Page 62 of Ravage

The ultimate revenge.

But it's not enough anymore.

I don't want revenge.

I want her. I want to keep her.

I want to own her so completely that when she finds out the truth, she won't care.

She'll be too far gone, too thoroughly mine to ever leave.

That's what this year will be about. Not punishment.

Preparation.

The building is quiet this morning.

Purgatory doesn't open until late this evening, and the cleaning crews have already finished.

I take the private elevator to my floor, the bags warm in my hands.

She's awake when I enter the guest room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the dress from last night, wrinkled now.

The collar catches the morning light.

Her hair is tangled, makeup smeared.

She looks wrecked. She looks perfect.

She looks up when I enter, and the hope in her eyes makes something twist in my chest.

"Breakfast," I say, setting the bags on the side table. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Her voice is hoarse. From crying or screaming my name, I'm not sure which.

"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I said eat."

She reaches for the container with shaking hands.

Opens it.

Stares at the eggs and toast like they might bite her.

"Cassius, about last night?—"

"Eat first. Then we talk."

She picks up the fork, takes a small bite.

Then another.

I watch her throat work as she swallows, remember my hands around that throat, my cock down it.

Three nights of debauchery, and she still looks innocent somehow. Breakable.