June's POV:
As soon as he left, I bolted to the bathroom, turning the water scalding hot.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wash him away. His touch was still there, clinging to my skin like a stain I'd never be able to scrub clean. The hotter the water, the harder I rubbed, until my skin turned raw, burning.
But it didn't matter.
He was still there.
The filth was
inside
me. No amount of soap, no temperature, could burn it away.
I stepped out, gripping the sink, forcing myself to breathe. My gaze flicked to the clock.
8 PM.
I grabbed my phone and booked an appointment with
Bad Wolf
at the club.
Please let him be available.
Because if I didn't do
something
about this, if I didn't drown out the filth crawling under my skin, I wouldn't sleep the entire weekend.
I knew what I had to do first—show up to dinner, play my role, pretend like nothing happened. Smile at my mother. Nod at my father. Say
goodnight
—like a good little daughter.Then excuse myself, say I was tired, go to bed.
Sneak out.
The window was high. But not high enough to stop me.
Because if I didn't silence the demons in my head tonight...
I
knew
what I would do.
I
knew
I'd do something reckless.
I know I'm
already
rotten inside. But giving in to what the voices
really
want?
That would mean crossing a line even
I
couldn't come back from.
Dinner was the same as always—cold, rehearsed, and suffocating. My mother sat across from me, her eyes glued to her plate, never looking at me. She never
does
. She just pretends. Pretends not to hear. Pretends not to see. Pretends that everything in this house is
perfect
.
And my father? He was his usual self—calm, composed, and smiling like the perfect family man. The kind of man people praised for his generosity. The kind of man who hid his demons behind expensive suits and charitable donations.
The kind of man who had just left
my room
.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced down the food, every bite tasting like ash in my mouth.
I just needed to get through this.
Pretend.
Like always.
Then I could slip away, climb out my window, and find
him
.
Find
Bad Wolf
.
The only person who could chase my demons away, even if just for a few hours.
I waited until the house was silent, my parents in their separate bedrooms. I locked my door—not that it would keep
him
out—but I needed the illusion of control.
The moment the clock hit
10 PM
, I grabbed my hoodie, slid open the window, and climbed down. My hands were steady. My heart wasn't.
By the time I reached the club, the neon lights were a blur. The bass thrummed in my chest, the air thick with sweat, lust, and desperation.
I walked straight to the receptionist, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
"I have an appointment. Bad Wolf."
She checked the list, then nodded.
"Room 7. He's already waiting for you."
Good.
I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, each step heavier than the last.
I didn't know
who
he was. Didn't know his name. Didn't know his face.
But I knew
his touch
.
And right now, that was all I needed.
Pulling the mask over my face, I took a deep breath and walked toward Room 7.
Nobody knew.
Nobody
was supposed
to know.
This was my secret—my escape, my only way to silence the screams in my head.
Here, I wasn't June Matthews, the girl with the perfect life, the queen bee, the daughter of a powerful man.
Here, I was just a nameless body seeking oblivion.
My hands were cold as I reached for the door handle. For a second, I hesitated. Not because I was scared. Not because I had doubts.
But because, lately,
he
had started feeling familiar.
Bad Wolf.
I didn't know his name. Didn't know his face.
But I knew his touch.
And sometimes—just
sometimes
—I felt like
he
knew
me
.
Shaking off the thought, I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, the scent of musk and faint cologne hanging in the air. The moment I stepped inside, I felt him. He was already there, standing in the shadows like he was waiting for me.
Bad Wolf.
The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us away from the world outside. Here, nothing else existed—no past, no pain, no monsters lurking outside this room. Just this. Just
him
.
He didn't speak.
But I could feel his eyes on me, dark and piercing even through the mask. A shiver ran down my spine.
"Rough or brutal?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The silence stretched between us before he stepped forward, closing the distance. The air around him was heavy, thick with something dangerous. Something possessive.
Then, finally, he spoke—his voice deep, rough, and dripping with a raw edge of control.
"
Rough.
"
A rush of relief and something else—something twisted and dark—spread through me. That's exactly what I needed.
I needed him to break me apart so I could forget.
"Make me forget."
I walked toward him, my steps slow, deliberate. He didn't move, but I felt the shift in the air—the way the tension coiled tight, suffocating, consuming.
He didn't spoke. He never needed to. His presence alone drowned out everything else.
I stopped just inches from him, tilting my head up, waiting.
The room was silent except for the sound of my breathing—uneven, shaky. His was steady, controlled, like he wasn't affected. But I knew better.
He reached for me, fingers rough and unyielding as they gripped my waist, pulling me flush against his solid form. My pulse spiked.
This was what I needed.
No words. No names. No past.
Just this moment. Just
him
.
He was already hard. His hands moved with practiced ease, one flick, and my bra came undone.
A shiver ran through me as his mouth found my already hardened nipple, lips rough, tongue hot and unforgiving.
And just like that—
the voices stopped.
The chaos in my mind, the torment, the filth that clung to my skin—gone. All that existed was this moment, the raw, desperate need to drown in something deeper, something that burned hot enough to consume everything else.
His grip tightened, nails digging into my hips, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
This
was why I came here.
To forget.