Page 28 of Depraved Devotion

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say, my voice firm. “I know we’ve been on and off a lot over the past year, but this isn’t working out for me anymore. I’m done. For good.”

His entire body goes rigid. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want to drag this out. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and this relationship isn’t what I need.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he scoffs. “We don’t have arelationship. We just fuck. Are you mad because I don’t coddle you like you expect me to?”

There it is.

The first little dig, an insult implying that I’m an emotionally needy woman. Therefore,I’mthe problem.

“No,” I say evenly. “It’s not about coddling or me wanting something romantic. I need to move forward with my life.”

“Move forward?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. When I nod, he jumps to his feet and waves his hand in my direction. “Being with you is like fucking an ice cube. Do you think if you ‘find yourself’ that you’ll stop being a cold-hearted bitch?”

Mason’s words hit me like a slap to the face. I can’t stop myself from reacting, from rearing back with my lips parted in shock. However, my years of training immediately kick in. I neutralize my expression while slowly getting to my feet in a way that signals confidence and my refusal to be baited.

As I stare into Mason’s eyes, Ghost’s words flood my mind, unbidden and unwelcome.“You’re flame and wrath encased in a wall of ice and control.”In this moment, I have to admit he’s right about me.

Except my barrier is melting…

“Maybe I’ll always be like this,” I say evenly. “And maybe I won’t. Either way, you won’t be around to see it.”

A flicker of something darker passes over his face. He steps closer, his posture more rigid, his hands fisted. I hold my ground,my instinct for self-preservation overridden by the anger burning inside me.

“You think you can just walk away fromme?” he asks.

“Yes, Mason. I do.”

I lift my chin. The gesture is a direct challenge. A gauntlet tossed at his feet. I know better. I know not to provoke him. But maybe, just maybe, Mason needs to see a glimpse of the “real” me. If only this once.

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I see it—the barely repressed fury. His need for dominance. He’s not used to being on the losing side of things, and right now, I’m taking away something he thought he had control over.

Me.

I take a step toward him, putting myself directly in his path, within his reach. “Get out.”

He sneers at me, his curled lip making his face grotesque. “You’re going to regret this.”

I shrug, the act dismissive, meant to make him feel insignificant. “I doubt I’ll even remember this conversation. Or you.”

Mason’s eyes flash with emotion and intent. In a split second, I realize what’s about to happen, a moment too late.

Mason’s fist connects with my face.

The impact sends a shock wave through my skull, and I stumble back, my hand instinctively flying to my cheek. Pain blooms instantly, but I let my arm fall to my side, refusing to cradle my injury.

The adrenaline already flooding my system becomes amplified, my synapses firing off in rapid succession, creating something close to chaos in my mind.

Or is it freedom?

My short burst of laughter hits the air, shattering the silence.

The sound is involuntary, almost absurd, but it bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, breaking free before I can stop it. The sting from his punch throbs, but the pain is oddly grounding, focusing. It’s as though the world has slowed down, sharpening into clarity.

Mason stares at me, chest heaving and hands fisted. His eyes widen when I laugh again, on purpose. I’m not horrified by Mason’s violence. I’m… amused and exhilarated. My body feels awakened, thrumming with a strange, turbulent energy. The line between control and chaos has been crossed.

And I’m not going back.