GENESIS
"Genesis," he called.
I turned. Shirtless. My breath hitched. Panic flared—I pressed my face into the pillow, hiding my tears. He mustn't see. He mustn't.
When I thought I'd stopped crying, I sat up. He was already there. Hands on my shoulders. Face carved in fury.
What had I done?
Did he know? Was he… going to hit me?
"Who did this to your face?" His voice was low, gritted. One hand brushed my cheek. I met his gaze.
Monica. She had slapped me. I'd said no.
But why was he so… angry?
Without another word, he strode to the nightstand, grabbed my book and pencil, and returned them to me.
"Write it down," he said. "Who touched you? Step-mother?"
His whole body trembled with anger. At me?
I shook my head. I hadn't meant to defy Monica—she'd forced me.
He leaned in, cupping my cheek again. "Please. Just write it. Was it her?"
Baby. He called me baby. Relief and fear tangled in my chest.
I nodded and backed onto the bed, opening the notebook. Carefully, I wrote: MONICA.
A small smile slipped onto my lips. I handed it to him. He read, nodded, then set it aside.
His hand tilted my face gently side to side.
"Does it hurt?"
"My face?"
"No, do you feel pain?"
I shook my head. Years of abuse had numbed the sting. But my heart… that still ached.
Before the thought finished, he pulled me close. Hand on my neck, other circling my waist, forehead against mine.
"This is my fault," he whispered.
Fault? Kier? He hadn't done anything wrong.
He kissed my palm. "I swear, Genesis, she'll never touch you again. I'll make her pay."
I froze. He didn't understand—Monica wouldn't stop until I obeyed her.
Then I noticed a scent. Faint. Sweet. My eyes fell on his neck. Red. Lips.
Lipstick.
My fingers brushed it. My heart raced.
A memory slammed into me—Jimmy. The click of the bedroom door. My hair yanked. His foul breath. His hands. His belt. The red smear on his lapel.
Back to the present.
"GENESIS!"
Kier's voice cut through the memory.
I blinked. On the floor. Back against the wall. Kier knelt between my legs, panic in his eyes.
My hand still held the red smear.
His eyes followed mine. He wiped at his neck. The mark came away. Confusion.
He looked back at me. Unreadable.
My chest tightened. My hands trembled.
Why did he have that?
What did it mean?