June's POV:
As soon as he left, I bolted to the bathroom, turning the water scalding hot.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wash him away. His touch was still there, clinging to my skin like a stain I'd never be able to scrub clean. The hotter the water, the harder I rubbed, until my skin turned raw, burning. But it didn't matter. He was still there.
The filth was inside . No amount of soap, no temperature, could burn it away.
I stepped out, gripping the sink, forcing myself to breathe. My gaze flicked to the clock.
8 PM.
I grabbed my phone and booked an appointnt with Bad Wolf at the club. Please let him be available. Because if I didn't do sothing about this, if I didn't drown out the filth crawling under my skin, I wouldn't sleep the entire weekend.
I knew what I had to do first—show up to dinner, play my role, pretend like nothing happened. Smile at my mother. Nod at my father. Say goodnight—like a good little daughter.Then excuse myself, say I was tired, go to bed. Sneak out.
The window was high. But not high enough to stop .
Because if I didn't silence the demons in my head tonight...
I knew what I would do.
I knew I'd do sothing reckless.
I know I'm already rotten inside. But giving in to what the voices really want?
That would an crossing a line even I couldn't co back from.
Dinner was the sa as always—cold, rehearsed, and suffocating. My mother sat across from , her eyes glued to her plate, never looking at . She never does. She just pretends. Pretends not to hear. Pretends not to see. Pretends that everything in this house is perfect.
And my father? He was his usual self—calm, composed, and smiling like the perfect family man. The kind of man people praised for his generosity. The kind of man who hid his demons behind expensive suits and charitable donations.
The kind of man who had just left my room.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced down the food, every bite tasting like ash in my mouth.
I just needed to get through this.
Pretend.
Like always.
Then I could slip away, climb out my window, and find him.
Find Bad Wolf.
The only person who could chase my demons away, even if just for a few hours.
—
I waited until the house was silent, my parents in their separate bedrooms. I locked my door—not that it would keep him out—but I needed the illusion of control.
The mont the clock hit 10 PM, I grabbed my hoodie, slid open the window, and climbed down. My hands were steady. My heart wasn't.
By the ti I reached the club, the neon lights were a blur. The bass thrumd in my chest, the air thick with sweat, lust, and desperation.
I walked straight to the receptionist, my voice steady despite the storm inside .
"I have an appointnt. Bad Wolf."
She checked the list, then nodded. "Room 7. He's already waiting for you."
Good.
I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, each step heavier than the last.
I didn't know who he was. Didn't know his na. Didn't know his face.
But I knew his touch.
And right now, that was all I needed.
Pulling the mask over my face, I took a deep breath and walked toward Room 7.
Nobody knew.
Nobody was supposed to know.
This was my secret—my escape, my only way to silence the screams in my head.
Here, I wasn't June Matthews, the girl with the perfect life, the queen bee, the daughter of a powerful man.
Here, I was just a naless body seeking oblivion.
My hands were cold as I reached for the door handle. For a second, I hesitated. Not because I was scared. Not because I had doubts.
But because, lately, he had started feeling familiar.
Bad Wolf.
I didn't know his na. Didn't know his face.
But I knew his touch.
And sotis—just sotis—I felt like he knew .
Shaking off the thought, I turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, the scent of musk and faint cologne hanging in the air. The mont I stepped inside, I felt him. He was already there, standing in the shadows like he was waiting for .
Bad Wolf.
The door clicked shut behind , sealing us away from the world outside. Here, nothing else existed—no past, no pain, no monsters lurking outside this room. Just this. Just him.
He didn't speak.
But I could feel his eyes on , dark and piercing even through the mask. A shiver ran down my spine.
"Rough or brutal?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The silence stretched between us before he stepped forward, closing the distance. The air around him was heavy, thick with sothing dangerous. Sothing possessive.
Then, finally, he spoke—his voice deep, rough, and dripping with a raw edge of control.
"Rough."
A rush of relief and sothing else—sothing twisted and dark—spread through . That's exactly what I needed.
I needed him to break apart so I could forget.
"Make forget."
I walked toward him, my steps slow, deliberate. He didn't move, but I felt the shift in the air—the way the tension coiled tight, suffocating, consuming.
He didn't spoke. He never needed to. His presence alone drowned out everything else.
I stopped just inches from him, tilting my head up, waiting.
The room was silent except for the sound of my breathing—uneven, shaky. His was steady, controlled, like he wasn't affected. But I knew better.
He reached for , fingers rough and unyielding as they gripped my waist, pulling flush against his solid form. My pulse spiked.
This was what I needed.
No words. No nas. No past.
Just this mont. Just him.
He was already hard. His hands moved with practiced ease, one flick, and my bra ca undone.
A shiver ran through as his mouth found my already hardened nipple, lips rough, tongue hot and unforgiving.
And just like that—the voices stopped.
The chaos in my mind, the tornt, the filth that clung to my skin—gone. All that existed was this mont, the raw, desperate need to drown in sothing deeper, sothing that burned hot enough to consu everything else.
His grip tightened, nails digging into my hips, grounding in a way nothing else could.
This was why I ca here.
To forget.
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