“Glad you finally got over yourself, but really, Gen? Sweatpants and… that?” His tone is mildly condescending, as if I’ve somehow insulted him by not dressing up for his arrival.

I press my lips together, biting back the first sting of irritation. After shutting the door behind him, I make my way to the couch to sit down. I cross my arms, creating an invisible barrier between us as he removes his jacket.

“Want to have a seat?” I ask.

His eyes narrow slightly at my invitation, but he joins me on the couch at the opposite end. “What’s this about?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say, my voice firm. “I know we’ve been on and off a lot over the past year, but this isn’t working out for me anymore. I’m done. For good.”

His entire body goes rigid. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want to drag this out. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and this relationship isn’t what I need.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he scoffs. “We don’t have a relationship. We just fuck. Are you mad because I don’t coddle you like you expect me to?”

There it is.

The first little dig, an insult implying that I’m an emotionally needy woman. Therefore, I’m the problem.

“No,” I say evenly. “It’s not about coddling or me wanting something romantic. I need to move forward with my life.”

“Move forward?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. When I nod, he jumps to his feet and waves his hand in my direction. “Being with you is like fucking an ice cube. Do you think if you ‘find yourself’ that you’ll stop being a cold-hearted bitch?”

Mason’s words hit me like a slap to the face. I can’t stop myself from reacting, from rearing back with my lips parted in shock. However, my years of training immediately kick in. I neutralize my expression while slowly getting to my feet in a way that signals confidence and my refusal to be baited.

As I stare into Mason’s eyes, Ghost’s words flood my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. “You’re flame and wrath encased in a wall of ice and control.” In this moment, I have to admit he’s right about me.

Except my barrier is melting…

“Maybe I’ll always be like this,” I say evenly. “And maybe I won’t. Either way, you won’t be around to see it.”

A flicker of something darker passes over his face. He steps closer, his posture more rigid, his hands fisted. I hold my ground, my instinct for self-preservation overridden by the anger burning inside me.

“You think you can just walk away from me?” he asks.

“Yes, Mason. I do.”

I lift my chin. The gesture is a direct challenge. A gauntlet tossed at his feet. I know better. I know not to provoke him. But maybe, just maybe, Mason needs to see a glimpse of the “real” me. If only this once.

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I see it—the barely repressed fury. His need for dominance. He’s not used to being on the losing side of things, and right now, I’m taking away something he thought he had control over.

Me.

I take a step toward him, putting myself directly in his path, within his reach. “Get out.”

He sneers at me, his curled lip making his face grotesque. “You’re going to regret this.”

I shrug, the act dismissive, meant to make him feel insignificant. “I doubt I’ll even remember this conversation. Or you.”

Mason’s eyes flash with emotion and intent. In a split second, I realize what’s about to happen, a moment too late.

Mason’s fist connects with my face.

The impact sends a shock wave through my skull, and I stumble back, my hand instinctively flying to my cheek. Pain blooms instantly, but I let my arm fall to my side, refusing to cradle my injury.

The adrenaline already flooding my system becomes amplified, my synapses firing off in rapid succession, creating something close to chaos in my mind.

Or is it freedom?

My short burst of laughter hits the air, shattering the silence.

The sound is involuntary, almost absurd, but it bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, breaking free before I can stop it. The sting from his punch throbs, but the pain is oddly grounding, focusing. It’s as though the world has slowed down, sharpening into clarity.

Mason stares at me, chest heaving and hands fisted. His eyes widen when I laugh again, on purpose. I’m not horrified by Mason’s violence. I’m… amused and exhilarated. My body feels awakened, thrumming with a strange, turbulent energy. The line between control and chaos has been crossed.

And I’m not going back.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Mason’s voice carries the sharpness of his insult, but his posture, the way his shoulders sag, tells me he’s afraid.

He should be.

I don’t respond. And I don’t stop laughing as I make my way across the living room to the patio door. I pick up the baseball bat that sits there and lift it, resting the length of it on my shoulder.

“What do you think you’re going to do, Gen?” He takes a retreating step, signaling his uncertainty. “Are you going to hit me?”

I stop laughing and tilt my head, a mocking smile firmly planted on my face. “Fuck around, and find out.”

He gapes at me before turning sharply, his footsteps heavy as he storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The noise reverberates through the room, but I dismiss it.

I stand there with my chest full of repressed laughter and adrenaline coursing through my blood, heating me all over. I turn my head to peer at my reflection again.

Now, I’m looking at an entirely different person.

My cheek is red, the skin starting to swell, but the woman looking back at me is strong. Stronger than I ever gave her credit for.

And she’s not afraid.

I smile at my reflection as Ghost’s voice fills my mind.

“There’s the Geneva that I see.”

CHAPTER 14

It’s been almost three days and Geneva still hasn’t come to see me.

I tap my fingers against the cold metal table in my cell, the rhythm steady but relentless. Like my thoughts of her. I’ve been accurate in all of my assessments of Dr. Andrews, along with anticipating her reactions. She should’ve contacted me by now.

Is she hiding from me?

Or hiding something from me?

I get up and walk over to my cell door to make sure the guards aren’t nearby before retrieving my new cell phone from its hiding place in the wall. After my final taunt to Geneva during our last visit, she informed the guards about my contraband, and they confiscated it. Such a tattletale.

If she were here, I’d spank her for that.

Because of that little stunt, I haven’t been able to watch Geneva for days and it’s killing me. What good is having cameras in her apartment if I can’t fucking see her?

I power on the phone and select the app that’s linked to the hidden cameras, the grainy black-and-white feed from her apartment flickering to life. The angles aren’t perfect, but they’re good enough. And there she is.

Finally.

Geneva is sitting on her couch, scrolling through her phone, her posture rigid like she’s deep in thought. I watch her for a few moments, the tension in her body almost palpable even through the poor-quality feed. There’s a smudge on her cheek, but I chalk it up to the lighting, the shadows playing tricks on the screen. She’s too precise, too put together for it to be anything else.

I scroll through my unanswered texts.

Unknown: You said you were done with me. Is this another lie you’ve told yourself?

Unknown: You’re quiet, but quiet doesn’t equate to tranquility. What are you thinking about? Maybe it’s a person with white hair, a killer instinct, erm… I mean a killer smile, and a big dick?