Page 38

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Her house smelled exactly like that blanket.

A soft floral scent that made you want to inhale more and more.

Her house was surprisingly as historic as it was modern.

It was weird.

I envisioned it to be this cold modern place, but it was so warm.

The detailed entryway rug was inviting, the tall arched ceilings towering over you, and the small chandeliers lit up dimly.

Various artwork lined the walls, each one precisely even and leveled.

I knew the art was expensive—probably someone's salary, expensive.

"Take off your shoes," Monroe instructed, snapping me away from my thoughts.

I nodded before I could think it through, sliding my Nikes off and setting them by the front door.

She nodded once, guiding me further into her house.

I glanced over, noticing the spacious living room off the entryway.

I only got a brief glance at the grey sectional couch, the matching square ottoman table in front of it, and the smooth armchairs set across from the couch.

There was no TV.

Only a fireplace that was calmly lit.

I quickly glanced back over, following her past the entryway toward the kitchen.

It was huge.

There were black cabinets with gold handles—the top cabinets stretching to the top of the walls.

Dim lighting lined beneath the cabinets, illuminating the light marble counters that matched the floors throughout the house.

The white tile backsplash contrasted the dark features of the kitchen—along with the tile mural behind the wide gas stove.

The farm sink was large, placed directly at a tall arched window.

It was probably the nicest kitchen I had seen—the marble glistening under the soft cabinet lights, with glass light fixtures hanging over the island.

Across from the kitchen was a smooth black rectangular table, matching the bookcase built into the white wall behind it.

The books were precisely lined up to a point where I questioned if she read them.

But I also knew she had an order with things, and that she liked literature.

So she probably put them back a certain way.

I glanced away from the bookcase, following her into the open and spacious dining room.

The tall ceilings made it feel even bigger in here.

"I'll take your bag," Monroe said, snapping me from my thoughts.

Which made me suddenly notice her extended hand, wondering how long she had held it out.

"Oh thanks," I said, almost awkwardly, passing my bag off to her.

"I'll be back," I heard her say, leaving me alone as I continued taking in her house.

Like the tall floor-to-ceiling glass doors that lined the entire back wall of the house.

I tried to glance out to the backyard, but with how dark it was, I barely made out anything past the patio and the concerningly tall gate wrapped around the house.

I think there was a table on the patio and a good amount of grass.

It was probably the biggest backyard you would get downtown.

I suddenly glanced down at the table, realizing it was set precisely.

There were two plates—one at the head of the table and another in front of the chair beside it.

A salad sat waiting in a glass bowl with salad servers on top.

There were also the smaller things, like the carefully folded napkins, the shiny silverware, and the glasses of water.

Everything was even and sat a certain way—just like it was the last time she set the table.

"Take a seat," I heard Monroe say, suddenly back in the room.

Her sudden presence startled me just a little, stepping forward to sit in the plush black chair.

The back of the chair was curved, the cushion soft underneath me.

I glanced over when she approached the table, holding a black marble slab that had a large steak on it.

The sight of it made my mouth water, even if I had just eaten three hours ago.

But one meal a day is not typical for me.

I watched as Monroe set the steak down, backing away from the table to grab something else.

Which turned out to be a bowl of French-cut green beans and roasted potatoes.

Then she sat down at the head of the table beside me, crossing her leg over the other as she reached for the abnormally sharp knife.

It glistened under the dim lights as she reached for a fork as well, carefully cutting into the large steak.

It was silent between us, but with how weirdly tense it felt, I was hesitant to say anything.

She wanted it silent.

"So," I suddenly forced myself to speak, clearing my throat, "How was your day?" I decided to ask, knowing she probably had something happen at work.

And that's why she's acting like this.

It wasn't far off from how she normally acted, but she clearly talked a lot more.

And she hasn't touched me once.

"Good," Monroe murmured, glancing up from the steak as she halted her motions.

Her sudden stare made me grow stiffer, noticing there was something wrong here.

Something doesn't feel right.

"How was your day darling?" she asked me, forcing a softness in her voice that wasn't there before.

"Uh... good. I just slept a lot after last night," I said, blinking a few times as I held her stare.

Monroe didn't react—she didn't even blink.

She just stared at me for a moment, making something twist in my stomach.

Then she finally glanced back to the steak, continuing to slice thin pieces as she remained silent again.

I watched her, unconsciously holding my breath as I noticed her applying a weird pressure to each piece she cut.

I could hear the knife slice against the board, filling the silence between us.

"Is this about last night?" I suddenly asked before I could think it through.

Monroe didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she continued slicing—precise and deliberate.

The sound of the knife against the board grew sharper, almost like it held some weird weight.

And it made me feel beyond unsettled.

"Have you heard the story of the fisherman and the silver coin?" she suddenly asked, disregarding my previous question.

Her tone was light—weirdly fucking casual.

I questioned if she had gone insane within these last few hours, hesitantly shaking my head at her question.

Monroe hummed in response, dragging the knife slowly across the board.

"There was a fisherman. He spent his mornings by the shore, casting his net and waiting," she began, her focus still on the steak in front of her, "One day, just as he was about to leave, he found something unusual tangled in the ropes, a silver coin, resting among the fish."

Her gaze flickered away from the steak to me, gauging my reaction before she continued.

"He didn't question it. Just slipped it into his pocket and went home," she continued the story, glancing back down to the steak and cutting the last thin slice, "The next day, it happened again. Another coin. Same thing the day after that."

Monroe set the knife down, delicately trailing her fingers along the table edge and diverting my attention to her hands.

"Soon, the fisherman stopped caring about the fish altogether. He only came for the coins. His greed growing with each one he found," she explained, her blue eyes locking with mine as I anticipated the rest of the story, "One morning, there was nothing. No fish. No silver coins. Just an empty net in the water."

I felt my heartbeat in my throat, anticipation weirdly crawling up my body as I tried my best to hold her precise stare.

Shivers ran down my spine when Monroe's lips twitched up slightly.

"Someone had been watching him the entire time. Testing him. And when they saw what he really valued," she paused, her stare not wavering from mine, "They stopped giving."

I pursed my lips together, unsure what I was supposed to say to this story.

It's so random like did she just learn this or—

I glanced over when she reached down into the empty chair beside her.

A thick manila folder.

She held it calmly, her expression neutral as she set it down in front of me.

"Don't open it," she instructed just as I reached for the folder.

I furrowed my brows, "What's going on?" I asked, suddenly far from hungry.

Now I just felt fucking anxious.

Especially when she didn't answer my question.

She used the fork to put some of the steak on my plate instead, silently adding the roasted potatoes next.

"Monroe," I spoke again, watching as she used the tongs to put the green beans on my plate, "I'm not hungry."

Monroe didn't pause her actions.

Instead, she reached for the salad.

"That's disappointing," she murmured softly, putting some of the salad onto my plate, "I took the time to make this meal for you darling."

I glanced down when she nudged the plate closer to me—beside the folder that I apparently couldn't open yet.

"I'll eat if you tell me why you're acting weird," I said, trying to negotiate with her somehow.

Monroe tilted her head in response, "You'll eat regardless," she said, her stare burning into mine.

I was silent for a moment, feeling almost short of breath as I tried to pretend like she wasn't scaring me right now.

But she fucking was.

Especially with how she's looking at me.

I hesitantly picked up the fork before I could think it through, poking it into the salad as I glanced down and avoided her gaze.

It was silent as I brought the fork to my lips, taking a small bite of the salad and chewing it a few times.

The flavor was incredible, but my stomach felt like it was on a fucking spin cycle—feeling the opposite of hungry.

"There were plenty of chances here, Liberty," she suddenly said as I poked my fork in the salad again, focusing my attention on that instead, "I patiently waited for you to tell the truth, and you didn't. You took advantage. That's the moral of this story."

I unconsciously paused my actions, now realizing what this was about.

I suddenly felt dumb for not piecing it together, but this all happened so suddenly.

This is about Kaia.

I think Monroe genuinely might just kill us both.

"I was aware that something was off from the beginning," Monroe continued as I unconsciously set my fork down, letting out a wavered sigh, "When she approached me at the restaurant, putting her arm around your waist. Quite lowly I would say."

I suddenly glanced up to meet her heavy stare, "Monroe—"

"Shhhh," she softly told me, her eyes trailing my face as she sat calmly in her chair.

I remained silent, deciding I shouldn't speak if that's not what she wants.

I don't want to make this worse.

"As you recall, after we left the restaurant, I pointed out that friends don't touch you like that," Monroe continued on, her stare not wavering from me as I shifted my focus to the bookshelf, staring forward, "You responded to my observation, claiming she was hands-on."

Does she really remember fucking everything?

Even down to the exact things I said?

I clasped my hands together in my lap, letting out a deep sigh.

"From that point on, I knew. It wasn't a suspicion or even a hunch. I knew, Liberty," she said, making goosebumps prickle down my spine, "I accounted for how you shared your location with her," she continued as I actively avoided her stare, "During our stay at Cannon Beach, you mentioned wanting to please someone even if you didn't want to have sexual relations at times, which I thought was odd. Didn't you claim that you never slept with someone more than once?"

She calmly shook her head when I parted my lips, shutting me down before I could answer the question.

It was rhetorical.

"Then you couldn't take your call with Kaia in the same room," Monroe pointed out, her words still calm and unnaturally soft, "And after we had a disagreement, you went out with her last night. Which is fine. I tried to understand it, Liberty."

I unconsciously glanced down at my lap, shifting under her precise stare that I avoided.

"I tried to be patient. Each time you lied," she murmured, "Last night you deliberately lied to my face."

Silence hung between us for a moment.

Tense and heavy.

One that made me unconsciously hold my breath, anticipating what she would say.

"Where I draw the line, Liberty," she suddenly spoke again, her voice lowered, no longer holding a softness to it, "Is when you ask me for a favor on her behalf. Having the nerve was disrespectful within itself."

It was silent again.

Only briefly this time.

"But I did it for you, darling," Monroe murmured, letting out a measured sigh as her stare remained on me, "Then I contacted my P.I. He put together that file sitting in front of your beautiful eyes."

I unconsciously glanced over to the thick file, trying not to focus on the compliment she had just given me.

Instead, I thought about what could've been gathered in that file.

There was probably so fucking much.

"I have a preference for physical proof," she clarified, as I continued staring at the file, "But somehow it made this situation worse. I despised looking through that file."

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, nearly clawing its way up my throat as I tried to process this.

She knew the entire time.

It made me question everything, every reaction, every word she said whenever Kaia was brought up.

Aside from last night, I would've never guessed she even assumed anything.

But she knew since the very first time I sat in her car.

"Open it," she suddenly instructed.

I didn't want to anymore.

I was no longer curious to see.

But I knew I had no room to say that to her right now.

So I reluctantly reached for the folder, opening it just as she ordered.

It was tensely silent as I hesitantly began looking through it, unsure if I was supposed to flip through any pages.

There were explicit text messages joking about instances that happened—some even rating what the previous night was between us.

There were even pictures captured from fucking security cameras—along with the one that started it all.

My mother had it taken down from Twitter, yet here it sat in front of me.

It was from the club, when Kaia had started touching me, and those idiot fucking guys took a picture.

It's the exact reason I ended up in therapy.

And I'm not even surprised her P.I. managed to get his hands on it.

Digital fucking footprints.

"I assume you know what comes next here," Monroe finally spoke through the silence.

I felt my stomach twist unbearably, nodding a few times, "A punishment," I hesitantly whispered, still refusing to look away from the file.

"Punishments," she corrected me, making me pause slightly, realizing how badly I fucked this up from the beginning.

It felt like she was steps ahead the entire time.

"That's not all that will happen," Monroe spoke again when I remained silent, "You're going to remove Kaia from your life."

"What?" I unconsciously said, glancing up to finally meet her stare, "No I'm not doing that."

Monroe didn't react.

She was still calm.

"If you don't remove her, I'll do it for you, Liberty," she emphasized, tilting her head slightly at me, "And you don't want me to."

I scoffed, blinking a few times as her words settled on me.

"No, you're not," I said, suddenly feeling beyond defensive about this.

Because I knew she was insinuating to have her moved far away like a fucking pawn, or something potentially worse.

"Do you want to test that theory?" Monroe asked me, eyeing my face that suddenly felt like it was burning up, "I'm well connected with her father, Liberty. I have people who will handle this if I make the call right now."

I squeezed my hands into fists, "You can't do this. We don't even sleep together anymore," I pointed out, childishly kicking the table.

Monroe didn't flinch at my sudden actions, rattling the table in front of us as her stare remained on me.

"I can do this, and I will. I'm making that very clear," she said, her tone so fucking calm while it felt like I was spiraling as the seconds ticked on, "You should be thankful I'm giving you the opportunity to remove her yourself."

I rolled my eyes, "Whatever," I mumbled, suddenly standing from my chair, "Fuck this, I'm leaving."

"Go ahead," she didn't hesitate to say, "It doesn't change what I just told you to do."

I shook my head, eyeing her neutral fucking expression as I contemplated everything.

As I contemplated this.

So many thoughts ran through my mind, so many contemplations about what I should do.

Nothing was off-limits to me.

And that was a problem.

"I'm ending this."

The words came out before I could think them through, regretting them as soon as I said them.

My breathing was heavy, my face and ears burning with the hottest heat.

Especially when Monroe gave me nothing.

Not a single fucking reaction.

"End it," she calmly said, making my lips part slightly as I tried to process the turn this all took, "It doesn't change what I told you to do, Liberty. Handle it or I will."

I blinked a few times, processing the fact that she would remove Kaia regardless of whether we were in the arrangement.

That's how much this fucking mattered to her.

Yet, she can't show it.

She can't show a single fucking reaction.

"Do fucking something, Monroe," I said, pushing the file off the table and scattering the papers everywhere, "I tell you I'm ending this and somehow you're a literal robot."

She didn't say anything—she didn't even force a reaction, infuriating me even more.

I grabbed the bowl of salad before I could think it through, dumping it on the table as I watched her, waiting for her to react.

To do something.

Maybe even stop me.

Still, nothing.

I dropped the bowl against the table with a harsh clatter, pushing the chair in front of me with an irritated grunt.

My breathing was heavy, squeezing my hands into fists as I stood before her, left with no other options.

There was nothing else left that I could do.

No other card to play.

"Are you finished with your tantrum now?" Monroe suddenly asked me, uncrossing her leg as she smoothly stood from her chair.

"I hate you," I mumbled through deep breaths, even if I knew I couldn't hate her.

I hated that I couldn't hate her.

But it was the only words I had left to say.

"You're fucking psychotic and I hate you, Monroe," I gritted as she calmly walked closer to me.

"You were warned," was all she had to says

I hit her arms as soon as she reached for me, "You never said you were fucking psychotic!" I yelled at her, pushing at her stomach when she closed the space between us.

Even as I began hitting her arms repeatedly, she leaned in—and a part of me didn't want to stop her.

But I knew I should—I knew that I shouldn't let her touch me.

I lifted my hand before I could process it—

Slapping her across the face.

The harsh sound echoed around us, and Monroe immediately stiffened, staring down at me with something different behind her eyes.

"You're psychotic. I'm leaving," I said, forcing strength in my voice as her grip tightened around my waist, "For good."

Monroe closed the space between us anyway, pressing her lips to mine as I instinctively grabbed her shoulders.

She was warm against me, her lips softer than I could've ever imagined them to be.

I wanted to lean into her so badly—to tug her closer.

But I didn't.

I firmly pushed her away instead, breathing heavily as she tried to catch her breath too.

I stared at her through each breath I took, my chest rising and falling.

Her blue eyes burned into mine, marking me with something I knew I would never be able to get rid of.

I grabbed her neck before I could think it through, tugging her into me as I pressed my lips back to hers.

A soft hum burned in her throat, the most attractive fucking sound echoing in my ears.

I stumbled back as she roughly pushed my waist, pressing me against the table.

Her firm touch slid down from my waist as she kissed me deeper, trailing past my ass to grip the back of my thighs.

I was lifted onto the messy table before I could process it, silverware clattering as I tugged her closer to me using my legs.

"I never wanted to leave," I forced out against her soft lips, angling my head back for more.

"I wasn't letting you leave," Monroe breathed out, roughly grabbing my throat and evoking a whimper from me.

Her words were so attractive, her body pressed against mine, and her lips growing softer with each kiss.

Then I felt her tongue smooth across my lips that she slid past with ease, deepening the kiss as a moan burned in my throat.

I arched into her, grabbing her waist to pull her even closer than she already was.

It was rushed between us, the air heavy with our breaths.

We kissed until my lungs ached, until air became something distant and irrelevant.

We couldn't breathe to the point where we started exchanging breaths with each kiss, refusing to pull away and break this hold between us.

Monroe gripped my waist even firmer, her other hand applying a slight pressure to my neck as our kisses grew sloppier.

Her tongue slid so deep inside my mouth with each kiss, making me want even more of her.

I reached down to roughly untuck her blouse, impatiently trailing my hands underneath the material.

Her skin was so warm—probably the smoothest thing I had touched.

She was like silk.

I gasped when she suddenly applied an even firmer pressure to my neck.

One that took my breath away to the point where I dug my nails into her soft skin, gasping as I tapped her stomach rapidly to stop.

She didn't.

Instead, she pulled away from me with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, for once something was written on her face that she couldn't hide herself.

"We're going to my bedroom," she carefully told me, her words lowered between us I gasped for air, hitting her stomach harder, "And I'm going to break you, Liberty."

My face burned from her serious words... her darkened stare.

She looked at me like I was some toy meant to be played with—like she knew she would play too hard and I would crumble.

"Do you understand?" Monroe calmly asked me, tightening her grip around my neck.

I rapidly nodded, gasping for each shallow breath as tears burned in my eyes.

Rough coughs fell from my lips, choking on the air that suddenly filled my lungs when she finally let go of my neck.

I wheezed and coughed on the burning air, feeling her soft caress against the column of my neck.

I held her waist firmer, desperately trying to steady my breathing.

She guided me to lean into her chest, where I buried my face, wheezing even more as she caressed the back of my head.

It took me a few moments to adjust to fucking breathing again, holding her tight against me.

She was silent the entire time, calmly stroking the back of my head or occasionally playing with my curly hair.

She didn't rush me to get up.

She let me stay there just like that for however long I pleased.

Until I finally found the courage to pull away, deciding to get this entire punishment thing over with.

Monroe helped me down from the table littered with the salad I threw across it.

Papers were scattered across the table and all over the floor—the dining room a true mess.

I could tell it ticked her by the way she looked at it.

She looked displaced, even through her neutral expression.

"I'm sorry," I said immediately, eyeing her face as she calmly stared at the table, "I'll clean it all up right now."

Monroe immediately shook her head at my offer, "I'll handle it later," she insisted, grabbing my waist, "Come on."

I gave the dining room one last glance, following along by her side.

As we walked through the house, my stomach tied in knots—wondering how we went from arguing to this.

I was supposed to leave.

But I knew I couldn't—and internally I knew it was all an empty threat.

I might've made it to the door, I just wouldn't have made it through it.

Monroe wouldn't have let me anyway.

I drew in a deep breath as she guided me up the tucked-away stairs, the ceiling growing taller as we transitioned to the second floor.

All three doors down the hallway were shut.

She led me to the door at the very end.

And as we approached it, I knew there was no going back.

I knew that she would break me.

And I would let her—I wanted her to.

I wanted to be broken and put back together by her only.

I deserved to apologize over and over again, so she knew how sorry I was for lying.

This is our way of communicating—behind closed doors with her towering over me.

I'm ready to get on my knees for her.

Or any position she wants me in.

This isn't just what I want, it's something we both need.