1. June

Chapter one

June

T he stench of antiseptic slaps me awake, a pungent cocktail of bleach and despair that no amount of industrial-grade cleaner can mask. My eyes snap open, pupils contracting painfully against the harsh fluorescent glare. Fuck. This isn't my penthouse. It's not Cara's warm, inviting bed.

No, this is somewhere much, much worse.

I try to sit up, but padded restraints bite into my wrists and ankles. Panic claws its way up my throat as realization dawns. I'm in a fucking psych ward.

"What the hell?" I rasp, my voice a broken whisper.

Memories flood back in a dizzying rush. Cara's face, twisted in betrayal as I confessed to the cameras. Her gray eyes, stormy with hurt and rage. "Get out," she'd snarled. "Don't ever come back."

But I had come back. Again and again, driven by an obsession that burns hotter than hellfire in my veins.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm there again. Cara, pinned beneath me on her couch, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. My hand wrapped around her delicate throat, just tight enough to make her gasp.

"You're mine," I'd growled, nipping at the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Say it."

"Yours," she'd moaned, arching into me. "Always yours, June."

The memory sends a jolt of arousal through me, and I strain against the restraints. My cock hardens painfully, desperate for her touch.

A door creaks open, shattering the erotic reverie. A nurse enters, her face a mask of professional detachment.

"Good morning, Mr. Deveaux," she chirps, voice dripping with fake cheer. "How are we feeling today?"

I bare my teeth in what might charitably be called a smile. "Just peachy. Mind telling me what the fuck I'm doing here?"

She tsks, shaking her head. "Now, now. That kind of language won't help your recovery. You're here because your family is concerned about your well-being. They want to help you get better."

Ice floods my veins. Mother.

Of course it was her, finally making good on her threats to have me committed. To break me of my "unhealthy obsession" with Cara.

"How long?" I demand, struggling to keep my voice steady.

The nurse checks her clipboard. "You've been with us for eight days now. Don't you remember being admitted?"

Eight fucking days. More than a week torn away from Cara. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like it might burst free at any moment.

"I need to make a phone call," I say, forcing my tone to remain calm and reasonable. "It's urgent."

She shakes her head, that patronizing smile still plastered on her face. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now, Mr. Deveaux. Doctor's orders. Now, let's get you ready for your morning meds, shall we?"

As she turns to prepare a syringe, my mind whirs into overdrive. I can't stay here. I won't. Every second I'm locked away is another chance for Cara to slip through my fingers. To forget the scorching connection that binds us together.

I have to get out. Have to find my way back to her, no matter the cost.

The nurse approaches with the needle, and I school my features into a mask of docile compliance. "There we go," she coos as she injects the contents into my IV line. "This will help you feel much better."

I nod, letting my eyelids droop as if suddenly drowsy. But inside, a feral grin spreads across my face. Let them think they've broken me. Let them believe their drugs and restraints can tame the beast that rages within.

They have no idea what I'm capable of. What I'll do to get back to my Cara.

As the nurse's footsteps fade and the door clicks shut, I open my eyes. The room swims, the edges of my vision blurring from whatever cocktail they've pumped into me. But my mind remains razor-sharp, focused on a single, all-consuming goal.

I'm coming for you, Cara. Nothing will keep us apart. Not my bitch of a mother, not these doctors, not even your own misguided attempts to push me away.

You're mine. And I'll burn this whole fucking world to ashes to prove it.

I close my eyes, fighting against the drug-induced haze. Images of Cara flash behind my eyelids, a kaleidoscope of memories both tender and savage. Her laugh, musical and free. The way her eyes sparkle when she's plotting mischief. The curve of her spine as she arches beneath me, lost in the throes of passion.

My cock throbs, straining against the thin fabric of the hospital-issued pants. I grit my teeth, willing away the arousal. Not now. Not here, in this sterile hellhole where they watch my every move, waiting for a sign of the "instability" they're so eager to cure.

A knock at the door jolts me from my reverie. I don't bother responding. It's not like they need my permission to enter anyway.

The door swings open, and a man in a pristine white coat steps in. He's older, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hawkish nose. His smile is practiced, professional, but his eyes are cold and assessing.

"Good morning, Mr. Deveaux," he says, his voice smooth as oil. "I'm Dr. Faulkner. I'll be overseeing your treatment during your stay with us."

I force my lips into a bland smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Doctor. Though I have to say, the accommodations leave something to be desired."

He chuckles, the sound as hollow as his empathy. "Yes, well, we do prioritize safety over comfort here. Now, let's discuss your situation, shall we?"

He takes a seat in the chair beside my bed, crossing one leg over the other in a pose of studied casualness. "I've been reviewing your file, Mr. Deveaux. It's quite... concerning. Paranoid delusions, obsessive behavior, a history of violence and instability. Your family is very worried about you."

Red-hot anger burns through me at his words, at the way he reduces my love for Cara to a set of clinical terms. But I tamp it down, forcing my features into a mask of contrite acceptance.

"I know I've made some mistakes," I say, my voice carefully modulated to convey remorse. "But I'm ready to do the work, to be better. For myself, and for the people I love."

Dr. Faulkner nods, but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Deveaux. But I must warn you, the road ahead will not be easy. You have a long journey of self-discovery and healing ahead of you."

I clench my fists beneath the thin blanket, my nails biting into my palms. "I understand, Doctor. And I'm ready to face whatever challenges come my way."

He stands, tucking his clipboard under his arm. "Very well. We'll begin your therapy sessions this afternoon. In the meantime, try to get some rest. You'll need all your strength for what's to come."

With that, he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I lean back against the pillows, my mind racing. They think they can fix me, these doctors with their degrees and their superior attitudes. They think they can cure me of my love for Cara, make me see the "error of my ways."

But they're wrong. They're all wrong.

Cara isn't some delusion to be medicated away. She's not a symptom to be treated or a problem to be solved. She's the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the very essence of my existence.

I close my eyes, letting the memory of her wash over me like a tidal wave. The softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. The taste of her lips, sweet and intoxicating. The way she'd moan my name, a breathless litany of desire and need.

"June," she'd whispered that last night, her body trembling beneath mine. "I need you. Only you."

My cock twitches at the memory, and I bite back a groan. Even here, trapped and drugged and at the mercy of these white-coated jailers, my body responds to her. Always to her.

I have to get out of here. Have to find my way back to her side, no matter the cost. I'll play their games, jump through their hoops, tell them whatever pretty lies they want to hear. And all the while, I'll be planning, scheming, looking for any weakness I can exploit.

Because they can drug me, analyze me, try to reprogram my mind all they want. But they'll never cut out the part of me that belongs to Cara. The maddening need ingrained in every cell, every firing neuron.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, harsh and humorless in the sterile silence of my room. If only they knew the futility of it all. That any sanity I once possessed was forged and anchored to Cara alone. She is the eye of my hurricane, the only stillness amidst the maelstrom. And without her... madness reigns unchecked.

The door opens again, and a different nurse enters. This one is younger, with kind eyes and a softer smile. She's pushing a cart laden with trays, the unmistakable smell of hospital food wafting from beneath the plastic covers.

"Lunchtime, Mr. Deveaux," she says, her voice gentle. "Are you feeling up to eating?"

I nod, forcing a weak smile. "I'll try," I say, injecting a note of uncertainty into my voice. "Though I'm not sure how much I can manage."

She sets the tray on the small table beside my bed, then hesitates. "Would you like some help sitting up?"

I pause, weighing my options. Playing helpless could work in my favor, make them underestimate me. But I also need to build trust, to show progress if I want any hope of getting out of here.

"I think I can manage," I say finally. "But thank you. It's nice to be treated like a person, not just another patient."

Her smile widens, genuine warmth lighting her eyes. "Of course. We're all here to help you, Mr. Deveaux. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but things will get better."

As she turns to leave, a plan begins to form in my mind. This nurse, with her kind eyes and gentle demeanor... she could be useful. A potential ally in this sterile prison.

"Wait," I call out, infusing my voice with just the right amount of vulnerability. "I... I don't even know your name."

She pauses at the door, turning back to me with a soft smile. "It's Sarah. I'll be on duty for the next few days, so you'll probably be seeing a lot of me."

I nod, letting a flicker of relief show on my face. "Thank you, Sarah. It's... it's good to know there's at least one friendly face around here."

As she leaves, closing the door behind her, I allow myself a small, triumphant smile. The first piece is in place. Now, I just need to be patient, to play the long game.

I force myself to eat, choking down bland mouthfuls of mystery meat and overcooked vegetables. I need to keep up my strength, to be ready for whatever opportunities might present themselves.

As I eat, my mind drifts back to Cara. Is she thinking of me? Does she lie awake at night, aching for my touch the way I ache for hers? Or has she already moved on, grateful to be free of the dark obsession that binds us together?

The thought sends a spike of jealousy through me, hot and vicious. No. She's mine. She'll always be mine, whether she wants to admit it or not.

I close my eyes, picturing her face. The curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, the storm-grey of her eyes. I'll find my way back to her. I'll reclaim what's mine, even if I have to tear this place apart brick by brick to do it.

Just hold on, baby. I'm coming for you. And when I do, nothing in this world will ever tear us apart again.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of medication and monotony. I'm escorted to a group therapy session, where I sit in sullen silence as my fellow inmates bare their souls to a room full of strangers. I nod in all the right places, make sympathetic noises when expected, but my mind is elsewhere.

Always on Cara. Always plotting my escape.

As night falls and the ward grows quiet, I lie awake in my narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. The drugs they've pumped into me make my limbs feel heavy, my thoughts sluggish. But I fight against the fog, forcing my mind to stay sharp, to stay focused.

I replay every moment of my time here, searching for weaknesses, for patterns I can exploit. The night shift change, when the corridors are quieter. The brief window between medication rounds. The way Sarah's keycard hangs just a little too loosely from her belt.

Slowly, painstakingly, a plan begins to take shape. It's risky, fraught with potential for failure. But it's all I have. My one shot at freedom, at finding my way back to Cara's arms.

I close my eyes, letting her image fill my mind once more. The softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath against my neck, the way she'd whisper my name like a prayer.

"I'm coming, Cara," I murmur into the darkness, my voice barely a whisper. "Wait for me. Please, baby. Just wait for me."

As sleep finally claims me, my dreams are filled with her. Cara, writhing beneath me, her nails raking down my back as I bury my cock inside her. Cara, laughing in the sunlight, her hair a halo of gold. Cara, her eyes wide with fear and betrayal as I reveal the depths of my obsession.

I wake with a start, my heart pounding, my body slick with sweat. The first hints of dawn are creeping through the barred window, painting the sterile white walls with shades of pink and gold.

A new day. Another chance to set my plan in motion.

I force my lungs to breathe deeply, to center myself. I can't afford to let my emotions get the better of me, not now. Not when I'm so close to freedom.

As I hear the first stirrings of the morning shift change, I school my features into a mask of docile compliance. Let them think they've broken me, tamed the beast within. Let them believe their drugs and therapy have done their job.

They have no idea what's coming. No inkling of the storm that's about to break over their heads.

I am Juniper Deveaux, and I will not be caged. Not by my mother, not by these doctors, not even by my own fractured psyche.

Because a love like ours? Obsessive, consumptive, transcendent in its intensity?

It won't be denied. And it'll salt the fucking earth before letting anything stand in its way.