Page 68 of Darkest Deception

She thinks I don’t know anything about her. Aurora told me to tell her, but I didn’t.

Whatever is going inside her head, I need to know.

I was falling weak because of her. I saw her look outside at the rain, fascination with a glimmer of worry on her face, and I felt myself give in.

She built up a wall in front of her the minute she saw me step over a line in the office.

Why would she want anything to do with me when I am her nightmare in person? When I am her tormentor? When she is everything I hate in a person?

These past few weeks, I was falling soft at the hands of Ambrose.

Not anymore.

The scar she touched? I’d been cut open by the hand of a person like her.

I’m glad she pushed me. I was losing sight of everything.

I hope you are ready, Ambrose.

I sit in the car, the rain still as heavy as ever, driving through the streets of London; the wet pavements and the rush of cars and red buses are a blur in my vision. My hands tighten around the wheel, my mind a mess. Driving to my house will take time. I’ve been driving for forty minutes already, and now the rain has lightened up.

I storm through my house, rushing past the living room and the staircase on my right and take a left through the glass doors to where my pool is. The glass walls surrounding it showcase the darkness that surrounds the house, the expanse of trees a frightening sight for a normal human being. Humans fear the unknown, but for a man like me, who is the unknown, one who rules it and lives in it, it’s like coming home.

I rip off my shirt and my trousers, leaving my boxers. I faintly hear Blaze caw before I dive into the cold water.

The sound of water splashing quietens the loud thoughts in my head.

Hate her.

I should hate her.

I do hate.

I don’t like her.

Not her soft blond hair that she recently cut.

Not the emerald parts of her.

Not the fierce look in her eyes.

Not her body.

Not her mind.

Nothing.

I hate her.

I fucking hate her so much it’s an obsession.

I hate her so much that it’s blurring the line between kill and lust.

I gasp, my head rising from the water before I dive back in, feeling my lungs burn as I swim laps in the water.

I go on and on for a good hour before I finally feel my lungs start to scream for me to stop. I am no swimmer, more of a runner, but this frustration with her lasts a good hour before I finally give in.

When I stand under the shower, my hands on the tiles in front of me, my head bowed and hair falling into my eyes, I shut my eyes.

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