The man from the van!Riser.
He’s even bigger than I remember. Tatted, grinning, and cruel. The same twisted mouth that mocked me that night now stretches into a sick smile.
“Miss me?” he says, offering a hand like this is some sick reunion.
I crab-walk away, heart racing. “Stay away from me!”
Meghan laughs like a witch. “God, you’re still scared over atitty fuck.Unreal. How the hell did someone like you keep Grayson’s attention for more than a second?”
I stare at her, stunned.
She smirks. “That’s right. Riser was supposed to rough you up just enough to scare you. Make you see who Grayson really is. Another Riser. A criminal. Break you so you’d run.”
“You senthimto attack me?”
“To save you,” she says, but her tone seems insincere. “You’re too dumb to know a monster when you’re sleeping with one.”
I point at Riser, my hand shaking. “So the idea was... to traumatize me. So I’d see Grayson as dangerous. So I’d leave him.”
“Exactly.”
No shame. No guilt. Just a crazy woman playing puppet master.
“Rowen’s a monster,” Meghan says, eyes gleaming. “But he’smymonster.”
I sneer. I hate that she calls him Rowen. Like she owns a piece of him. She doesn’t. Not anymore.
“Grayson isn’t yours,” I snap. “He’s in prison because of you. Neither of us get to be with him.”
She cackles, full of venom. “He’s right where he belongs. Far away from you. Sure, I lied about the restraining order to get him arrested, but at least now he’s talking to me again.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” I whisper.
“Oh, yeah,” she says proudly. “We write each other all the time. I even visit. I use a friend’s ID and a wig.”
That hits harder than Riser towering over me. My chest tightens. I stand, suddenly aware of my legs shaking beneath me. I don’t even care about my former attacker. It’s like somebody punched me and I’m in a daze.
Grayson has been communicatingwith her?
She shoves a paper and pen into my hands.
“What’s this?” I ask, recoiling like it’s poison.
“A goodbye letter,” she says sweetly. “You’re going to tell him it’s over.”
I blink at her, confused.
She sighs, increasingly annoyed. “He’s not himself. Mopey, detached. Too friend-zone for my taste. But he still slips upand talks about you. He obviously still thinks about you. I want that fire back but for me only. I want my Rowen. So I need you to let him go.”
I grip the pen, jaw clenched. “He already did. He won’t talk to me. But apparently, he talks to you!”
Her smirk deepens. “For some fucking reason,he loves you.Unfortunately, you are not right for him.”
“He still loves me?” I squeak, butterflies awakening my deadened heart.
“Oh, Jesus.” She rolls her eyes. “He does. I know him better than you ever will, though. But he’s just confused.”
