Chapter 4
Vanessa hadn't slept.
She hadn't eaten.
But her body thrummed like it remembered being claimed—and it wasn't from memory alone. It was as if he had crawled back inside her skin, slow and sinful, rewiring her heartbeat to the cadence of his voice.
By morning, she could still smell him.
Even though he wasn't there.
Her phone pinged.
Blocked number:
"Wear the white dress. You know the one."
Her hands shook. That dress had been hidden at the back of her closet for five years. She'd told herself she'd burned it. But she hadn't. It had survived. Like everything else she tried to forget.
Flashback — The Balcony
Five years ago.
She wore the white silk. No bra. Nothing underneath. It had been his request. His command.
Negan's hands had been wrapped around her throat and waist as she looked out over the city. He stood behind her, pressed close, breathing in her scent like it sustained him.
"Mine," he said into her hair.
"You don't own me," she whispered, but her thighs were already trembling.
"Not yet. But you will beg for it."
He didn't need permission. He owned the moment. And when he took her—slow, standing, one hand gripping her neck, the other buried between her thighs—she cried out for a God she didn't believe in.
And Negan had smiled.
Because he knew.
He'd ruined her for anyone else.
Present — The School Counselor and the Shadow
Vanessa's heels clicked like gunshots through the school's hallway.
She couldn't focus. The walls felt like they were breathing. Watching.
He was close. She could feel it.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
"Ms. Thompson?"
She turned, forcing a professional smile. Miles stood at her door.
Her baby brother—sharp, quiet, always a little too aware.
"What's up, kiddo?"
He stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it. His face was pale.
"I found something."
She blinked. "Miles—"
"I hacked into a private server last night. It wasn't easy, but I traced the source of those texts."
Her stomach dropped.
"Who?"
He hesitated. "The IP bounced through four proxies, but the original access point…"
He looked her in the eyes. "It was the Simmons estate."
She sat down hard.
He waited. "Do you know what's happening, Vee?"
"I don't…" she whispered.
But she did.
She knew.
Elsewhere — Camille's Games
Camille lit a joint in her bedroom, lounging in a red velvet robe. She watched a surveillance feed on her tablet—Vanessa at the school, Miles leaning in, whispering secrets.
Camille exhaled smoke. "So the boy knows."
Hailey appeared in the mirror behind her, slipping an earring in.
"You sure this is smart?"
Camille's grin was slow and savage. "I was born smart. Just raised dangerous."
That Night — Red Silk, White Dress
Vanessa stood in front of the mirror.
The white dress clung to her like a bruise she couldn't erase.
Every inch of fabric remembered his touch.
A knock.
Not at the door. At the window.
She froze.
Turned.
He was there. On the balcony. Black suit. No smile.
Negan.
Her breath caught. Her thighs clenched.
She slid the window open.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said.
He stepped inside like he'd never left.
"I was never supposed to leave."
She wanted to slap him.
She wanted to kiss him.
Instead, she backed away. "You're stalking me."
"I'm claiming you."
"You can't—"
He grabbed her. Pulled her flush against him. One hand at her throat, the other under the hem of her dress.
"Tell me to stop."
She couldn't.
She didn't.
He kissed her like he wanted to erase the world. And when he bent her over the dresser and buried himself inside her, it was not gentle. It was not slow.
It was ruin.
And she let him.
Because the truth was cruel.
She'd always wanted to be ruined by him.