Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 180

She froze instantly.

The deed hadn't been transferred yet. It was still in Arthur Vance's name.

There was absolutely no way to explain her way out of this now, but she tried her best anyway.

"He's my dad's friend. He practically watched me grow up. The deed hasn't been transferred yet simply because we haven't gotten around to it."

"You guys really play a twisted game." He took a step forward, reached out, and lightly pinched her chin. His fingers traced a slow, agonizing path down her jawline, finally stopping at her collarbone.

With a provocative flick, he yanked the collar of her shirt aside, exposing the luminous skin of her shoulder. He pressed his lips to the skin and bit down hard, leaving a savage red mark in his wake.

Willa winced in pain and shoved him away hard. "What the hell are you doing!"

Randal acted as if he hadn't heard a word. He just stared her down, that feral fire igniting in his eyes once more.

"Did he touch you like this? Did you sleep with him?"

He practically screamed that last question.

Unable to endure it a second longer, Willa's voice rose to match his. "Randal, enough! Stop insulting me with your filthy delusions!"

It turned out that absolute disappointment left no room for tears.

Her heart ached fiercely, twisting in her chest, but her eyes remained entirely dry.

"I've explained myself to you over and over again. Why won't you just believe me?"

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Randal roared even louder. "You ran off with him five years ago! Now you're sneaking around to meet him, getting all handsy in public! How do you expect me to believe you?!"

He ripped his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and shoved it in her face.

As he swiped through the photos one by one, a bone-deep chill shot up her spine, leaving her entire scalp numb.

The viciously calculated angles made it far too easy for anyone's imagination to run wild.

Randal's hand was still shaking, making the images on the screen tremble. He forced the words out, syllable by agonizing syllable.

"This is your 'normal friend'? You were practically making out in broad daylight."

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