Beauty and the Devil

chapter 18

Samantha’s POV

Aaron was at the door.

His coat was unbuttoned, like he’d walked straight from a cab without checking the weather. The collar on one side had flipped up, catching the breeze. His face was clean-shaven, skin pale and smooth, his expression unreadable—calm in a way that felt deliberate. No tension in his shoulders. No signs of urgency. Just that slow, measured breath curling into the winter air behind him.

I didn’t say anything. My fingers stayed tight around the handle. I wasn’t sure if I was holding the door or if the door was holding me up.

“Can I come in?” he asked. The words were polite, almost soft. Then he stepped inside anyway.

I hadn’t said yes.

The sound of his shoes on the tile was nearly silent, rubber soles swallowing up the weight of him. Still, it felt loud. Too loud. I shut the door behind him, slowly, my hand cold on the knob. My chest was tight, like the air had thinned the moment he entered.

Michael had gone out for a run maybe twenty minutes earlier. Said he needed air. I'd watched him stretch at the gate. No phone. No music. Just his hoodie and the trail ahead. I’d heard the latch click behind him. He hadn’t looked back.

The house was still. A kind of curated stillness. The scent of lavender hung in the hallway, thin and ghostlike from the diffuser on the shelf. The kettle was still warm, condensation fogging the nearby tile. I’d made tea but hadn’t taken a sip.

Aaron moved past me, slow, confident, like someone retracing old steps in a familiar place. He glanced at the living room, at the way the blinds were half-open. The sea was visible through the tall glass—cold, gray, endless. He didn’t react. Just took it in like it was a detail in a case file.

He didn’t sit. He didn’t ask to. He just kept walking.

“You found me,” I said.

He turned at the end of the hall. “Didn’t take much.”

I kept my arms folded across my chest, sleeves pulled down over my hands like armor. My fingertips were damp, palms clammy beneath the wool.

“You’re not the first girl he’s sent away like this,” Aaron said. “House by the water. Six months prepaid. Always the same routine.”

My spine straightened. The words felt rehearsed. Like he’d delivered this monologue before.

I didn’t move from the kitchen. “What do you want?”

He scanned the room again. Clean dishes stacked neatly. Couch pillows fluffed. One glass left to dry in the rack. No chaos. No personal touches. Just enough to survive in.

“I wanted to see how long you’d last on your own,” he said. “Turns out, not very.”

I didn’t answer. My teeth pressed against each other. A slow burn began behind my ribs. He was baiting me. I knew it. And still, it worked.

He stepped forward.

Just one step, but it shifted something in the room—made the space between us feel narrow, weighted. I caught the smell of his coat. Cold wind, polyester, and something underneath it—faintly sour. A deodorant that had failed hours ago.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he said. “You could’ve left. Any day. Any minute. But you didn’t.”

My voice stayed even. “You could still come with me.”

He tilted his head slightly. The way he used to when he was pretending to listen. Pretending to care.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I added, quieter.

Aaron didn’t flinch. He stepped closer.

“You think Clyde sees you as anything but property?” he said. “You think any of this,” his hand motioned toward the space, “was ever real?”

My jaw locked. “He got what he wanted,” I said. “You. Obedient. Broken in. And now you’re here. Just like the rest of them. Waiting.”

He lifted his hand.

I didn’t move, but everything inside me screamed. His fingers reached up—gently, absurdly—and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. The contact was brief. Skin dry, cool. My breath caught anyway.

“Let me show you what it’s like to be chosen.”

The words made my stomach turn. Not loud. Not threatening. Just quiet enough to feel dangerous.

I took a step back. Slow. Measured. My heel brushed the edge of the kitchen cabinet.

I turned, eyes landing on the counter.

My phone was there, beside the mug I’d forgotten to drink from. I picked it up, hands shaking just enough to fumble the unlock code the first time. Then I found it. Messages. My thumbs moved fast, slipping slightly, but finding the letters.

Help me.

I hit send.