What do you do when the man who raped you has the entire police force in his pocket? When you’re called a slut, a whore, and a liar? You get your own justice.
My name is Nami DeGrace, and six months ago I was a normal college student. I was volunteering on the campaign of a man I believed in, a man I thought to be good and noble. Then one night that man forced himself on me and everything changed.
The media reviled me. The police didn’t believe me. My friends abandoned me. I dropped out of college and only have one mission in life: make him pay. That is, until Nick Law came in to my life.
Indomitable, infuriating, and irresistible, Law is complicating things.
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Another knock sounded on the door and I burrowed farther into my couch. If it couldn’t hear me, then it couldn’t get me, right?
“Nami open your door! It’s me, Law!” I perked up a bit, looking at my door with less hostility and more interest. Why was Law here? Still, my interest was not enough to get me off the couch. Law was persona non grata in the DeGrace house.
“Go away!” I yelled, curling myself in blankets.
“I will stay here and wake up all of your neighbors if you don’t let me in!”
“Go ahead!” I yelled back. “They hate me anyway!” Silence radiated through the wood, and I hoped that Law had decided against staying. When I’d all but settled back into my alcohol-induced comfort, I heard something truly disturbing.
Singing.
Loud, operatic singing.
I could hear Law clearly through my door, though the language was unknown. He was bellowing the notes, his voice getting higher and louder. It was beautiful, but it was also incredibly annoying. I didn’t mind him waking up my neighbors—they’d been less than kind to me; I did mind, however, my neighbors calling the police. I didn’t want to deal with the police. Ever again, if I could help it.
I opened my door, angry, slightly tipsy, and using my blanket as a cape. Law didn’t stop singing even though I opened the door. He continued, his voice an operatic majesty that did not belong in my hallway. He even gesticulated with his hands.
“Stop!” I yelled. Law continued to sing, gesturing at my apartment that I blocked with my body. I glared furiously at him as I let him enter my apartment. He only stopped his song when I closed the door behind us.
“What the hell was that?” I fumed, trying to block him farther entry into my apartment. If I could keep him contained to just the entryway, then I technically hadn’t lost.
“Puccini. Madama Butterfly.”
I scoffed and, remembering why I hated Law, got to the point. “Why did you come here?”
“I decided that I do care what you think of me.” Before I could respond, Law pulled me in both arms and kissed me on the mouth, hard.
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