Page 9 of Darkest Deception

If I were to truly upset her or Aurora, Remo, who is glaring at me, would quite literally throw me out of the house, then send me a bill for the food.

“Mind yourself, Helia. Insulting my wife’s cooking is not the way to keep getting invited here.” His voice is low, a clear threat.

I raise my hands in surrender, finally swallowing the last bit of cupcake. It was actually quite delicious. A lemon sponge cake with vanilla frosting.

A faint ringing of the doorbell has us all pausing, and shortly, Isabella, Remo and Aurora’s maid, walks into the dining area, her hands clasped softly in front of her. She’s a sixty-year-old lady with a soft demeanour and a smile for everyone, except me. That woman hates me for no apparent reason, and I love to poke her. She’s fun to mess with.

“Miss Ambrose Torre is here.”

My eyebrows perk up while Remo’s eyes narrow.

I give him a grin, getting up. “You guys continue. I’ll see what she wants.”

Aurora looks down at her plate, her mood instantly dropping, and Remo is quick to rub her back, murmuring something to her.

“Thanks, Isabella.” I wink at her on my way out.

She grumbles, shakes her head, and walks away.

Seems my little fighter is here for a battle I wasn’t invited to.

I step through the front door, softly shut it behind me, and cross my arms, leaning against the door frame, then watch her turn around. For some reason, that small action happens slowly, as if that moment was given to me to just… take her in.

The long straight blond hair. The suit that moulds to her curves. My eyes drop to her shoes. They are a colour I didn’t think she would ever wear. I’ve noticed her love for this colour, given the many little pieces she often wears. It makes me rage like never before when I spot her in it. My mind barely holding on at the sight of it on her. How could Ambrose, out of all the colours on this fucking earth, desire this colour?

Emerald.

A deep cool green colour associated with nature and freshness, a colour to balance everything. To see a woman like Ambrose wear it… It makes me want to rip off whatever article of clothing she has on with this colour. She shouldn’t be wearing my favourite colour on her body.

I may be a little fascinated with her, but I know her history. Her background and the long list of sins she has committed are nearly not enough to influence my opinion of her.

She’s quite foolish to be stepping a foot in this house.

We all make mistakes, and we all are forced to act upon wrong decisions when circumstances force us to, but Ambrose was anything but forced.

Everything was done by her own judgement, and with the power of her father, she was able to hide the fact that she ruined so many lives of people around her just because they made a small mistake.

I hate that I know this about her because it means that I care when I feel nothing but loathing towards her.

As soon as she turns around and those deep champagne eyes find me, rage fills them. Her hold on her bag tightens, as it always does when she tries to control her anger.

Her plump lips part. “Why are you here?” The distaste in her voice heats my own hatred.

I let an easy smile stretch across my face.

“I was invited for dinner. The question is, what are you doing here, Ambrose?”

Her name fills my mouth and softly glides off my tongue.

It shouldn’t.

It should feel like I just ate a cactus that is scratching at my throat with its spikes, but it doesn’t. It’s like my voice takes on a completely different tone when I say her name. It’s heavy, deep, demanding attention.

Her nostrils flare, and her eyes narrow.

“Dinner? You? Here, of all places?” She scoffs.

She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one leg while crossing them. Her straight blond hair sways behind her. I can’t help but notice that the sharpness of her features enhances her fox-like appearance. Her eyes don’t stray from my face. I keep expecting her to look away the minute her gaze falls on my scar, to not be able to handle the intense colour of my eyes.

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