Page 28 of My Dark Divine
“Youwon’tbe going there anytime soon. I don’t need anyone finding out,” he says. I try to protest, but he cuts me off, raising a hand. “If I find out you went there again—and don’t doubt that I will—I’ll shut that center down for good. I’ve given you too much freedom, Venetia, and that’s my fault. But I can take it away just as quickly as I gave it. Do you understand?”
Anger churns in my stomach, mingling with the embarrassment of being a grown woman unable to protest this treatment. But all I do is swallow the hot emotions that threaten to overflow. “I understand.”
“Good. I need to make a few calls, and when I return, you better be fucking ready.”
With that, he turns and disappears into the hallway, his threat lingering behind him like a menacing, translucent tentacle.
I force myself to get up, ignoring the way every muscle in my body cries out in protest.
I need to get a fucking grip already.
I walkinto one of the rooms of this cursed house, searching for a moment of peace before facing West. His dad welcomed us, and he and my father stayed downstairs, discussing business. I made an excuse to head to the bathroom but instead retreated upstairs, wanting to calm my nerves before facing the main source of my anxiety.
Out of all the places in the house, this room offers a sense of comfort. I look around, my eyes scanning a modest space dominated by black and white colors, with a large bed at its center. But I can’t fully relax, not when I struggle to breathe because of the corset squeezing my insides, rearranging them however it pleases. It’s a habit to tighten it until it molds perfectly to my body, snatching my waist and lifting my breasts. I’ve never felt confident in that area, and it’s embarrassing to admit that I try to avoid looking at myself in the shower.
My insecurities weigh me down.
I plop onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress as I close my eyes, trying to relax. My stomach aches from the pressure, and I’m certain I won’t be able to eat or drink anything today—not if I want to avoid the nauseating feeling of it sticking in my throat, waiting to burst out.
When the door opens, I jolt upright, ready to concoct an excuse for why I’m in this room instead of the bathroom. But as I see who’s entering, I freeze.
West’s eyes skim over my body before slowly rising to meet my gaze as he strides in and shuts the door behind him. A shiver ripples through me as the realization that we’re completely alone sends a queasy sensation churning in my gut.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, not even bothering to consider how the question sounds. It’s his fucking house.
His brows shoot up in surprise as he closes the distance between us. I swallow hard, a knot of fear tightening in my chest. He’s not going to hurt me—not with our dads downstairs—but the discomfort lingers. Things have become even more complicated after the kiss and that moment in the bathroom—whatever the fuck that was—and now I feel more vulnerable whenever I’m near him.
“It’s my room,” he replies calmly, and I shut my eyes, silently chastising myself for being so foolish. I literally came to his house and wandered around, intruding on his private space. “What’s wrong?”
I frown. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.” My voice wavers as he closes the small gap between us, making my heartbeat race. His presence looms so close that it feels as if he’s swallowing me whole, radiating an overwhelming sense of control and power. I feel helpless, trapped with no escape.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, his voice dropping a notch. My lips part involuntarily as his hand finds my waist, fingers grazing the ties that cling tightly to me. “God, can you even breathe in this thing?”
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I whisper. “Please, step?—”
“Turn around,” he interrupts, his eyes glued to my waist. When I hesitate, he curls his fingers around the side of it. “Now, Venetia.”
I gradually give in, each movement feeling like a fight against the weight of emotional and physical pressure. He watches me patiently, his penetrating gaze triggering a wave of adrenaline in my system. Whenever I’m with him, it feels as though we’re poised on the brink of something dangerous.
And now, if he does what I think he wants to, it might just shatter the walls of resentment I’ve built around myself.
West takes his time, gathering my thick hair and brushing it away from my back, his fingers gliding over the top of my corset. “Was it your father’s idea again?” he asks, already knowing the answer. It was my parents who always told me how to dress for occasions. Subconsciously, I look at the pieces they’d want me to wear, not relying on my own taste. And I fucking hate that he knows that. “Have you learned nothing, Netia?”
He loosens the first knot, and the fabric relaxes just enough for me to take a quick, shallow breath. “It was my idea. These are always my ideas,” I protest.
He hums, the simple sound turning me into brainless jelly as he swiftly works on the next knot. “You’re so bad at lying sometimes,” he says, his words coming disturbingly close to my ear. I don’t remember when he leaned in, nor do I care. The heat of his breath is the only thing that keeps me warm, pushing back the icy fear he evokes.
“I’m not lying,” I reply. “It just… It makes my?—”
“What?” he inquires, leaning his cheek against mine. He’s too fucking close, and I find myself unable to pull away. His short, dark hair brushes against the side of my face, sending a flurry of buzzing sensations under my skin. “Hm?”
His frame, a wall of muscle and threat, presses against mine, and I sense his tension. West is always on edge, always wearingthat angry scowl. I wonder if he can ever relax behind closed doors.
“It makes my body look better,” I manage after a pause.
A beat passes before the sound of tearing fabric jolts me from my musings, and I gasp. It takes a moment to realize that I can finally breathe freely as the cold air brushes against my exposed skin. Glancing down, I see the piece of fabric hanging loose, all the knots undone, revealing deep red streaks across my waist.
“What—” I trail off, surprise washing over me. My hands grab the edges of the corset, tightening it around me in a desperate attempt to cover the exposed parts of my body. “Why did you?—”
