Chapter Fifty-Two Abby

The city lights blurred past the window, smears of neon on the black canvas of night as Nathan's car ate up the miles back to his place. The leather seat felt too soft beneath me, too much like a throne I never asked to sit on. My stomach churned with each bit of praise he offered, trying to balance on the tightrope between my cover and the truth that was threatening to spill over.

"You handled yourself well tonight," Nathan said, his voice smooth, almost proud. I glanced at him, the man who was both my captor and...what?

Not my savior. Never that.

Because that dinner…it had made me feel loved and wanted at the same time that it had destroyed me. I should have been basking in his praise–and maybe I would have been, if it weren't for how he'd treated me the day before.

He'd reminded me he wasn't my boyfriend.

Then he told his mother he intended on marrying me.

So what the hell was I to him?

"Stop it," I snapped, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Don't flatter me. You're making me feel like I'm your girlfriend, not some plaything you can parade around."

"Abby, I was…so wrong." He reached over, fingers brushing mine in a touch that sent unwanted heat spiraling through me. "You're not just a toy to me. I see you, all of you—the sharp mind, the strength, the way you fight. You're a companion, a partner. You're not…holes."

His own words made him cringe.

"Not just a fuckdoll?" I asked.

"Not just a--" Nathan paused, a shiver of something passing through his eyes as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "No," he admitted in a low voice. "Not that."

"Is that so?" I kept my tone light, fighting against the pull of emotions I couldn't afford to feel. "And here I was thinking you had a whole other kind of partnership in mind."

His eyes, dark as the shadows we drove through, locked onto mine. "Maybe I do."

I swallowed hard, the reality of his words sinking in like a stone in deep water. We weren't heading back to just any place. We were heading to a future I hadn't planned for—a future where I might be wearing a ring given to me by the same man that had cuffed me, kidnapped me, raped me.

Fangs Zhou wanted to marry me, and the craziest part was, a part of me was tempted to say yes.

"Forgive me," Nathan's voice was a rough whisper, cutting through the charged silence in the car. We stopped at a red light and his eyes searched mine, looking for absolution I wasn't sure I could give.

"Forgive you?" I repeated. I knew what he was talking about, but I needed him to say it. The words had to come out before we could get through this.

But he just kept hedging.

"Can you ever let it go?" he asked, tension coiling in his voice like a snake ready to strike.

"Let what go, exactly?" I gritted out.

"I've done…a lot of things in my life," he finally exhaled, his low voice barely above a whisper. His dark eyes flickered over to me as the car started moving again, filled with a strange mix of pain and relief. "I've hurt people, killed people, but Abby..." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the effort. "I've never...used a woman like that before."

I leaned back in my seat, looking out the window. The city lights passed in a blur as we sped through the night-drenched streets, creating a surreal landscape that reflected our tumultuous reality. "And how did you use me, Nathan?" I asked. "I need you to say it.

His breath stuttered, hitched.

"I raped you," he whispered. "Almost killed you. I was a monster…and maybe I still am."

The silence stretched out between us, tethering us together as much as it tore us apart. Nathan didn't speak, letting me sit with that confession–and I let him stew in his own guilt.

He deserved it, after what he'd done.

"Do you regret it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper above the hum of the car's engine. "Everything?"

There was a silence before he answered. "Do I regret hurting you? Every goddamn day. Do I regret meeting you? Never."

I shook my head. "But why, Nathan?"

"Because when I think about what I did to you..." He paused, his voice catching with emotion. "I feel like I should cut my own fucking dick off."

In the dimness of the car, his dragon tattoo seemed to shift with his movements, a silent testament to the complex man before me.

"But you haven't," I said, my words brittle as I met his gaze. "And why is that?"

He gave me a sad smile, his eyes reflecting the passing city lights. "Because it's not about punishment. It's about change."

I didn't respond, so he continued, "I can't change what I did. But I can change who I am. Who I will be to you."

"But why?" I found myself asking again, confusion muddled with a sliver of hope.

He shook his head. Looked like he was about to cry.

"Nathan," I began, my voice tight with bottled-up emotions, "you can't undo what's been done. Apologies don't erase scars."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch at my words. Good, let him know how it feels. Still, something troubled me about his confession. The regret in his voice felt genuine. An odd sensation tugged at the edges of my heart—the ridiculous urge to comfort him. I squashed that feeling—or at least I tried

"Why are you trying to make it up to me now?"

He looked at me then, his dark orbs intense and unwavering. "Because I love you, Abby."

I bit back the urge to say I loved him too, though I, of course, loved him too. The words were on my tongue, poisonous, savory, ready to spill out.

I reeled them back in.

"Then why?" My voice cracked, betraying the calm facade I fought to maintain.

"Because I'm a fucking mess," he spat out, slamming his palm against the wheel. "I lost control, yes, but not because it's what I do—it was because...because with you, it's different. You unraveled me."

"Is that your version of love then? Losing control?" My question hung in the air, pointed and raw.

His jaw clenched visibly, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. When he did, his words were laced with a pain that mirrored my own. "Love—I don't know if I ever knew what that was supposed to be. But with you, it's the closest I've come to understanding it. I think I get it now, Abby. And I'm so, so sorry."

"Understanding by force?" The skepticism in my voice was sharp enough to cut.

"Never again," he said firmly, meeting my eyes with a resolve that surprised me. "I want your consent, Abby. I want you—in all the ways that matter, not just in bed. I want you as my wife, but only if you want it too."

His declaration thundered in the quiet car, and for a heartbeat, I considered the madness of accepting. The man who could order a hit with a flick of his wrist was offering me his heart, flawed and fractured as it may be.

And somewhere along the line, against all sense, I had begun to care for him too.

I loved this man. And he was…proposing.

"Say something, please," he urged, his voice strained.

"Just give me a second, Nathan. My head is spinning."

"If you want to walk away, my dad might come after you. I'm giving you the option to walk because I get it now. I want you to have that."

I hesitated, letting the weight of his latest question settle between us, still mulling over his proposal. "You think I could walk away from all this?" My voice was steady, even as my heart raced. "That I could just forget and start over somewhere far from here?"

He nodded, his expression earnest. "If that's what you want, I'll make it happen. I'll buy you the tickets myself."

I studied him, this man of contradictions. The air in the luxury car felt too thick, too charged with our conflicting emotions.

"You know," I began, my voice betraying a hint of vulnerability, "I liked it."

It startled me as much as it seemed to startle him–even after the way he'd made me come in that luxurious prison cell, how I'd touched myself when he left me cuffed and broken and sore. My confession hung in the air, raw and honest.

"The submission, having you...like that. Not being in control for once."

Nathan's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise passing through them.

"Everything about my life is perfectly tidy, organized, planned. Control is my thing, but with you, I didn't have it. I didn't know if I was going to get out alive." A bitter laugh escaped me. "And every time you used me, called me just a hole, I convinced myself it was because you couldn't care about me."

"Abby—"

"When you told me I was just a hole for your pleasure, I should have hated you. But I didn't. It was actually the hottest thing I'd ever heard in my life."

His eyes widened as my words hung heavy in the tense silence that followed. I could see the shock etched on his face, his mind whirring as he processed what I'd just revealed.

For a few moments he said nothing, his gaze fixed into the distance with a distant look on his face. "I've done some horrible things," he began hoarsely, breaking the silence. His voice was barely audible above the hum of the car engine. "And you're telling me...it turns you on?"

"Not the violence, not the pain...but the surrender," I admitted, my heart beating a wild rhythm in my chest. My gaze fell to my hands, clasped tightly in my lap to stop them from trembling. "The fact that you wanted me enough to lose control. The way you looked at me like you always wanted to take a bite. I…I wanted that. And I could have told you I wanted that. I just wish you had asked."

His eyes were on me now, his expression unreadable. "I should have asked," he admitted, the bitterness of regret evident in his voice. "And I can't apologize enough for not doing so."

A silence settled in the car. One filled with the weight of apologies and confessions, of shared guilt and the dangerous allure of surrender.

"I should hate you for what you did," I finally said, my voice a hushed whisper against the hum of the engine. "And part of me does. But...there's also this other part that doesn't."

"Do you even know what you're saying?" He looked at me with the intensity that always seemed to make my heart race.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." With a deep breath, I met his gaze squarely. "I'm saying that...I want to try again. Only this time...on my terms."

"And what are your terms?"

"Well," I said. "We can figure that out as we plan the wedding."

The words startled even me.

"Are you saying yes?" he asked.

I nodded, watching the shock, relief, and a million other emotions play across his face. "I'm saying yes," I confirmed, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes to the proposal. Yes to you, Nathan...but only if things change."

They were going to change no matter what. He just didn't know. There was no way for him to know.

And if we were married, I would be in a better position to protect him when the time came to arrest and prosecute his father.

He reached out, his hand hovering just short of brushing against mine. He seemed to be waiting for my permission. I gave it, extending my hand towards him and letting our fingers brush together. He took my hand, squeezing gently.

"The past can't be rewritten," he said quietly, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "But the future...we could write that together."

"I'd like that," I admitted softly. And I would like that–if only I had a way to make it happen. Images of my father, of the job I had sworn to do, flickered across my mind. But there was no denying the truth that pulsed between Nathan and me—a truth as raw and undeniable as the need in his eyes.

"So we're getting married."

"Yes," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let's do it. Let's get married."

The car swerved to the side of the road so suddenly I caught my breath. Nathan reached for me, his urgency matching my own as our lips met in a kiss that sealed our fates. His hands were everywhere, pulling me closer until I straddled him, the city a blur beyond the windows.

"God, I love you," he breathed against my lips, and as I moved against him, the world outside faded away. It was just us—flawed, broken, but fiercely alive. "Do you want this? Do you want me?"

"Yes," I said into his mouth. "Yes."

I moved against him, feeling him hard and ready beneath me. I reached down to unbuckle his belt when he stopped my hand, his fingers closing around my wrist in a gentle but firm grip.

"Wait," he said, pulling back slightly. His eyes searched mine, almost uncertain. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, my heart pounding. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life," I said.

"Good," he replied, shoving the fabric of my panties aside and stroking my clit, his fingers moving down toward my opening.

"Then this is the beginning," he whispered, his fingers pressing into me. I gasped at the sensation, my fingers digging into his shoulders. This was not a man taking what he wanted; it was a man offering himself to me.

Nathan's eyes never left mine as he moved within me. His touch was firm but careful, every stroke meant to bring me pleasure and not just satisfy his own desire. For the first time, there was no rush; no urgency fleeting as the night. It was just us–Nathan and Abby, locked in an intimate dance too profound for words.

His mouth moved against my neck, his breath warm against my skin. "Is this okay?" He asked between kisses, his hand continuing its motion within me.

"Yes," I breathed out, my head falling back as the pleasure built within me. "I need your cock."

The words were a needy plea, one that made Nathan's eyes flash dark with desire. But he didn't rush, didn't go on autopilot mode in his eagerness to seal the connection between us. His fingers stilled within me, his palm pressing against my heated core.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. His other hand cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone as he watched me.

I nodded, biting my lower lip as I looked into those dark eyes dilated with need. "Please," I said, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer. "Don't make me wait anymore."

His groan echoed in the silent car as he pulled his hand away, quickly sliding his pants and boxers down before aligning himself at my entrance. I felt the tip of him against me, the moment of tension before he pushed in, making me whimper in anticipation.

It was as if the world stood still. His gaze held mine captive, offering a silent vow that echoed in the stillness of the car. Then, slowly, he pushed inward, his girth stretching me in an achingly sweet way.

The sensation was startlingly intense, but I welcomed it. I welcomed him. His breath hitched as he began to move slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he filled me again and again.

Our rhythm was slow and deliberate, the tension winding tighter with every thrust. He was careful and considerate, pausing every now and then to make sure I was okay. Each touch, each movement showed his commitment to my pleasure, to us.

His voice was a low growl, sending shivers down my spine as he murmured into my ear, "Abby." Just my name, but uttered with such raw emotion that it sent me over the edge.

I clenched around him, gasping as my climax took me. His fingers dug into my hips, his thrusts growing erratic as he too succumbed to the pleasure, our bodies moving in a desperate rhythm. "Nathan," I whispered, clinging to him as waves of pleasure washed over us.

Slowly, our breathing began to normalize. Nathan pulled out gently, allowing me to sit back in the passenger seat. He zipped up his pants and buckled his belt before leaning back in his seat, reaching out to take my hand.

"We're going to change things," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. "For us. For the future."

I tried for a smile. "Yeah. I know."

I did know.

I just didn't think it was how he wanted things to change.

I didn't like that no matter what happened, I would hurt him. But fuck–at least I got to get out of this alive.