Blake exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his entire body tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

I turned, walking toward Tiffany’s car, my knees shaking—because what the hell just happened?

Before I could climb into the Tiffany’s car, my phone buzzed.

I bit my lip, my smile stretching wider.

25

BLAKE, 1998

18 years old

At some point, I ended up back at home.

I turned off the engine and just sat there.

Because if I walked inside, I knew she’d be waiting.

She’d be there.

In my walls.

In my sheets.

In my fucking bones.

I ran a hand over my face and grabbed my phone.

Sure enough, her name was sitting at the top of my messages.

I stared at the screen.

Don’t, Blake. Don’t go up there. Don’t let her win.

I should have ignored her.

Should have tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, walked inside, and taken a shower cold enough to scrub her out of my system. I knew better than to take the bait.

Because I was.

I glanced down at my wrist like I needed confirmation, like I didn’t already know it was still there.

What was I supposed to say to that?

What was I supposed to say when every inch of me felt like it was being pulled in two directions at once?

I let out a slow, controlled breath, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

This girl was going to kill me.

I shut my eyes, gripping the phone like I wanted to crush it in my palm. I should’ve ended it there.  I should’ve left her on read, turned off my phone, and done anything but let her win. But instead, I did the stupidest thing I could have possibly done.

I threw open the car door.

Because I was weak. Because, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I was losing—control, pride, the version of myself I thought I had built to survive people like her.

Because I was a fool, and every inch of me belonged to Beverly Price, whether I liked it or not.

Make me.

Two words. That’s all it took.

That’s all she ever needed to do.

My chest felt too tight, too full, like if I didn’t move, if I didn’t do something, I was going to explode.

I shoved open the front door and made my way inside, my feet moving on instinct. The house was quiet. Mom was asleep. Dad wouldn’t be back for hours.

And Beverly was waiting.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, my pulse hammering against my skull. By the time I reached her room, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t knock. I just shoved the door open and stepped inside, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.