Beauty and the Devil

chapter 19

Samantha’s POV

Aaron’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. His teeth showed too much. His face was too still. It was the kind of expression people wear when they’ve practiced it too many times in the mirror.

“You know,” he said, his voice slow and measured, “you’re not the first girl he’s kept in a pretty little cage.”

I didn’t answer.

He started pacing. His steps were quiet, controlled. I stayed still. My back found the edge of the wall near the hallway, my spine pressed against the plaster like it might hold me up.

“There was another before you,” he said. “Her name was Elena. Dancer. Soft voice. Sweet laugh. The kind that made you think things might get better.”

I swallowed hard.

“What happened to her?”

His jaw twitched. His hands flexed.

“Clyde broke her. She gave him everything, and he made her feel like she was something he could own. When he got bored, he turned on her. Said she was obsessed. That she came onto him. That she made it up.”

He stopped walking. His gaze locked onto mine.

“He told me I was the one who ruined it. That I read too much into it. That Elena was just a slut who got too attached.”

His voice caught. His chest moved faster now, breath harder to control.

“I loved her,” he said.

The words came out flat. Cold.

“She was the only good thing I ever had. And Clyde took her. Used her. Broke her.”

His eyes shifted. The heat behind them changed. It wasn’t grief anymore. It was something darker.

“He does it over and over,” Aaron said. “To women like her. To women like you.”

My hands were shaking. I tried not to let it show, but I could feel it in my wrists, my knuckles. My lungs felt shallow.

“He tells you you're different, doesn't he?” Aaron said. “Tells you you’re not like the others. That you matter. But he’ll throw you away too. He always does.”

Aaron stepped closer.

His breath was louder. I could smell it now — the sweat from his run through the city, the cloying scent of old cologne. His pupils were too big. His hands twitched at his sides like they didn’t know what to do next.

“You can still leave,” he said. “You can come with me. We’ll go somewhere he can’t touch you.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“You’re not trapped, Sam.”

I looked at him. Straight into his eyes.

“You’re worse than him.”

The second I said it, his expression cracked.

He stepped forward in a blur — grabbed both of my wrists and shoved me back into the wall, hard enough that the picture frame above rattled.

Then his mouth was on mine.

I turned my head. His lips hit my cheek, my jaw. His hands pinned mine high above my head. My body locked in place. His grip wasn’t crushing, but it was firm — practiced. I could feel his breath on my neck, and the edge of panic burst fully into my chest.

That’s when we both heard it.

Tires. Fast. Gravel crunching. Doors slamming. More than one. Heavy boots. Pounding footsteps. Voices shouting something I couldn’t make out.

Then—the door slammed open. Aaron let go. We both turned toward the front of the house. But I already knew who it was.