Chapter 3

I tried to slam the door, to shut out his smug face and venomous words, but he was ready for it.

Suddenly, his entire demeanor changed. The smirk vanished, replaced by a look of wide-eyed fear. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the steps, clutching his arm as if I'd struck him.

"Don't hit me!" he cried out, his voice a theatrical whimper. Tears welled up in his eyes instantly. It was a performance worthy of an award. "I just... I just came over to borrow some sugar, man. You don't have to get violent."

I stared at him, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of his act.

And then, as if on cue, Jocelyn appeared. She must have been waiting just out of sight.

"Carson!" she shrieked, rushing up the steps. She knelt beside him, cradling his head in her lap. She shot me a look of pure fury. "Ethan, what is wrong with you? He has nothing to do with us! Why are you taking your anger out on him?"

She didn't ask what happened. She didn't wait for an explanation. She just accused me, her voice dripping with righteous indignation.

"He is my boyfriend now, Ethan," she said, her words sharp and clear, meant to cut. "Now. Not you. You need to accept that."

She helped Carson to his feet, fussing over him like he was a wounded bird. She didn't give me another glance. She just wrapped her arm around his waist and led him away, leaving me standing alone in the doorway.

My hand, which had been hanging limp at my side, clenched into a tight fist. My knuckles were white. I watched them go, a perfect picture of her manufactured reality. I stood there until they disappeared into the house next door. Then, slowly, I closed my door, the click of the latch sounding like a final, definitive end.

The house was silent and empty around me. The silence was a heavy blanket, suffocating me.

Later that night, long after midnight, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a video call from an unknown number. Half-asleep, I answered it.

The screen flickered to life, showing a shaky, close-up image. Pale skin, marked with the faint red lines of a fresh hickey. The camera panned slightly, revealing Jocelyn's face, her eyes closed in what looked like ecstasy. The sound was a mix of her soft moans and a man's heavy, ragged breathing. It was a raw, ugly, intimate scene.

I was wide awake now, my body rigid, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing.

A man's low voice, slurred with pleasure, came through the speaker. It was Carson. "See? She likes it rough. All that innocent act is just for show. She loves this."

Jocelyn let out a soft, contented sigh. She opened her eyes for a moment, her gaze unfocused. Then she murmured, "Careful with the phone, honey. We don't want Ethan to get any ideas." She patted Carson's cheek. "He's sweet, but you... you know what a woman's body really wants."

I couldn't breathe. My throat was tight, my chest constricted. I bit down hard on my lip, the sharp, coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth. It was a small, sharp pain in a sea of overwhelming agony.

With a trembling finger, I stabbed at the red icon on the screen, ending the call.

I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a dull crack and slid to the floor. I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling as hot tears streamed from my eyes, silent and useless. The memory of Jocelyn in my arms, whispering how much she loved me, how I was the only one for her, played in my head like a cruel joke. All those moments of tenderness, of shared intimacy... had they all been a performance?

I suppose she was never truly satisfied.

Fine. I would give her what she wanted. I would give her all the freedom in the world.