Chapter 2

Peter Jude wasn’t one for empty promises. He did exactly what he said he would.

Sweat dripped from his temples onto my collarbone, searing my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at the reflection in the mirror.

He purposefully blew into my ear, making my eyelashes flutter. The sight of our bodies moving together in the mirror made my face flush a deep crimson.

To him, my feeble attempts to struggle were just part of the fun. He pressed me against the cold mirror, whispering things that made my face burn with shame, forcing me to call him “husband” over and over.

It didn’t matter how much I begged; there was no escape. By the time it ended, I was so exhausted I couldn’t even lift a finger.

The ointment he applied had been washed away entirely.

And that was just the beginning. He made sure I couldn’t leave the mansion; no matter what time it was, I found myself trapped in this endless cycle of desire.

It was impossible to tell that Peter was supposed to be running a company, considering how often I was pulled from the bed, only to end up back in it moments later.

And it wasn’t always the bed. He said he was helping me get familiar with the mansion, taking me from the bathroom, to the study, to the home theater, and even… the lawn.

Each place bore witness to our time together, and I quickly became more than familiar with my new home.

After another break, I received a message from Mom saying she and Mr. Harris would be home soon. I almost cried with joy.

It was true—I’d had feelings for Peter since we first met, but I thought it would be something pure. What he did, though, was far from it.

And it wasn’t just once—it was a full week of things I couldn’t even talk about.

I felt like even if I made it to Mexico now, no one would want these broken kidneys of mine.

“You seem distracted,” Peter murmured, his lips crashing against mine before I could reply.

When I finally managed to catch my breath, I blurted out, “Mom and Mr. Harris are coming back.”

He stopped and casually said, “So what?”

“This isn’t right,” I said, trying to calm my breathing and the blush spreading across my face. “We can’t let them find out. Let’s just end this, and I’ll pretend nothing happened.”

“Why?”

Peter’s expression darkened, and his eyes flashed with anger as he harshly smeared more ointment onto me. “You clearly enjoyed it.”

I winced, knowing deep down he wasn’t wrong. My phone had been in my hand the whole time. If I had wanted to stop or tell someone, that week of chaos never would have happened.

“I don’t want anyone to know what happened after I entered this wealthy life. Plus, Mom’s about to marry Mr. Harris. No one can know about us.”

Those were both true reasons, especially the latter. Mom raised me alone, and I knew she genuinely loved Mr. Harris—it wasn’t just about the money.

Peter would never marry me, and even if he tried, it would ruin Mom’s chance at happiness with Mr. Harris.

And, truthfully, I had feelings for Peter, my so-called stepbrother. That’s why I let everything happen.

Peter licked his fingers. Just as I thought he was about to punish me, he smirked and said, “Fine, I wouldn’t want to ruin Mom’s marriage plans.”

He stormed out, looking uncharacteristically childish for someone usually so cold and composed. I curled up, hugging my knees, feeling the room grow emptier with each passing second.

If only Peter wasn’t Peter. If only I wasn’t Alice. Wouldn’t that be better?