I was sinking, and I didn't know how to stop it.
Every part of me told me to get up, to leave, to fight this—fight him—but the weight of it all, the pull between us, was stronger than I ever could've imagined. Xavier had me caught in his web, and I couldn't escape. Not physically, not emotionally. It was like he had taken my soul without even asking for permission, and now I didn't know how to get it back.
I sat in his room, my mind a storm of confusion, anger, and something darker that I refused to admit. Xavier had made his mark on me in ways I couldn't begin to describe. I was no longer the same person who had walked into the club that night. But I still hated it.
I hated how my body reacted to him. How every time he touched me, every time his dark eyes looked at me with that knowing, possessive intensity, I wanted to give in.
And I hated that I wanted it.
The silence between us was heavy. I didn't know if he was waiting for me to say something or if he just enjoyed watching me struggle. Either way, I couldn't meet his gaze. My hands were clenched in my lap, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold myself together.
I needed to leave. I needed to find a way out of this. But when I looked up at him, the sharpness in his expression, the way he towered over me, reminded me of how futile it was.
He could see right through me. He knew me better than I knew myself.
"You still think you can run," Xavier said, his voice breaking the silence, low and teasing, like he was enjoying watching me unravel.
I didn't respond. What was there to say? I wasn't running anymore, was I? I wasn't fighting anymore. Not in the way I thought I would.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It wasn't just a statement—it was a confession. A surrender.
His lips curled into that dark, predatory smile that sent a shiver down my spine. He moved closer, his presence overwhelming. His scent, that intoxicating mix of power and something darker, wrapped around me, suffocating me.
"You already know that, Zoey," he murmured, his hand resting on my chin, tilting my head up so I had no choice but to look at him. "You've known from the start."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had known. I had known the moment he touched me, the moment he claimed me as his, that I wouldn't be able to walk away.
I was already too deep.
"I didn't choose this," I said, the words escaping in a rush, almost pleading. "I didn't choose you."
"You don't get to choose anymore," he replied, his tone so cold, so final. His hand slid down my neck, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just above my collarbone. "You're mine, Zoey. And that's not something you can change. Not now. Not ever."
I shivered beneath his touch, and despite myself, despite the rage bubbling up inside me, I couldn't stop the way my body reacted. Every inch of my skin seemed to burn under his touch, and it felt like my very heart was being torn between hating him and wanting him.
I closed my eyes, trying to block him out, to block out the way my body betrayed me. But when I opened them again, he was still there, looming over me, his presence overwhelming everything.
"I hate this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but there was no conviction in it. I didn't hate it. Not really. I hated the way he made me feel out of control, the way he made me question everything about myself.
"You don't hate it," he said, his voice dark, the edges of it sharp. "You might hate the idea of it, but you don't hate what's happening between us."
I bit my lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over. But it was no use.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice thick with frustration. "Why are you making me feel like this? You know I can't stop it, don't you? You know that you've already broken me."
Xavier didn't answer right away. He simply studied me, his gaze piercing, his expression unreadable. Then, when he spoke, his words were softer, but still laced with that dark undertone.
"I'm not breaking you, Zoey. I'm owning you." His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the movement slow, deliberate. "And you'll thank me for it."
I wanted to scream at him, to lash out, to tell him that I wasn't some object to be owned. But the truth was, I couldn't bring myself to do it. There was a part of me—a big part of me—that did want this. That wanted him, even as much as I hated that fact.
I didn't know how to reconcile those two sides of me anymore—the girl who wanted freedom and the girl who was already tangled up in Xavier's world.
I looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, I could almost see the satisfaction in his eyes. He knew. He knew that the fight was over, that I had already given in, even if I wouldn't admit it.
He stepped closer, his hand resting on my shoulder now, his thumb gently brushing the skin there.
"You're not leaving me, Zoey," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "You belong to me. And I will make sure you never forget it."
I closed my eyes again, my heart pounding in my chest. There was no escape.
Not now. Not ever.
_____________
XAVIER POV
Zoey looked at me with that mix of fear and defiance that had drawn me to her in the first place. She was trembling, clutching the sheets as if they could shield her from me. She didn't realize how useless it was to fight—how pointless it was to resist me. Zoey was mine, and every part of her—her fear, her anger, even her desperate attempts to pull away—only fed the fire inside me.
I watched her for a moment, letting the silence stretch. She hated the quiet. It made her squirm, made her thoughts run wild. It gave me control. And I always controlled the game.
"You can keep fighting, Zoey," I said finally, my voice calm, almost amused. I leaned against the edge of the bed, looming over her without touching her, letting my presence do the work. "But we both know how this ends."
Her eyes darted away, focusing on anything but me. The corner of my lips twitched at her stubbornness. She didn't realize yet that I thrived on it. Breaking her piece by piece, watching her unravel—it was intoxicating.
"I hate you," she whispered, her voice shaky but louder than I expected.
I tilted my head, studying her. "No, you don't."
Her glare snapped back to me, sharp and angry. I could see the fire in her, burning brightly even as fear tried to smother it. It was thrilling. Most people broke so easily under the weight of me, but not Zoey. She was different, and I relished every moment of this twisted dance we shared.
"Don't tell me how I feel," she spat, clutching the sheet tighter as if it were a lifeline.
I chuckled, a low sound that filled the room and made her flinch. "I don't have to tell you, Zoey. I can see it. It's in your eyes, in the way your breath catches every time I'm near. You hate yourself for it, don't you? For wanting me."
She froze, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. I moved closer, deliberately slow, letting the tension between us build. My hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She stiffened but didn't pull away.
"You think I don't know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I know everything about you, Zoey. Your fears, your doubts, your desires. Especially those."
Her breathing quickened, and her cheeks flushed. She hated how her body betrayed her, how it responded to me even when she didn't want it to. But that was the point, wasn't it? Zoey didn't have to want me. Her body and her soul already did, even if her mind hadn't caught up yet.
"You don't own me," she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute.
I smirked, letting my fingers trail down her jawline, savoring the way her skin heated under my touch. "That's where you're wrong, love. I already do."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she tried to hold on to some semblance of control. It was almost endearing. Almost.
"I should walk away," she whispered, more to herself than to me. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her uncertainty.
"You won't." I leaned in closer, my lips hovering just over hers, teasing her, taunting her. "You can't."
She shivered, her breath hitching as my hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her in place. I could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my fingers, the proof that no matter how much she fought, her body was mine. Her soul was mine. Everything about her belonged to me now.
"You think this is some kind of game," she said, her voice steadier now, though her eyes betrayed her fear. "But it's not. You can't just… take people like this, Xavier."
I laughed, the sound sharp and cold. "Zoey, everything in life is a game. And I always win."
She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "This isn't winning. This is manipulation. It's control. It's—"
"It's exactly what you crave," I interrupted, my voice firm. I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "You tell yourself you want freedom, that you want to escape me. But deep down, you love the way I make you feel. You love the chaos, the danger. You love the way I see you, Zoey. The real you."
Her breath hitched again, and I knew I had her. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but she couldn't lie to me. I saw through every wall she tried to build, every excuse she made. Zoey was mine in ways she didn't even understand yet.
I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, "You'll never leave me, Zoey. Because you don't want to. And that's what terrifies you the most."
She didn't respond, but I didn't need her to. The way her body leaned into mine, the way her breath quickened, the way her eyes refused to meet mine—it told me everything I needed to know.
I pulled back, letting her go, and stood up. She looked up at me, confused, as if she hadn't expected me to stop.
"You can keep fighting," I said, my tone calm and casual as I adjusted my cufflinks. "But we both know how this ends."
With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the room. I didn't need to stay. I had already won.