Prologue

“Do you know why you’re such a good girl, Cora?” His breath tickles my cheek, but the smell of stale cigars makes me cringe. I stay still though, because he gets mad when I pull away. “Because you always do what I tell you to do.”

It’s been drummed into me from a very young age to be good. Good girls are seen and not heard. Good girls only speak when spoken to. They are compliant, submissive, malleable. They respect their elders and do what they are told.

Especially by their intimidating stepfathers.

All my life, I have tried so hard to be good. I study hard, do relatively well in school, hold down a babysitting job, and help my mom around the house.

But being good has backfired.

It has brainwashed me into thinking that I always have to please others, especially men. I’ve been too afraid to speak up for myself or to say no. It has made me vulnerable and easy to manipulate.

I think that’s why when he says those words to me, it sends shivers down my spine. I don’t want to be just a good girl anymore. I want to be something more.

As he stands there, towering over me, I feel his breath on my neck. His hand slowly reaches for my waist, pulling me closer to him. I try to resist, but I’m meant to be good. And struggling just makes him grip me tighter. I don’t want to make him mad.

My knees are shaking. My breathing is uneven. I’m scared.

His eyes lock in on my lips, and I resist the urge to recoil.

I don’t like this. I don’t want this. It’s wrong.

A knock at the door to his study has him pushing me away, and I stumble. I’m relieved at the interruption as the door swings open and my stepbrother appears in the doorway, frowning.

I want to weep with how glad I am to see him. I want to run to him, grab his hand, and run away with him far away from here.

But I don’t, because my feet are rooted to the floor. Both men are frowning at me, but for different reasons, I think.

“Cora, your mom is looking for you,” my stepbrother tells me. “Dad? You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, come in, son, and shut the door. Cora, be a good girl and run along and see what your mother wants. There’s no need to return to me.”

His words, his permission, sicken me, but they also release something in my brain, which allows me to put one shaky foot in front of the other to get the hell out of there. My stepbrother’s unreadable blue eyes follow me with every step, a deep frown etched between his brows. My stepfather’s gaze burns possessively on my back the entire time.

I walk as calmly as I can, and when I hear the door close behind me, I take off running. Not to find my mother, but to escape the shackles of being good.