The silence that followed was unbearable.

    I smoothed my skirt down, my thighs slick.

    He still owns me.

    And I hate it.

    I hate him.

    I hate myself.

    He moved forward to touch me. I backed away, shaking my head.

    I studied him—his flushed face, his swollen mouth, the raw hunger in his eyes—and for one terrible second, I wanted to fall into him.

    Again.

    Always.

    “You’re everything,” he repeated, watching me with a hunger that made me want to cave.

    If he wanted me so much, it meant something, didn’t it? It meant I was more than my body for him, didn’t it?

    “I’ve seen this movie before, Gage,” I whispered softly, my eyes on him. “I’m not interested in a sequel; you know they’re never as good as the original.”

    “You came like a fucking geyser so don’t pretend you didn’t want me.” He glowered. “Any other man make youe so hard, so fast, baby? Does Jonah make you scream his name like I just did?

    I mmed my hand on the register to silence him.

    The sound cracked through the quiet like a whip, sharp and echoing against the velvet-draped walls.

    My other hand trembled at my side. My breath was ragged. My heart was wrecked.

    “Naomi—”

    “No.” My voice came out raw, almost unrecognizable. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

    He took a step forward.

    And like it was a choreographed dance, I stepped back.

    “You don’t get toe in here like a bull in a China shop, bark at me about who I can date, then put your hands on me like I’m—” I choked. “Like I’m some…toy to amuse you.”

    He looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “I didn’t mean?—”

    “I don’t care what you meant.”

    He tried to speak again, but I raised my hand to stop the words I couldn’t afford to hear.

    “Get out.”

    “Naomi—”

    “Get. Out.”

    For a second, he didn’t move.

    And I thought, God, he was going to fight for me. He was going to say something—anything—that would make this okay.

    He didn’t.

    He nodded.

    Swallowed.

    Backed away.

    And left.

    The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I copsed.

    I slid down to the floor like a rag doll, knees drawn to my chest, my body still tingling from the orgasm he’d ripped out of me like a thief stealing from a shrine.

    And I cried.

    Not the elegant kind, not the single-tear-down-the-cheek kind. But the ugly kind that makes your chest ache and your throat burn, that leaves you curled on the floor gasping for breath like you’ve juste up from drowning.

    I cried for the girl who’d thought love would look like safety.

    For the woman who’d convinced herself that being wanted was the same thing as being valued.

    For the fool who let a man back into her body even after he made it clear she’d never have his heart.

    I pressed my face to my knees and whispered, “I love you,” like it was a confession and a curse, “and God, it hurts.”

    I loved a man who treated me like a sexual toy. Who couldn’t say the words I needed. Who disappeared when I showed him the softest parts of myself, then came back and took from me without offering anything real in return.

    I wanted to be mad at him.

    But I was mad at myself.

    Because I let him. Because I still wanted him.

    Because some sick part of me thought maybe if I just held on long enough, he’d be the man I saw glimpses of—the one who listened when I talked about my dreams, who touched me like I was sacred.

    But that man didn’t show up tonight.

    The one who showed up was the one who wanted to y dog in the manger. He didn’t want me, and ording to him, no other man could have me either.

    An hourter, I was still there on the floor.

    The lights were still on.

    My body was still warm from his hands.

    My soul was cold.

    It hurt to face the reality of what I’d allowed him to do.

    I sat on the floor of my beautiful, carefully curated shop, in the quiet aftermath of lust and shame, and I knew?—

    This wasn’t the kind of love that I wanted or needed.

    Because love was supposed to make you feel safe and beautiful, not…used.