Page 194 of His To Erase

She hesitates, and that’s when I know.

“There’s already an offer on it,” she says gently. “Came in this morning, about an hour ago. It’s a cash offer, and it’s above the asking price too, but there’s always a chance it will fall through.”

The floor doesn’t drop out. Not exactly. It just… shifts. Tilts. Reminding me that I’m not allowed to have things that feel this easy.

I nod slowly. “Of course there is.”

“You’re still welcome to walk through,” she offers, her voice dipped in that soft, practiced sympathy people use when they think you’ve just lost something important.

I nod, and walk the space like it still matters. I run my fingers along the exposed brick, pretending to measure the counter I’ll never build. But my body’s on autopilot.

The truth is, I’m not really here.

I’m stuck in every version of a future that crumbled before it even began, wondering if this is the universe’s way of telling me to quit dreaming altogether.

The walk-through ends with a handshake I barely feel and a thank you I don’t remember giving. I step back outside and pause just long enough to let the sunlight hit my face, to pretend it can warm anything still left in me.

That’s when I see Frank still parked across the street with his window down.

Something cold coils in my gut. I square my shoulders, forcing my spine straight, and descend the steps with something sharp and wordless. If I wasn’t in the mood before, I’m definitely not now.

I don’t go to the passenger door, instead I walk straight to the window, stopping just shy of the open frame and plant my hand on the edge, leaning in until I’m in his space—close enough to see the glint in his eyes.

“You’ve got a real problem with the word no, you know that?”

Frank looks up slowly, his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, exposing eyes that are too calm for the way my pulse is hammering.

“Get in the car, Ani.”

“No.” I cross my arms. “You waited out here the whole time like some kind of creep. I don’t need a ride.”

He shrugs. “Did you order a car?”

“I’m about to.”

“Get in the car, sweetheart. You’re making a scene.”

My jaw tightens and I want to scream. I want to shove him, to throw my bag and tell him to fuck all the way off, but I don’t. Because peoplearewatching. And because part of me still doesn’t know what he’s capable of.

So I scoff, flip him off for good measure, and wrench the door open, slamming it behind me as I slide into the passenger seat.

“Good girl,” he says without looking at me, shifting the car into drive. “Now was that so hard?”

The second those two words leave his mouth, they land differently. How can the same words make me feel invisible in one mouth—and completely claimed in the other?

“Fuck off.”

His jaw ticks, just once. “Try that again, sweetheart.”

I glare out the window, refusing to look at him. “Don’t push me, Frank.”

There’s a pause. A thick, electric silence between us. Then—quiet, but deadly—“Don’t forget who you’re talking to?”

That does it. My breath catches, and my throat tightens with the tension between fear and fury. I don’t respond. I can’t. Not without giving him exactly what he wants.

Silence falls between us as we drive, and the only thing I hear is the tires humming against the pavement. I assume we’re headed toward my apartment, so I don’t think too much of it when he takes a left instead of a right. Then another turn. It’s not until the third wrong street that I feel the cold twist at the base of my spine.

I turn in my seat slowly. “…You missed my turn.”