Jeremiah’s face darkened, clearly seconds away from erupting. But his phone rang.
He turned away to answer it, teeth clenched, while I quietly slipped back into my room.
I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket, curling into the cold silence.
Over and over, I whispered in my heart. Just one more day. Just one more.
Just as I was about to drift into a dazed sleep, Jeremiah suddenly yanked me out from under the blanket. This time, his eyes blazed with fury as he stared at me.
"Lainey, are you trying to die!?"
"You actually went and tattled to my mom again. You really are shameless, anything to become Mrs. Ross, huh?"
With that, Jeremiah ripped open my clothes with his bare hands.
A chill spread across my chest as I reached out to push him away. "What are you doing?!"
Jeremiah sneered, "What am I doing? I’m doing exactly what you’ve always wanted me to do."
As I struggled beneath him, he scoffed, "You messaged my mom to complain again, didn’t you? Just so you could hurry up and become Mrs. Ross? And now you’re pretending to be some chaste little angel, who are you trying to fool?"
I froze.
I had never sent anything to his mother.
Jeremiah took advantage of my stillness, pinned my hands above my head, and trailed harsh kisses down my neck.
I couldn’t break free, and tears began to fall uncontrollably.
When Jeremiah felt the wetness, he instantly lost interest.
He got up, grabbed his clothes from the floor, and sneered coldly, "What an act, playing innocent when you’ve already been fucked by who knows how many men."
I pulled the blanket tighter around me and shut out his words completely.
Jeremiah cast me a glare filled with disgust.
"Remember to go to the police station tomorrow and turn yourself in. Don’t make me drag you there..."
Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Margaret.
Over the call, she cried and begged him to come over, saying she was scared and couldn’t bear to be alone.
Without a second thought, Jeremiah tossed me aside and stormed out.
At that moment, I quietly grabbed some clothes and began to pack.
But when I opened the wardrobe, it was filled with clothing tailored for Margaret’s figure. Not a single piece would fit me.
Aside from the clothes I had worn before prison, I had nothing of my own.
Gazing at the wardrobe packed with black silk lingerie, I turned around, grabbed a pair of scissors, and shredded every last piece.