Cloud003: He didn’t like what?
Reina-Ellis: Me standing on the ledge and threatening to jump.
It hits me then.
Arianna’s death. Oh my God—Arianna died the same way, and I just repeated the scene in front of him.
In my mind, I thought he wouldn’t care, but that look he gave me was the complete opposite of not caring.
He was on the verge of himself.
Reina-Ellis: Shit. I think I hurt him. What do I do?
Cloud003: Why are you asking me?
Cloud003: I don’t appreciate you talking about other men, my slut.
I roll my eyes.
The door bangs open.
I jerk, hugging the phone to my chest as if Asher could see my conversation with Jason. I mean, it’s not cheating. We’re friends.
So why the hell am I hiding the phone?
No, I’m not hiding it. I just don’t want Asher to see what I said about him.
He closes the door, trapping us both in the room as he leans against it. The soft lamplight casts a shadow on his darkened features, almost making them frightening.
Scratch that. They are frightening.
Although I feel lighter now that he knows I’m not Reina, Asher is still one of the villains in my story—if not the most dangerous.
I don’t feel drawn to other villains. I don’t clench my thighs upon seeing them like some high school girl with a crush.
“What…” My voice comes out breathy, and I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer and stalks toward me instead. His steps are slow, measured, and filled with so much sexual energy it radiates in the air and wraps a noose around my neck.
I hug the phone tighter to my chest, as if it can save me from Asher’s hold and teleport me out of here.
“What were you doing?” His question drifts like smoke without fire, impenetrable and asphyxiating.
“Nothing.” My voice is defensive and too loud, even to my own ears.
“Is that so?” He’s suddenly standing beside me, and I have to gaze up to look at him.
His heat radiates on my skin in waves and I can’t look away. I can’t do anything except stare like an idiot.
As I’m caught in his trance, he reaches over and snatches my phone away. His brows scrunch as he studies the screen, but there’s no other indication of his mood.
I finally shake myself out of my stupor and yank my phone back.
It’s too late, though. He mu
st’ve seen the name, or worse, the last few lines of my conversation with Jason.
My ears and face flame with shame. Is it supposed to feel this crippling?