Chapter 30
NOVA POV
“Why can’t I face you when we fuck? Why can’t I touch you p>
My question was met with the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced and trust me, I’ve lived through enough heavy silences to be an unofficial connoisseur.
This is the kind of silence that makes the hair at the back of your neck prickle like you’ve walked into a cemetery at midnight
I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore. I slowly turned, inch by inch, bracing myself like I might catch him mid–heart attack.
His face was pale, blank, almost corpse-like — as if he’d just seen a ghost tap-dancing in the corner. Which was weird, considering the only haunting happening here was me and my damn mouth.
His hands shook uncontrollably, but the rest of him was rigid, frozen in place like a carved marble. Like if he moved even a fraction, the whole fragile illusion of control would shatter.
Was it my question? Was I not supposed to ask? Did I break some unspoken Grant Calloway law?
“What did I do wrong p>
Still nothing. Not a grunt, not a twitch of those firm lips. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe I whispered it in my head and didn’t realize.
“Um—hello p>
I cleared my throat before saying loudly. That got me a reaction, but barely. A twitch, a flinch so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t looking straight at him.
Then, like he remembered who the hell he was supposed to be, he shoved his trembling hands into his pockets. A spark of color returned to his face, and in the next blink, he was back but not as Grant, the man who makes my insides twist. But Mr. Calloway, certified Asshole.
He didn’t answer me. He just turned and walked out.
And since then, I sat here, cuffed, in silence for minutes, maybe even hours; it all bled together. My wrists ached where the metal of the handcuff bit into the skin of my sore wrists, because Mr. Asshole didn’t bother uncuffing me before he went all ghost-mode.
I won’t be letting him come near me with handcuffs in the near future. I’m certain.
The air conditioning roared, freezing me from the inside out. My skin prickled with goosebumps, my ass still sticky with his cum, drying uncomfortably where I couldn’t clean it.
The shredded lace of my lingerie lay in ruins across the floor, mocking me, while all I had left on was a damn garter belt.
The neglect stung worse than the cuffs. The cold seeped deeper than the AC as it clawed at a memory I’d buried so far down I thought I’d killed it. Turns out I just pressed pause.
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO.
The apartment smelled like heaven, fried stew bubbling away in the pot, spiced the way I loved it. My feet slapped against the cracked tiles as I twirled around the room, blowing pink bubbles into Mum’s curls and Dad’s beard. They laughed, eyes soft and shining like I was the only star in their sky.
Dad strummed the old guitar, humming our song. He always rewrote the names in songs, made them mine because I’m his special princess, he would say. His voice rumbled low, playful.
“Nova, you are the river, through my stone p>
I chimed in, proud of myself for remembering the words.
“The echo that makes me whole, a gentle fire in my bones p>
Then Mum joined in, dramatic as ever. She belted the last line with the flair of a diva who deserved a standing ovation.
“I find forever wherever you arrrre p>
I collapsed into Dad’s lap, giggling while he blew raspberries into my stomach. My world was whole. My chest felt like it might burst from too much love.
Then the door crashed off its hinges.
In one second, laughter became silence.
Men poured in — giants with masks and weapons my little brain couldn’t comprehend. Dad shoved me behind him. Mum screamed.
My hands shook so badly I clamped them over my mouth to hold my scream in, nails digging into my lips and cheeks.
Dad fell first. Mum followed. The crash of furniture, the slam of boots, the smell of smoke and fire as the kitchen went up — everything hit at once.
I peed myself. I was too small to care about shame. And while my favorite food burned, while our house caught fire, while men tore apart everything we owned—
All I wanted was for Dad to get up, dust off, strum his guitar, and start the song again.
But he didn’t.
The house went down in flames. A neighbor dragged me out through smoke that clawed my lungs raw. My parents disappeared into the back of an ambulance.
Then Auntie came. She cried until her face was streaked, her mascara bleeding black rivers. She grabbed me, shook me, asked questions I didn’t have answers for. My body shook, but no words came out.
She gave up, lit a cigarette with trembling hands. The smoke curled into my face as snowflakes landed in my hair. My thin singlet clung to my skin, soaked. I shivered, not sure if it was from the cold, or the smoke, or the absence of Dad’s hug.
I was shivering now too. Not snow this time, but AC. Not Auntie shaking me, but—
I blinked hard. Ivin. Ivin?
His hands were on my shoulders, his face thunderous.
“What the fuck, Nova p>
Apparently, I’d been sitting in the same frozen position long enough to scare him, even if I didn’t know when he got into the room. My body trembled, stiff, heavy and refusing to move.
He cursed, unlocked the cuffs and ripped the cuffs from my wrists, and wrapped me in the heavy duvet. “You’re freezing p>
I tried to say I was fine. That he didn’t need to bother. That I wasn’t some fragile doll.
But my throat closed. My voice stayed gone.
So I let him cover me. I let him lift me. I let him carry me like I weighed nothing at all.
And for once, I didn’t fight it.