Page 2

AVA

T he vial felt heavy in my hand, far heavier than it should have, the liquid inside catching the faint light of the laboratory sconces.

I hesitated as I stared at Ty.

His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked on mine, and I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a suffocating shroud.

“No sex,” I said, my voice wavering despite my attempt to sound firm.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but I could see the way my words settled on him, like he was turning them over, weighing them. His silence stretched, thick and heavy.

I shifted under his gaze, feeling exposed.

“You didn’t protest last time,” he said finally, a smirk tugging at his lips. “In fact, you liked it. More than liked it. You begged for it.”

Shame slammed into me, hot and suffocating, a flush rising to my cheeks. The memory clawed its way to the surface, my desperate plea barely out of my lips before his cock thrust into me, the way I had let him consume me, the way I pulled him in closer despite everything. Despite the guilt.

Despite Ciaran.

“No sex,” I repeated, forcing the words past the constriction in my throat, refusing to meet his eyes. My voice cracked, betraying the storm churning inside me.

Ty’s gaze didn’t waver, piercing and unrelenting, as if he could see every thought, every conflicted emotion that I was desperately trying to bury.

After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly. “As you wish.”

Relief barely had a chance to settle in before he stepped closer, so close I could feel the warmth radiating from him, his lips hovering just inches from mine. My breath hitched, my chest tightening as my heart thundered in betrayal of my resolve.

“But mark my words, hummingbird,” he murmured, his voice low, a dark promise that sent a shiver racing down my spine, “before this is over, you’ll be begging me to fuck you again.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze helplessly drawn to his mouth. The pull was magnetic, instinctive, and my traitorous body leaned forward before I could stop myself, desire twisting inside me, sharp and unforgiving.

I tore my gaze away, stumbling back like his presence had burned me.

“I-I won’t,” I stammered, though the words felt weak, hollow, even to me .

He didn’t answer, but his smirk said everything he didn’t need to, cutting through me like a blade.

My hands trembled as I brought the vial to my mouth, the glass pressing against my lips like ice.

I tipped it back, the liquid sliding down my throat with a strange mix of sweetness and sharp medicinal bitterness, like strawberries tinged with steel.

My last session.

I would uncover the truth, even though every nerve in my body screamed that I didn’t want to know. Not really.

But there was no turning back now.

My stomach twisted, nerves and dread tangling into a knot that wouldn’t loosen.

I’m going to remember what I did. The thought echoed, sharp and relentless.

But it wasn’t just the threat of buried memories that had me on edge.

Ty stood nearby, orbiting me, his presence electric, magnetic. Every step closer, every lean in, every casual touch sent shivers down my spine, the kind that weren’t entirely from fear. His nearness was edged in guilt now, a guilt I felt every time our eyes met.

I don’t want him.

I repeated this to myself like a mantra, over and over, trying to smother the ache in my chest, the warmth that crept through me every time he was near.

It’s just the adrenaline. Leftover panic from almost dying at the farmhouse. The memory of fear, the rush of relief, all tangled together in a way my mind couldn’t separate.

I’d read about trauma bonds somewhere, how near- death experiences could flood your body with endorphins, tricking your brain into craving comfort, connection. Lust.

That had to be it—just my shattered psyche playing cruel tricks on me.

And then there was Stockholm Syndrome. I’d read about that too. How captives could confuse dependence and fear for something else, something softer, something that felt like care. Like love.

That’s all this was. A trick of biology. A cocktail of chemicals in my traumatized brain, twisting reality until I couldn’t tell the difference between gratitude and longing. Between survival and desire.

It wasn’t real.

But when the paralytic took hold of me and Ty pulled me into his arms, holding me close, my body betrayed me, my skin burning where his hands pressed against me.

He laid me out gently on the hard surface of the workbench, the chill seeping through my clothes as the drug took over, locking me in place.

The smell of the lab filled my senses, sharp and chemical, mingling with that all-too-familiar musk of the drug.

It was suffocating.

But then a breeze swept in through the door Ty had left open, soft and unexpected, carrying with it the earthy scent of the greenhouse beyond.

And then I felt him—Ty’s lips trailing along my neck, slow and deliberate, down my body. Each kiss left damp patches on my skin that cooled in the breeze, sending shivers racing down my spine.

His touch was gentle as he pulled off my dress, his fingers gliding over my skin with a tenderness that felt so at odds with the storm of guilt raging inside me.

I hated myself for how much I craved his touch.

This is the last time . The final session. The final excuse.

After tonight, there’d be no more reason for Ty to be this close, to touch me like this. No more twisted therapy to blur the lines I kept trying to draw between us.

After this, I’d go back to Ciaran. Back to the one I loved.

But the thought felt hollow, an ache settling in my chest at the realization.

I shouldn’t feel this way—not about Ty, not when every touch sent warmth rushing through me, a warmth I had no right to feel.

I shouldn’t be sad that this was the last time.

I shouldn’t want him to keep touching me, shouldn’t want his nearness to last a little longer.

What’s wrong with me?

Ciaran would hate me if he knew. It would break him to see what I felt—to see me like this, letting Ty so close, feeling this for his brother. He’d look at me with those intense eyes, full of betrayal, full of heartbreak, and I wouldn’t even be able to blame him.

I’m betraying him. I’m betraying him right now.

My throat tightened as Ty’s tongue brushed over my pussy, his growl vibrating through me.

“Fuuuuuck, your scent… your smell… everything about you intoxicates me.”

My body begged for more, even as my mind screamed to pull away.

I wanted to hate him for making me feel like this. For making me weak .

But the truth was, I hated myself more. Hated myself for the excuses I kept trying to make—that this was just the therapy, just the leftover tension from the paralytic, just my body reacting to his touch, to his tongue, nothing more.

But that wasn’t true, and I knew it.

I hated that I wanted this. That I wanted him. Hated that I wasn’t strong enough to stop it, to shove these feelings back down where they belonged.

I was supposed to love Ciaran. I did love him. So why did I crave Ty’s mouth, his tongue, his cock ? Why did he… consume me?

It wasn’t just guilt eating at me. It was anger—at myself, at Ty, at his fucked-up way of saving me. Anger that Ty made me feel anything at all.

Anger that I wanted more than just his lapping tongue—I wanted him to pin me down and fuck me, to take me, to ruin me.

Even now, knowing it was wrong, knowing it would hurt Ciaran if he ever found out.

But deeper than the anger, deeper than the guilt, there was a grief I couldn’t ignore.

This was the last time I’d get to feel Ty like this. The last time I’d let myself have this moment, however fleeting, however stolen.

The last time he’d worship me, touch me, see me.

After this, I’d have to bury it all. Pretend none of it ever happened. Pretend I hadn’t betrayed Ciaran.

And yet… I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I thought about him.

Ty had burrowed under my skin in a way I couldn’t undo, no matter how much I tried .

Waves of pleasure washed over me and I could feel the tension building inside me as Ty licked and sucked.

“Mine. All mine. Only mine. Only me,” he muttered.

I fought against the wave of guilt and longing, but it didn’t help. The feelings churned inside me, sharp and relentless, leaving me drowning in a storm of emotions I couldn’t control.

Why can’t I let him go?

As my head rolled to the side, my gaze fell upon the greenhouse through the open door. The oleander flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their delicate pink blooms almost taunting me.

And then the memory hit me—sharp, sudden, and undeniable.

I slipped through the greenhouse, the cool, damp air making me shiver, weaving between the tables laden with pots and tools.

The oleander stood tall, its pink blossoms swaying gently as if they were waiting for me.

A flower that could make someone sleep in small doses—and kill in larger ones. At the time, I hadn’t understood why the professor had said this with such pride, but now the memory lingered, sharp and unrelenting.

Using the handkerchief, I reached out, wrapping my shaking fingers around the stem of a soft and fragile oleander flower and plucked it, the faint snap of the stem sounding louder than it should have in the stillness.

I quickly snatched another, then another.

I didn’t understand why the professor did what he did last night, why his hands left bruises on my arms and thighs, why he… hurt me. Bile rose in my throat, bitter as poison.

But I knew I didn’t want it to happen again .

My chest tightened, the thought pressing down on me like a weight.

If he’s asleep, he can’t hurt me again.

In the kitchen, my bare feet were silent against the cold floor.

My hand shook as I tossed the oleander flowers into the professor’s favorite pot along with the professor’s favorite tea, watching them float and settle in the boiling water, their poison steeping, growing darker with every passing second.

The sharp scent of the brew tickled my nose, metallic and faintly bitter, and my stomach twisted.

My hands hovered over the pot as doubt began to creep in. Is this enough to make him sleep? Or too much?

“What are you doing?”

A voice shattered the silence, and I jumped.

Ciaran stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing at me.

I gasped. How long had he been watching me? Did he know what I was doing?

Panic clawed at my chest. He’ll tell. He’ll get me in trouble.

“I…” My voice came out on a croak. I swallowed and tried again. “I was just making tea… for the professor.”

His glare didn’t falter. I had no idea if he knew what I had been trying to do.

Ciaran’s gaze flicked past me to the teapot. His frown deepened as he walked toward it, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. “Brownnosing little Ava. Trying to become the professor’s favorite, huh?”

I stepped in his path, my arms spreading out instinctively.

“Go away,” I said.

He didn’t stop. He shoved me aside with a hand on my shoulder, not hard, but enough to make me stumble back .

“It’s not for you!” My voice cracked as I lunged forward, my hands fumbling for the teapot. “It’s for the professor!”

Ciaran snatched the pot off the counter and held it high above my head.

“For the professor, is it?” he said, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. “A little bedtime brew?”

My breath caught in my throat. Did he know? Was he guessing? My stomach churned as his smirk twisted into something sharper.

Tears stung my eyes as I tried to grab it, jumping to reach it, but he was taller, stronger, and far more stubborn. “Give it back.”

“What’s wrong, Ava?” he asked, stepping closer, towering over me. “Don’t want me to have a taste?”

“Don’t drink it!” I cried, tugging at his arm, but he twisted away, keeping the teapot out of reach.

He shoved me back, hard enough to make me stumble into the counter, his voice low and menacing. “Get. Out.”

I turned and fled the kitchen, my heart hammering as tears burned hot against my cheeks.

Oh God. What had I almost done?

I couldn’t move as the paralytic held my body frozen, unable to cry out stop as Ty licked my soaked pussy while he pushed two fingers inside and curled them around.

I hurtled toward the edge, the rush of pleasure coursing through me as I fought against the paralytic’s hold, torn between wanting more and desperately needing it to end.

The orgasm hit me hard, my whole body trembling as the pleasure crashed over me along with a dislodged memory, the last piece falling in place.

The moment I stepped into the sitting room, the world tilted beneath me, the floor dropping away as if I’d stepped into a void. A sharp gasp escaped my lips.

Ciaran stood there, looming over the professor’s motionless body, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. Despite the tautness of his stance, his breaths were steady—controlled, deliberate. Too controlled.

My gaze fell to the figure sprawled on the floor, the professor’s lifeless form unnaturally still.

I’d never seen human skin so pale before. It wasn’t just bloodless—it was translucent, almost waxy.

The oriental rug beneath my feet muffled my steps as I tiptoed closer, each hesitant move adding to the oppressive silence.

My heart hammered against my ribs, yet it wasn’t fear that twisted in my chest—not quite.

“Is he…?” I asked, my voice barely audible, the unspoken question choking me.

Was he asleep or…?

Ciaran’s head turned to meet my gaze, his eyes unflinching, cold, and utterly unrepentant.

“He won’t ever hurt you again,” he said, his voice calm, almost detached.

There wasn’t a shred of guilt in his tone. No apology. No hesitation. He didn’t even flinch.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as a storm of emotions roared inside me, crashing and colliding.

Relief, disbelief, guilt—all tangled together so tightly I couldn’t pull them apart.

“What’s going on here?” Ty’s voice rang out behind me, sharp and filled with tension, as he stepped into the room.

His gaze snapped to the professor’s body and he froze, his expression darkening, his eyes wide with realization .

“Father’s dead,” Ciaran said flatly, his voice like a blade cutting through the air.

My gaze drew to the table where the teapot sat there, innocuous and still, its spout tilted slightly toward the edge of the tray.

My teapot.

My tea.

My knees buckled, and before I could hit the floor, Ty caught me, his strong arms wrapping around my trembling frame.

The truth slammed into me like a freight train.

“I did it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, yet it echoed in the room, undeniable and damning.

Ty’s arms tightened around me, his body a shield against the chaos, but I couldn’t stop the guilt from swallowing me whole.

My tea.

My plan.

My fault.

“I killed him.”

I had killed my foster father.

Not Ciaran. He lied to me about killing his father to protect me from the truth.

Not Ty. Who took the blame and went to jail to protect me from the punishment.

Me .