The letter read:
"Don’t let any other man touch you—not even your husband.
If you do, the world will see your not-so-perfect side. Or perhaps I’m wrong in saying that... everyone will see an even more perfect side of you—naked, a goddess in the flesh. The photos speak for themselves, don’t they?
Hehehe. Don’t try to cheat on me, Gwen. I’ll know. I always know.
If you let your husband fuck you, I’ll be there before he can even unbuckle his belt. And then, I’ll use that same belt to tie his neck to the ceiling. We’ll watch him dangle together, won’t we?
You and I, Gwen—what a spectacle it would be.
Until next time,
Ross."
The letter slipped from her hands, floating to the floor as Gwen staggered back, her knees threatening to give out. Her heart raced in her chest, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.
Her mind screamed at her to deny it, to tell herself it was a bluff. But the memories of Ross’s inhuman characteristics and his monstrous demeanor silenced any hope of doubt.
She had seen firsthand what he was capable of. She knew he wasn’t bluffing.
A soft sob escaped her lips as she sank to the floor, her head in her hands. She had always thought of herself as strong, as someone who could handle any challenge.
But now, for the first time in her life, she felt utterly powerless.
Minutes passed as Gwen sat in stunned silence, her mind a chaotic storm of fear, anger, and despair. She hated him.
She hated the way he had taken everything from her—her pride, her dignity, her freedom.
But more than that, she hated herself for the small, traitorous part of her that felt a twisted, sickening pull toward him.
Ross wasn’t just a man. He was a monster—a force she couldn’t fight or escape. And now, she was bound to him in ways she couldn’t begin to unravel.
But deep within her, a spark of determination began to flicker. She couldn’t let him win. She couldn’t let this be the end of her story. Somehow, someway, she would find a way to take back her life.
For now, though, all she could do was survive.
Gwen steadied herself, inhaling deeply as she reached for her discarded clothes scattered around the room.
Each piece of fabric told a story of the night before—the nearly torn undergarments, the wrinkles, and the faint scent of sweat and lust clinging to them.
Logic told her she should feel disgusted, traumatized, or at the very least ashamed. Yet, as she slid her panties up her legs and adjusted her bra, an unwelcome sensation coiled in her stomach.
It wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t anger.
It was desire.
Her body betrayed her with every move, a dull ache settling in her core that screamed for Ross’s touch, his overwhelming presence, his... c…
Gwen stopped mid-thought, pressing her fingers to her temples.
"I’m going crazy," she muttered, her voice trembling. "Or maybe that monster slipped me some kind of love potion while I was asleep."
It wasn’t an entirely outlandish thought. After everything she had witnessed, after the inhuman strength Ross had displayed, it wasn’t hard to believe he had access to something like that.
Hell, he probably had the cure for cancer stashed away somewhere, just for kicks.
Shaking her head, Gwen focused on getting dressed, pushing the intrusive thoughts aside.
She needed to leave, to put as much distance as possible between herself and this place before her resolve crumbled entirely.
***
The house was eerily silent as she crept down the grand staircase. Her footsteps were muffled against the thick carpet, her heart pounding with every step.
When she reached the front door and peered out, she was relieved to see the driveway empty. The cars were gone, and with them, any sign of the household’s other occupants.
Ross had planned this. She was sure of it. He wanted her escape to be easy, almost too easy, as though he were toying with her—letting her think she had some semblance of control.
"Bastard," Gwen whispered under her breath, clenching her fists.
But even as she cursed him, she couldn’t ignore the lingering heat in her core, a humiliating reminder of how thoroughly he had broken her.
Steeling herself, she slipped through the front door and out into the bright midday sun. The cool breeze against her face was a small mercy, helping to clear her foggy mind.
Ten minutes later, she arrived at the familiar hiding spot—a large white van tucked beneath the shade of a cluster of trees on the side of the road.
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She hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle as a wave of dread washed over her.
What if something had happened?
What if Ross had gotten to him?
Swallowing her fear, Gwen yanked the door open. Relief flooded her as she was met with the sound of soft, rhythmic snores.
"Asher…" she murmured, her voice catching.
Inside the van, Asher was curled up on the floor with a terrible bump on his head, his body rising and falling with each peaceful breath. His gun was clutched tightly in his hands, and a faint smile played on his lips, as if he were dreaming of something pleasant.
Not everything was bad news, Gwen thought, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. Despite everything, despite her humiliation and her shame, at least her partner Asher was safe.
Gwen decided not to wake Asher just yet, opting instead to devise a clever way to end their stakeout on Ross and Maya.
With her sharp intellect, it wasn’t a difficult task, though she couldn’t help but worry about her friends in the police force.
The last thing she wanted was for any of them to end up on Ross’s bad side. Gwen knew all too well how mysterious—and dangerously unpredictable—the real Ross Oakley could be.
"How do I tell my husband this?" Gwen asked herself, grappling with an even more troubling dilemma.
Avoiding his touch and not getting fucked was impossible—she was a stunningly beautiful woman, and he was a healthy, passionate man.
Gwen pondered the issue long and hard before finally letting out a resigned sigh, her decision made.