Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Not bad,” he says, his tone full of teasing arrogance. “For a beginner.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “Beginner? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
His grin deepens, and his eyes spark with something wicked. “I’ve got a lot of things,” he says, his voice dipping into something that makes my breath hitch. “See you around, beautiful.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I’m not sure if I want to roll my eyes or chase after him.
Something about him feels dangerous. Familiar, even…
Where the hell is my head at? It’s like I’ve met two men straight out of my books these days, and I need to focus back on reality.
My phone pings, vibrating on the floor next to my water bottle. I freeze mid-reach, unsure why the sudden sound sends a prickle of unease crawling up my spine. It’s just a notification, another dopamine hit waiting to be claimed. But something stops me, a stubborn refusal to let my curiosity win.
I count to ten before finally checking, keeping my breathing steady. It’s probably just another—
The sight of the name on the screen punches the air from my lungs. The phone slips from my hand, clattering to the ground, and I bite back a scream that threatens to claw its way out of my throat.
No. Not now. Not here.
Shawn
Hey, little sis. Back in town. Want to grab a drink?
Back in town.
Back in town.
The message is short. Innocent, even. But from him, it’s a bombshell, a ghost I’ve spent years running from finally catching up to me. The stepbrother who turned my childhood into a nightmare is back, and suddenly, I’m a trembling little girl again.
I wish I hadn’t read it. I don’t want to remember.
I force the phone into my pocket like that will bury the past along with it. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye—steady, fiery, and strong. I repeat the lie in my head like a mantra: You’re not her anymore. You’re not weak. You’re not helpless.
But the trembling in my hands says otherwise.
On autopilot, I head back to my apartment.
I have to get out of here. It’s hard leaving a place that’s familiar, that’s home, and venturing into the wide world of newness and unfamiliarity.
But my job can be anywhere now. Well, relatively speaking. And now that my influencer gig’s taking off…
I grab a book from my nightstand, clinging to its weight like a lifeline. Tonight, I’ll lose myself in a fantasy—because that’s all I can afford to trust. A world where women like me can find safety in surrender, even if it’s to someone dark, dangerous, and entirely unreal.
I can still see his predatory grin. I can still feel the way he held me in his clutches, terrified and cowering…
I whisper a quiet plea to the universe: Don’t let him drag me back there.
I can’t.
Before I can help myself, I check my messages. My heart thumps.
He tagged me in another video.
I scrutinize every detail. I can’t help it. I’m looking for a clue, something,…but there’s nothing.
Again, I don’t comment and hours later, my phone’s on silent.
I’m being good. Sensible. Diligent.
I’m tucked under a blanket, the heft of a new book in the palm of my hand. My huge mug of hot cocoa sits beside me, the fragrance lifting heavenward and warming the interior of my teeny, tiny, cramped apartment.
I left twinkling white fairy lights around the window after Christmas because I liked how they looked. I’ve spent every last penny building this book sanctuary in my shitty little apartment, and now it’s time to do what I love best—escape into my fantasy world.
Three chapters in, I’m drumming my fingers on the back of the book, waiting for things to pick up. I’m an impatient reader. I don’t like slow-moving plots or info dumping. I want action, and I want it now. Yes, I get that she’s a school teacher with dumb luck and a shitty past. Yes, I get that he’s a single dad in need of a nanny. They should be kissing by now.
Frowning, I put my book in my lap and wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I haven’t been able to get into a good book in weeks, and I need to. I have videos to post, goddammit.
I sip the tepid dregs of my cocoa and heave a sigh when I glance at my phone. My skin prickles the same way it did when Mr. Hottie ogled my ass at the gym.
I know what my real problem is though. I want another look at hot Mr. Fake Mafia, the one who’s been posting thirst traps and tagging me mercilessly. I have to stay focused though; I want to escape in my fantasy world—but wait.
Isn’t my online presence my fantasy world? There, where I have friends who share the same passion for romance and happily ever after, and where we can collectively drool over the mafia bad boys and tattooed heartthrobs, like modern-day heroines of Regency novels and their dashing scoundrels.