Chapter 2: Betrayal, Crash, and Cold Truths

With him defending me, the others finally shut up. The tension in the room shifted, but it didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, the humiliation just cut deeper. My skin prickled with it.

A warm sensation wrapped around my hand—his palm gripped mine tightly. It left me dazed. His touch was rough, but for a second, I almost believed it meant something.

When we left the lounge, Carter kept holding my hand the whole time. His grip was firm, almost possessive, like he wanted everyone to see we belonged together. Or maybe just to remind me who was in control.

After he put me in the passenger seat, he leaned down and bit my earlobe, trapping me against the center console. His breath was hot against my skin, the car thick with the scent of his cologne and something raw—something that made my pulse race and my stomach knot.

“Mm, I want you.” His voice was low, hungry. For a second, I almost forgot to breathe.

I quickly pushed his hand off my thigh. My cheeks burned, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. My heart hammered. Why did he always do this?

“What are you doing?” My voice came out small, my hands trembling. I hated how weak I sounded.

It was close to midnight, the city lights blurring past the window, neon and headlights flickering across his face. For a split second, I wondered if I was even real in his world.

“What now?” He impatiently loosened his tie, his eyes burning with that familiar desire. I could feel the heat rolling off him, but it only made me colder inside. I shrank back, pulse racing for all the wrong reasons.

I finally couldn’t help it—I raised my voice. “What do you take me for? Carter, am I just someone you can use whenever you want?”

His face tightened, and his tone sharpened. “Mariah, what’s with the act? Pretending to be innocent now? Did you forget how desperate you were to get into my bed back then?”

The mention of the past made me tremble. My heart felt hollow, like icy wind was tearing through my chest. I hugged myself tighter, trying to stop the shivers, trying not to fall apart.

“What? Don’t remember? Want me to remind you?” His words sliced through me, leaving me raw.

Carter ignored my resistance, pinning my hands with one of his and tugging at my collar with the other. The leather seat creaked beneath us, the air thick with tension and all the things we never said.

He buried his face in my neck, his voice rough in my ear. “Don’t forget your place. If it weren’t for me, do you think you and your mother would even have a place in the Whitaker family?”

Hearing that, I stopped struggling. My eyes went blurry with tears. My throat tightened so much I could barely breathe. Why did it always come back to this?

So, everything they said in the lounge was true. I felt my heart crack open. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

I was just a tool. Something he could summon or toss aside whenever he wanted.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming—hot, relentless, impossible to stop.

He paused, let out an annoyed sigh, and pulled away. “Why are you crying? If you didn’t want this, why did you come after me in the first place?”

I knew he hated me. The thought hit hard, settling in my chest like a stone.

Still, I kept hoping it’d fade. I kept wishing, like an idiot.

I’d always dreamed he could love me the way I loved him. But that was just me, wasn’t it?

Turns out, it was all just my wishful thinking. I was the only one who believed in that dream.

Since that’s the case, I should’ve left long ago. I should’ve run the moment I realized the truth.

I never should’ve followed him into hell. Never should’ve let myself fall so deep.

Five years ago, my mother married into the Whitaker family, and just like that, Carter and I became step-siblings. My world shifted, and nothing felt right after that.

We always pretended to be the perfect siblings—until that night.

Carter came home drunk and found me in his bed. The memory is hazy, but the shame never left.

That night was a mess, unforgettable in the worst way. I can still feel the sheets tangled around me, the sting of his rejection.

When he woke up, he hated me. The way he looked at me wasn’t gentle or calm anymore—just disgust and disappointment, sharp as a knife.

I had no idea how I ended up in his bed. My mind was blank, my heart pounding with confusion.

He didn’t believe my explanation. He was convinced I was just like my mom—good for nothing but sneaking into men’s beds.

From then on, everything changed between us. The air between us was thick with suspicion and regret.

During the day, we played the part of polite step-siblings in front of our parents. Smiles, small talk, nothing real.

At night, he would press me into the mattress again and again, refusing to let me forget who was in control.

We kept this up for five years. Five years of secrets, shame, and pretending.

I thought it would go on forever—either until he loved me the way I loved him, or until he finally got tired of me. I didn’t know which was worse.

But that night in the lounge destroyed whatever hope I had left. His words shattered me, left me raw and exposed.

Turns out, to him, I was just a tool to spite my mother. That was all I ever was.

Turns out, he already had someone he loved. I felt my heart twist, sharp and bitter.

I broke down, and Carter just looked away, bored. Like I was nothing.

He got up and slid back into the driver’s seat. The car was dark, his eyes unreadable, face carved from stone. I felt invisible.

“Did you hear it?” His voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold.

I froze, my hand halfway to wiping my tears, not understanding what he meant. The dashboard lights painted strange shadows across his face, making him look like a stranger.

He impatiently tapped the steering wheel. “Did you hear what they said in the lounge?”

Before I could answer, he jumped in. “Since you heard, you should know your place. Don’t get any ideas. What’s mine isn’t yours.”

My face drained of color, but he kept going. “At least you’re not like your mom. At least you know your place.”

Listening to him trash my mother, I finally snapped. My voice came out raw, shaking. “I know what I should do. I don’t need you to tell me.”

He set his jaw and slammed on the gas. The engine roared, the tires squealing as we shot forward. My stomach dropped.