I was still catching my breath, fingers trembling and thighs weak, when a sharp, aggressive knock rattled through the apartment.
"Of course It had to be now."
I wiped my fingers across my shorts and forced myself up, stepping over scattered snack wrappers and clothes littering the floor like debris from a storm.
The room smelled of sweat and frustration, and my head swam—not just from lust, but from rage I'd been choking on for hours.
Another knock. Hard enough to rattle the frame.
"Better be this bitch..." I hissed under my breath, padding barefoot down the stairs. The cold wood stung sharply against my skin, snapping me back into focus.
I yanked the door open.
There she stood—the same tanned, muscle-stacked woman who had failed me so spectacularly. Her hair was damp like she had sprinted here, face slightly flushed, chest rising and falling. She held a heavy duffel bag dangling from her fist. Money, obviously.
She said nothing. She just dropped it with a dull thud against the threshold. The weight of it echoed up my spine. A gust of cold night air rushed inside, stinging my sweat-coated skin and sending goosebumps rippling across my arms.
I stared at her. No expression. No sympathy. Just pure fury simmering under a thin layer of calm.
"Get lost," I muttered, voice low and sharp like a blade.
But instead of leaving, she stepped forward, desperation cracking through her tough façade. Her eyes trembled—not with fear, but obsession.
"Give me one more shot," she blurted, voice shaky yet forceful. "Please. I swear I'll get him. I'll do anything. Just let me try again."
I laughed. Short. Sharp. Cruel.
She winced like the sound physically struck her. I stepped closer until only the width of the doorway separated us, tilting my head with a slow, venomous smile.
"You couldn't control yourself for five minutes," I whispered. "You had one task. And you threw it away because you were drooling over him like a dog."
Her jaw tensed, hands balling into fists. I could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
I leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a hiss.
"You think those muscles scare me? You're nothing. You lost your chance."
Silence.
Just her ragged breathing in the cold air.
"Get. Lost," I repeated, each word like a hammer strike.
Then I snatched up the duffel, stepped back, and slammed the door hard enough to make the frame vibrate.
The echo rang through the empty house. My breath trembled. My hands shook—not from fear, but fury.
I dragged the bag deeper inside, tossing it onto the couch and collapsing next to it, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Noah..." I whispered to myself, the anger twisting into something darker—something desperate, close to lust.
"Stupid whore..." I muttered, voice edged with a laugh that didn't sound entirely human. "Just wait until I get my hands on you."
A low, humorless chuckle slipped out as I dug my hand into my pocket, pulling my phone free. The cracked screen lit up, fractured lines of light splitting across my reflection like broken glass. My thumb slid over the jagged curve as I opened Instagram, impatient, pulse climbing with anticipation.
"Been a while..." I breathed, tapping the search bar. My fingers typed his name automatically—muscle memory drenched in obsession.
Nothing.
No profile picture. No posts. No account. Only a message staring back at me like a taunt:
Profile Unavailable.
My smile died instantly. My tongue clicked against my teeth.
"That little fucker." I snarled under my breath. "He deactivated it... huh?"
The bile in my chest simmered to a boil. I squeezed the phone so hard the glass creaked.
"That's no fun. That's really no fun..."
I let my body fall back onto the couch, the cushions hissing as they compressed beneath me. The duffel bag full of cash sat heavy beside my hip—mocking me. It was everything I had. Every cent I'd scraped together. Weeks of planning, all of it risking on one stupid job... and she ruined it.
"I really need to get off my ass and move on with the new plan," I whispered, staring at the ceiling with numb eyes. The words tasted bitter, like metal. My gaze drifted slowly toward the duffel.
I let out a long sigh, then my lips curved upward into a slow, unhinged smile.
"I'm gonna make your life a living hell," I whispered, the words stretching into a laugh that rattled out of my chest uncontrollably—ugly, cracked, and echoing through the empty room.
I sank deeper into the sofa, fingers threading into my hair, eyes wide and glassy. I let my mind wander—painting scenarios, imagining every possible way to break him, to rip apart everything he cared about.
I could almost see it. I could almost feel it. I could almost taste the fear.
"Enjoy your time while you can..."