws, anything out of place.

“I’m going to see Blaise,” I say, forcing the words out calmly.

I see the flicker of pride in his expression when I say his name, like it’s a currency he’s fucking collecting. But his pride is worth nothing to me anymore. Not like it used to be. It’s just another leash, another way to wrap me up in the life I’m slowly suffocating in.

“Merry Christmas, Ebony,” he says, stepping forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. But as I turn to leave, he suddenly snatches my upper arm and yanks me into him.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” he warns with a growl in my ear.

He hovers for a beat, and I stare ahead, blank, my heart pounding. When he lets me go, I stay in the same spot a second longer, my jaw tight until I walk away, making my way to my car outside.