Chapter 60

The Prey

Just like I agreed, I stayed in the apartment for the next two days. And to my relief, Judas kept his distance. If it looked like it. Or should I say, he was too busy in whatever business he was running, to spend more than an hour in the apartment.

He’d come late at night, and I would pretend to sleep, every muscle in my body taut with the fear of his touch. But he wouldn’t take me. Not again. Instead, he would sit in that same chair, in the corner, cradling a glass of wine as if it were a sacred ritual. His eyes, even through the darkness, I could feel on me, cold and calculating. The hours dragged as I lay there, my body healing but my soul flayed open, raw and exposed. He was a man of habits, and this habit of watching, of claiming without action, had become part of our twisted routine.

When he did touch me, it was like a branding iron—quick, sharp, meant to leave a mark.

His kisses were devoid of warmth, his hands unforgiving as