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So am I.

“I brought you here to start something new.” Smirking doesn’t come naturally to me. I keep up the act, regardless.

“Hmm. That face, I’ve seen her before.” His repulsive eyes drag over Ophelia’s body. My woman’s body. I could kill him. Reach into the car and strangle him. Except then Ophelia would miss out on the fun. “Wasn’t she Topher’s sacrifice?”

“She was. Emphasis on past tense.”

He licks his lips. Ophelia leans into me, kicking his car again.

His eyes glint. It’s taking all of my restraint not to gouge them out of their sockets. “Feisty.”

“Let’s head inside.” I put her down, curling my hand around the back of her neck. Her pulse roars beneath my fingertips. I pretend to choke her. She pretends to gasp. Fucking precious. “Drive. Wait for us at the door.”

His smile wanes. “It’ll be faster if I drive you.”

“She needs to walk off her tantrum.” Degrading her in front of him grates on my nerves. It’s a necessary evil. Just like shaking her head. “I need her calm and ready to serve us.”

Her neck tenses. She knows it’s a ruse, yet the words hurt her.

That’s fine.

It’ll be worth it. She’ll see.

“Okay.” Oliver nods to himself.

Gutting him like a fish would be such a pleasure.

He drives off, and I walk Ophelia toward our home. Her skin is cold in my grasp, almost frozen.

“Serve? Seriously?” Her flats scrape along the driveway.

“Yes. Serve.” My gaze splits between her and the motherfucker we’re going to murder while I disclose the final part of the plan, letting Ophelia in on it.

“I—What?” I was nonchalant as I said these things. This must be the reason she’s mumbling. “Just like that?”

We’re closing in on the house. Oliver’s there, perched against his car, hands in his pockets. Watching us.

“Quiet, Ophelia. Make him believe I’m disciplining you. Make me believe it.”

Every feature on her beautiful face morphs, twisting with hate. Her shoulders are hunched. Eyes spitting fire.

Then she leans into me. An indiscernible movement that I only feel because I’m so close to her. Because I own her.

She’ll do as I say. Yes, she will.

Just like that.

“Topher knows about this?” Oliver waves at us. He’s changed from the suit he wore to the office into a dark pair of pants, a white dress shirt, and a tan wool pea coat.

The last clothes he’ll ever wear.

I’m aggressive as I haul Ophelia closer to me, a way to grab Oliver’s attention while I study his face. As I look for signs that Topher spoke to him.

Topher, who couldn’t have forgotten about Ophelia’s lock of hair. He avoided me on the ride home, then texted me a cryptic message about needing to talk.

He could’ve caused a scene next to Camden, his friend. Camden would’ve spilled my secret to his father.

Oliver’s expression is open. He knows nothing about what happened today.