A week slipped by in silence. Stiles moved like a ghost in her own home, doing everything Scott expected of her—cooking, cleaning, smiling faintly when he spoke, lying in bed beside him like the perfect fiancée.

But inside, she was restless, empty. Every night she closed her eyes and thought of Derek. Every time Scott touched her hand, she remembered Derek’s rough grip on her thighs. And every time she dressed, she felt the smoothness of her freshly shaved pussy—Derek’s mark on her body, even when he wasn’t there.