Chapter 6 9am

"Careful"

That's all he says as he holds my hand hostage, pulling me closer to his chest and my traitorous nipple harden beneath his shirt as I lean into his touch.

You're sick. This is sick.

"Does he, pretty doll?" He rumbles low into my ear. The sound is a feathering touch to my nerves, I clench my stomach and core together.

"You have my phone. I'm not doing this job, and I don't answer to any man." Despite my words, I close my eyes and breathe him in when he pulls me closer.

"You must not know me if you think you can enter my house, disobey me, then waltz out on your own accord."

The deepness of his voice and the authority take hold of me.

Before I can speak, he lets me go.

The absence of his touch feels like cold water. I should be relieved-I AM relieved, but my skin still burns where his hands were. My scalp tingles from where he pulled my hair. My throat remembers the pressure of his fingers.

I'm standing here in his apartment, surrounded by him, wanting him, and I can't remember the last time I hated myself this much.

My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists before he can see.

I need air. Time away from him. Before I forget why I'm here.

"We're going to the warehouse," he says, tossing car keys at me.

I catch them midair. Warehouse? Great!

Carlos eyes me, and I control the smile that's trying to surface.

"I can't wear your clothes in front of your men!"

But he's already out the door.

Good. Perfect time to establish boundaries.

I head to the kitchen and grab cereal, milk, a bowl. The apartment unsettles me. The layout matches mine too closely to be coincidence.

Same lilac wall paint, structure but I push the thought aside.

I settle on the sofa and eat slowly, deliberately.

The TV won't turn on. Probably controlled by his system.

Everything here is controlled by him. Except me.

The door slams open.

I don't look up. Just take another bite of cereal, letting the crunch fill the silence between us.

Seven steps and he's in front of me.

I raise the spoon to my mouth-

He snatches the bowl and hurls it at the wall. Ceramic shatters. Milk drips down the wallpaper.

Before I can react, I'm upside down over his shoulder, his arm an iron bar across the back of my thighs.

"I'm not your fucking puppy!" I thrash against his grip, but it's like fighting stone.

He doesn't answer. Just carries me outside into cold air and dumps me into the driver's seat of his car.

"Drive."

The rumble of his voice and darkness of his eyes should make me obedient, but as I said, I'm no puppy.

"No can do. If I needed to be controlled, I'd have come with a leash."

The venom in my words bypasses him. He looks amused instead of disrespected.

"Your husband didn't get you a leash?"

I roll my eyes.

"Our sex life is no business of yours."

My words come out as harsh as intended.

Something cold replaces the darkness that marred his eyes earlier. They stay glued on me, searching, calculating.

Whatever he sees takes him out of the car and over to my side.

"You can go home."

Confusion creases my forehead.

"You can go meet your husband." He takes the keys from me, lifts me out, then drives off.

I stand there, confused and cold. Facing "my apartment." Surrounded by empty road and trees.

The more I look at it, the more it resembles my building. Not just the size, but the architecture.

I walk to the back of the house. A large gate separates me from his glass doors. Luxurious, sleek, proof of wealth.

He really lives in a comfortable apartment, and that stings. He should be burning, buried with my family, miserable.

The need to crash through his glass surges up, but I calm myself. He has cameras that will capture me, and the glass is highly likely reinforced, unbreakable.

Instead, I do something else.

I pluck a few flowers from the mini garden and squeeze their juice onto each CCTV lens.

Minutes later, happy with myself, the sun is already a burning glow. I take a few steps outside his premises, and a van arrives.

Two men and a woman step out.

"Good morning, ma'am."

I scan their faces, then the van's name. The clothes.

"Are you Miss Thalia?" one guy asks.

"Yes, I am. You're here with my clothes, right?"

All three beam.

"You'll deliver them somewhere else, but drop me at the bus stop first."

They look wary. As they should be.

"From Carlos for Thalia. His PA?"

They bite their lips, and one of the men takes in my outfit.

"Or should I say his wife?"

The woman's eyes widen. The men gulp.

Wife. I should correct them. Should make it clear I'm just an employee, barely even that. But something stops me. Let the rumor spread. Let Carlos hear it from his own people. Let him deal with the mess of assumptions.

"Let's go." They oblige.

En route, I book a ride home.

Two gifts: free clothes and time off.

I feel great.