“But I thought you wanted to listen to music while you wrote?” I sink down on the edge of the coffee table. When my knees brush hers, her body tenses, yet she doesn’t move her legs.

“What I want is to get out of this house,” she utters softly, staring down the hallway with her brows knit.

I glance over my shoulder, curious at what she’s looking at, but I find the hallway empty and dark.

Looking back at her, I raise my hands in front of me. “What do you want to do, then?”

She lifts her shoulders and shrugs, looking back at me. “Get out of this house. I haven’t been allowed out of here except to go to school. I’m starting to go stir crazy.”

“Emery, I don’t think that’s such a wise idea,” I sign with reluctance. “Your father wants you to stay in until he can figure out who’s leaving you those notes.”

“No, he wants me locked in here, because he knows I’ll go stir crazy and hopes it’ll be enough to drive me home.” She bends forward and snatches her pen and notebook from the table. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” She practically stabs the pen through the paper as she begins to scribble words down again.

My lips desperately ache to surrender and give her what she wants. I want to give her everything she asks for, even if it means risking my cover. Or worse, my life. My attraction for her runs deep in my veins. Dangerously deep.

Chapter 2

Don’t Let the Butterfly Out

Emery

Dying, Dying, Dying,

I feel like I’m dying

a slow death.

Each day, just a little bit more

tortured.

Just like I was back at home.

Only it’s different this time.

Because I’m allowing myself to die.

Holding onto something that will never be.

Can never be.

Holding, holding, holding.

I need to let go.

Because in the end,

he was never really what I thought he could be.

Unable to stop myself, I peek up from my journal. Ryler is sitting on the opposite side of the sofa from me. He’s been staring at me on and off ever since he rebutted my request to get out of the house. He stares at me every day. Ever since we found out one another’s true identity, that’s all we do—stare, stare, stare.

Right now, he has his head tipped down, absorbed in his writing. He looks like an untouchable piece of artwork, so beautifully put together. So dangerously put together. He’s undeniably gorgeous; with inky black hair hanging in his eyes and facial piercings and multiple tattoos decorating his skin. He turns me on in a way I didn’t think was possible and is the exact opposite of Evan, my perfectly put together, pretty-boy ex-boyfriend.

I thought Ryler was different from everyone else in my life. Come to find out, he was part of the life I ran away from. Right in the center of it to be exact. He told me he didn’t know who I was when we first met, that it was a coincidence we found each other. True or not, I can’t seek freedom in him anymore, not when he’s part of what restrained me. He’s now my new bodyguard, a job title given by my father. In my eyes, Ryler is now an enemy. Every time he reminds me of who he really is, every time he follows my father’s orders, I remind myself to stay away from him.

Easier said than done, since I can’t get him out of my head. Whenever he looks at me, I try my best to ignore him, but my body has a built-in Ryler sensor. I’m hyperaware of every time he glances in my direction, and it makes our situation complicated.

I want him badly—there’s no denying that—yet I can’t have him. Not just because he’s part of the world I’ve been trying to escape, either. If it were that simple, life would be pretty uncomplicated.

No, the complications between us are endless, ranging from Evan forcing his way back into my life to my father being super controlling. Plus, I’m wary if I can even trust Ryler.

Still, I always find myself stealing a glance at him whenever I get the opportunity. What I wouldn’t give to be able to touch him again, kiss him, bask in his silence instead of fearing it. He makes it hard when he does stuff like bring his stereo up simply because I stated I wanted to listen to music while we work.

Tears start to sting at my eyes as I remember the night I went down to Ryler’s, right after Evan and I broke up over the phone. Every single breath, heartbeat, word exchanged felt magical. Light. Possibilities floated in the air like pixie dust. For once, my life seemed to be my own. But I was crazy to believe that would ever happen.

Crazy, crazy, crazy—the words are carved into my bones.

Around the fifth song, Ryler peers up at me from his writings. Our gazes collide and weld together, like they’ve done at least ten times tonight.

Dying, Dying, Dying. Feel how you pushing him away is killing you. You need to stop fighting what you want. I wish I could listen to my thoughts. Wish I could surrender to what my heart thinks it wants.

But the good girl I’ve been taught to be, the one I wish I could kill, keeps my lips sealed, and her attention focuses on the pages.

Slowly, dying.

Dying.

Dying.

Dying.

Dying self-tortuously.

Ten minutes later, Ryler unexpectedly kills the music. The record makes a scratching noise before the room grows completely quiet. I angle my head back and look up at him standing directly in front of me with his arms crossed, his muscles flexed.

“What’s wrong?” I rotate my wrist and check the time on my watch. Nine o’clock. Way earlier than he normally leaves. “Do you have to go somewhere?”