CHAPTER 197: ALONE WITH SOFIA

"I’m necessary. There’s a difference."

"I should go."

"But you won’t."

"How do you know?"

"Because you wore perfume on your inner thighs. Because your underwear finally matches your bra. Because you told Jack you were studying with Ashley—but Ashley’s in Cabo right now."

Her face flushed nuclear. "How could you possibly—"

"Know? Because I pay attention. To everything. Like how you cross your legs tighter when you’re aroused. Like how you’ve been pressing your thighs together since I walked in. Like how you keep licking your lips imagining what I taste like."

"Stop."

"Make me."

She stood so abruptly the chair scraped, eyes flashing. For a second I thought she’d storm out. Then she grabbed her purse and said, loud enough for the barista to choke on his oat milk:

"You’re right. We should study at your place. Better resources."

Game on.

Outside, the evening air hit like a cold shower. Sofia walked beside me, careful to maintain just enough distance to pretend she wasn’t already mine, but her stride matched mine anyway.

"For the record," she said quietly, "I didn’t wear perfume there."

"I know. But you thought about it."

Her head snapped, eyes sharp. "How do you do that? Just... know things?"

"Same way I knew Luna only needed exactly three fingers, curled just right, while my tongue spelled my name on her clit."

She stumbled. I caught her elbow like a gentleman, steadying her like I hadn’t just detonated a bomb in her head. The contact hit her like live wires.

"You can’t just say things like that."

"Why not? Because it makes you wet in public? Because now you’re imagining what my fingers feel like compared to Jack’s half-assed dick fumbling?"

"Please..."

"Please what? Stop? Keep going? Tell you how I’m going to ruin you so completely you’ll forget your boyfriend’s name mid-scream?"

We reached her car. I opened the door for her, all chivalry laced with threat. She slid in, dress riding up high enough to flash thighs that had been freshly waxed.

She groomed for this. A peace treaty disguised as lingerie. She dressed for war, wrapped in satin surrender.

I got behind the wheel, let the silence stalk her. She cracked first.

"I love Jack."

"No. You love the marketing campaign of Jack. Quarterback, golden boy, white-picket future—all neat little lies you can frame on Instagram. And good enough for your parents who expect you to be with someone in the same league as you."

"That’s not—"

"When’s the last time he made you cum?"

She froze.

"When’s the last time he tried?"

More silence.

"When’s the last time he looked at you like you were more than a prop in his highlight reel?"

"Stop." But her voice had no spine.

"I’ll stop when you say it and mean it. When you can look me in the eye and tell me you’re satisfied with missionary position and three pumps before he rolls over to check ESPN."

Her laugh cracked like glass. "It’s three pumps, actually."

"My apologies. Three whole pumps. You must be ravaged."

"You’re an asshole."

"I’m honest. And you’re drowning in lies."

I pulled the car into a driveway—not the mansion, not a hotel. Somewhere far more dangerous.

"Last chance, Sofia. I can take you home right now. Back to safety. Back to mediocrity. Back to the rest of your life where you’ll never stop replaying what you saw in that nurse’s office."

She stared out the window, then back at me. "Or?"

"Or you come inside and find out why Luna couldn’t walk straight for two days."

Her hand was on the handle before I finished speaking.

The house loomed ahead. The old house. The one Mom refused to sell because it ’held too many memories.’ Empty for years, patient, waiting. Not even Madison—my queen, my chosen—had crossed this threshold in sin.

This house raised me, starved me, taught me hunger. Tonight it would witness a new lesson: what happens when hunger finally eats. Jack Morrison’s girlfriend would be the first. His perfect, polished girlfriend broken open in the very place that made me. This house knew every secret of my childhood—tonight it would learn the sweetest one of all.

"This isn’t your new place. Rumors have been going around, you know," Sofia said, her voice thin against the modest exterior.

"No. This is where I’m from. Where I learned hunger. Where I came crawling to stitch up the wounds Jack left on me. Now I’ll carve a new scar into his life—by fucking his girlfriend inside it."

She followed me to the door... willingly. Each step was a betrayal in motion. Each breath was a nail in the coffin of the life she pretended to want.

Inside, the air struck her—the heavy perfume of memory, stale dust and ghosts. The boy I used to be still haunted these walls. Furniture sat beneath white sheets like monuments draped for mourning. Mom couldn’t let it go; neither could I.

"It’s so quiet," Sofia whispered.

"Not for long."

She shivered. Not from cold. From prophecy.

"Water?" I offered, gesturing toward the kitchen that had once fed a starving boy.

Her lips tightened, courage flickering like a dying candle. "No more delays. Either do what you promised—or take me home."

I smiled, slow, inevitable. The smile of storms rolling over cities. "Careful, Sofia. Every promise I make comes true."

"Then keep this one. Fuck me, Carter. Fucking F.U.C.K me!"

Perfect Liberation: Phase One Initiated: In the house where hunger was born, hunger will be taught. In the place where I bled, another will bleed pleasure. Jack Morrison’s girlfriend will learn the meaning of need.

The night stretched open before us, endless as scripture. Tomorrow, she would return to Jack with my fingerprints burned into her soul if not her skin.

But tonight—tonight she belonged to me. And this house, my first witness, would remember.

"Follow me," I commanded.

"Let’s see if you’re ready to lose everything you thought you were."

Behind us, the door closed with a final click, soft as a coffin lid.

There was no going back. Not for her. Not for me. Not for Jack. Only forward—into ruin.