11. Brooke

After a long day of classes, I returned to Connor"s house, my emotions a tangled mess of frustration and defiance. The moment I stepped through the door, the reality of my situation hit me like a wave, the texts Connor had sent earlier echoing in my mind like a taunt. With a deep breath meant to steady my racing heart, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through his messages once again. Each word, each command, stoked the fire of my anger, tempting me to hurl the device against the wall.

But it simmered by the time I got home.

Not because I didn't want to do it, but because other things took up too much of my focus.

I made my way to the kitchen table, a place devoid of the personal touches that would make a house feel like a home. There, amid the cold, impersonal space, I began to channel my fury into something productive. Pulling out my notes and textbooks, I started creating a study guide for a couple of my classes. It was an attempt to regain some sense of control over my life, a way to prove to myself that despite Connor"s efforts to dominate my time and my actions, I still had a say in how I spent my time.

The act of organizing my notes, of summarizing lectures and highlighting key concepts, was surprisingly therapeutic. Each term I defined, each concept I mapped out, felt like a small victory against the chaos Connor had thrust into my life. It was a reminder that I was still a student, still someone with goals and ambitions beyond the walls of his townhouse. My focus on the task at hand grew, allowing me to momentarily forget the absurdity of my living situation, offering a brief respite from my anger and frustration.

However, as I delved deeper into my studies, the silence of the house weighed heavily on me. It was a stark contrast to the bustling campus and even the lively atmosphere of the River Styx café. Here the quiet was oppressive, a constant reminder that I was very much alone in this battle. Yet, I refused to let it defeat me. With each page I turned, each study guide I completed, I was building my resilience, fortifying myself against the challenges I knew were still to come.

By the time I finished my work, the initial fury that had driven me to ignore Connor"s texts had simmered down to a steady determination. I knew that the battle lines had been drawn, that in refusing to comply with his demands, I was asserting my independence in the only way I could under the circumstances. It was a small act of defiance, perhaps, but it was mine.

As I looked around the silent kitchen, the completed study guides before me stood as a testament to my resolve. No matter what Connor thought, I was not without agency. I would find a way to navigate this ordeal, to emerge on the other side not just intact, but stronger for it.

Curiosity, mingled with a sense of foreboding, nudged at me as I closed my textbooks. Connor"s threat to hand me over to Leo Wolfe if I didn"t comply with his demands lingered in my mind, a dark cloud overshadowing my thoughts. Was Leo Wolfe really as fearsome as everyone made him out to be? And, perhaps more pressingly, was staying with Connor truly the lesser of two evils? With these questions gnawing at me, I opened my laptop, driven by a need to uncover the truth about the man who was, according to Connor, a far worse fate.

My search began with a simple query, but soon, images of Leo Wolfe filled my screen. He was undeniably attractive, with striking features—tall and lean, with piercing eyes hidden behind stylish shades, and an aura of confidence that was almost tangible. His hair, styled in a casual yet deliberate manner, added to his allure, making it easy to understand how one could be drawn to him based solely on appearance. For a fleeting moment, I found myself captivated, lost in the visual appeal that seemed so at odds with the reputation that preceded him.

However, as I delved deeper into the articles and reports chronicling his exploits, the initial allure faded, replaced by a growing sense of horror. There were tales of his cruelty, instances where his violence wasn"t just implied but explicitly detailed. One article recounted a chilling account of a business rival found beaten in an alley, a stark warning to anyone who dared cross him. Another piece highlighted the erratic behavior of those within his inner circle, suggesting a reign of terror that kept even his closest associates in line through fear rather than loyalty.

With each click, each story, the reality of Leo Wolfe"s character became increasingly clear. Beyond the charm and the magnetic persona lay a man capable of extreme cruelty, a man who wielded his power like a weapon to maintain control and instill fear. The contrast between the images that had first caught my eye and the stark, violent truth of his actions was jarring, a reminder that appearances could be deceiving, and that the allure of the surface often hid darker depths.

Closing my laptop, I leaned back in my chair, feeling a cold shiver run down my spine. The question of whether I would be better off with Connor lingered, unanswered, but the research into Leo Wolfe had solidified one thing: the world I had been thrust into was more dangerous and complex than I had initially realized.

Fuck.

Connor"s threats were no longer abstract warnings; they were grounded in a reality where individuals like Wolfe existed and thrived. As I sat there, the weight of my situation settled heavily on my shoulders, the illusion of choice between bad and worse leaving me feeling more trapped than ever.

The moment Connor stepped through the door, I couldn"t help but turn to look at him. Dressed in a white-collared suit and slacks, he bore a striking resemblance to a Greek god, exuding an air of confidence and a touch of arrogance that was undeniably attractive. It was infuriating how my heart fluttered at the sight of him, how despite everything, I felt a pull of attraction towards him. I hated him for it, hated that even now, he could elicit such a reaction from me.

He surveyed the room with a critical eye, his voice dripping with disapproval. "I don"t smell anything burning... you didn"t cook dinner, as I instructed you to do?" His gaze darted around, taking in the state of the room. "Let me guess—the books in my library aren"t alphabetized either. Tell me: was there something in my messages that made it difficult for you to understand your duties?"

I stood up, looking for an outlet. "I"m not your slave!" I snapped, my voice ringing out sharper than I intended.

"That"s exactly what you are, Westwood," he retorted coldly. "That contract binds you to me."

The words were like a slap, a cruel reminder of the predicament I was in. Desperation clawing at me, I blurted out, "Well, maybe I want to break the contract."

Immediately, I held my breath. The truth was, after reading about Leo Wolfe, the last thing I wanted was to be sent his way. But I couldn"t let Connor know that. Would he call my bluff?

He smirked, a gesture that made my skin crawl, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Sure," he said with a disarming ease. "If you want to leave, I"ll just call your dad, get Leo Wolfe"s number, and I"ll send you his way."

My heart sank as I internally cursed, my bravado crumbling under the weight of his threat. "Why are you doing this?"

Connor dropped his arms to his sides, though the hardness in his voice remained. "You know why," he stated flatly, a hint of bitterness seeping through. "You ruined my life because you couldn"t keep your mouth shut. And now, you"re going to pay for it."

I was taken aback by the accusation, my confusion genuine. "I have no idea what you"re talking about," I replied, my denial firm. "I didn"t tell anyone."

"And yet, somehow, Detroit found out," he countered..

"Your wife walked in on us," I reminded him, the memory uncomfortable, to say the least. "Or do you forget?"

Connor"s expression hardened further, if possible. "I don"t remember insignificant things," he dismissed, his gaze locking with mine across the table. "And she"s my ex-wife. She was my ex-wife then. I told you—we were separated. Why do we have to keep having this conversation over and over again?"

The assertion made me scoff under my breath. "Trust me, that didn"t seem to be the case," I muttered, more to myself than to him, recalling the aftermath of that night.

His blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "What does that mean?" he demanded, his interest piqued despite his earlier dismissal.

"Forget about it," I said, wanting to put distance between myself and that conversation, to push away the memories of his ex"s cruelty.

However, the truth was, after that fateful encounter, I had received three threatening emails from Connor"s ex-wife. Each one was filled with vitriol and threats, so malicious that I couldn"t bring myself to open them again after the first read. She had been cruel, vicious, and thinking about her sent a chill down my spine.

"Tell me," Connor insisted, his tone shifting to be more demanding.

"I told you, I don"t want—" I started, only to be cut off.

"I"ll order in and remove cooking as your duty for tonight if you tell me," he bargained, clearly willing to play whatever game he thought this was.

I hesitated, torn between my desire to keep those emails and their contents buried in the past and the unexpected reprieve from tonight"s duties. It was a small concession, perhaps, but in the twisted reality of my current life, even minor victories felt significant. I didn"t want to play into his hands, to give him more ammunition against me, but at the same time, the prospect of a night free from the expectation of playing the obedient house guest was too tempting to ignore. My resolve wavered, the decision a weighty one, as I found myself caught between a rock and a hard place, with no good choices, only less terrible ones.

His eyes narrowed, his tone leaving no room for refusal. "Show me," he ordered, a command rather than a request.

I shifted uncomfortably, the protective instinct I felt over those venomous words clashing with the realization that I had no choice but to comply. Clenching my teeth to hold back a retort, I reluctantly grabbed my phone, navigating to the hidden folder where I had buried those emails like unwanted memories. Handing my phone over, I watched his expression shift from skeptical curiosity to something much darker. As Connor read through the emails, his face hardened, a scowl etching deep lines across his brow, the casual demeanor vanishing under the weight of the words he was reading.

When he finally set the phone aside, his voice was eerily calm, a stark contrast to the storm I saw brewing in his eyes. "You never said anything," he stated, an accusation veiled in observation.

"It wasn"t like we were talking at that point," I snipped. "And I thought what she said?—"

"It wasn"t true," he cut in sharply, his statement slicing through the air between us. "None of it was."

"Yeah, but how was I supposed to know that?" I countered, frustration bubbling up.

"I told you—" he started, but I couldn"t let him finish.

"But you could have been lying," I said, the words tumbling out. "You could have said a lot of stuff just to get with me."

Connor held my gaze, his stare penetrating. "Just because Hanson is an asshole who needs to lie to get with girls doesn"t mean I do," he retorted, his voice firm. "I"m not like every NHLer you think you know." His words hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a rebuke all at once.

"And yet, you didn"t reach out," I pointed out, unable to let the matter rest, to let him off the hook so easily.

"I couldn"t, at that point," he replied, the frustration evident in his tone. "Detroit launched their investigation. I wasn"t about to make it worse for me. Not like it mattered, but still. And I thought you..." His voice trailed off, leaving the accusation hanging between us.

"I didn"t," I insisted, firmly closing the door on the implication of his unfinished thought.

The conversation felt like navigating a minefield, each word, each admission, revealing more of the complexity and the pain of our shared past. The revelations from the emails had opened old wounds, but they also shed new light on the tangled web of misunderstandings and missed connections that had brought us to this point.

"Yeah, well." Connor shrugged, the simplicity of the gesture belying the tension that hummed between us. "I"m sorry," he bit out, the words seeming to catch even him by surprise. He paused, struggling with what to say next. "She shouldn"t have..." His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging unfinished in the air. "Does anyone know?" His gaze pierced into me as he searched my face for the truth.

I shook my head, a silent confirmation of my solitude in this.

"Not even Mathers?" he pressed, his question underlined with concern, or perhaps it was curiosity.

"No one knows about us," I assured him, feeling the weight of the secret we shared. "Even when you were fired. No one knows. And no one knows about those emails either." It was a truth that I had clung to, a protective barrier between myself and the world"s judgment.

"Why? Why not show how she really is?" His question was valid, probing into the reasons behind my silence.

"Because I didn"t need that attention," I said, looking away to hide the vulnerability I felt at the moment. "It would ruin my reputation, my father"s, and I"m sure it would make you look bad. I could deal with whatever she said about me."

"Even alone?" Connor"s question was soft, almost hesitant.

"People forget, I"ve been alone my whole life," I responded, a touch of defiance in my voice. "I"m lucky I have my best friend, but that doesn"t mean I tell her everything just like I know she doesn"t tell me everything. And that"s okay."

Connor gave me a long look, as if reassessing me, or perhaps the situation we found ourselves in. Finally, breaking the intensity of the moment, he asked, "Pizza or sandwiches?"

It was a simple question, yet in our conversation, it felt like a concession, a step towards something resembling normalcy, however fleeting it might be.

But I knew it wouldn't last forever.