The week after the Lila texts felt like walking on a thin rope. I kept the messages hidden, deleted them every time they came, blocked the number again, told myself it was over, that I was protecting Damien and I was protecting us.
But every time my phone buzzed, my stomach dropped.
Damien noticed.
He didn’t say anything at first, just watched me more closely, touched me more often, kissed me like he was trying to remind me who I belonged to. I let him. Needed him to. Because when he was inside me, when he was growling “mine” against my skin, the guilt quieted down for a little while.
Until Thursday. It was the biggest presentation of the semester, the final project for my advanced constitutional law class. The auditorium was packed. Professors from three departments were there. The de
