Page 72 of Twisted Princess

It’s a knife through the heart, bringing back all the pain and abandonment I felt the first time she ran. It’s as if she’s echoing those same words. They’re practically verbatim: I’m too controlling, too possessive, too commanding. I’m not sensitive enough to her needs. She feels trapped with me, desperate for escape.

It’s so painfully similar to the first time she left, three years ago.

But I wasn’t even looking for her—I didn’t dare to even hope I would have a chance with Mel.

Still, when she needed my help, I couldn’t refuse her. Just like the first time. No matter how dark and twisted my soul might be, with Mel, I can’t just look the other way. Whether I’m saving her from Mikhail’s sex trafficking trade or Vincent Kelly, I can’t stand the thought of another man owning her.

And yet, once again, she’s telling me I’m no better than they are.

Words echo in my brain, words from when I first found Mel in Boston. I’d nearly forgotten them. But now, they come back with such force, that it punches a hole through my lungs. “You like to pretend you’re so different from all the other assholes who want to possess me… You say you want to save me, that you want to protect me. But in reality, you just want to own me like every other man…”

I’m such a fool.

An idiot for thinking she could ever see me any different.

My hand tightens around the thin slip of paper, making it crackle as it balls inside my fist.

I thought we were making progress. I thought Mel might be starting to trust me. To understand me. To believe I’m worthy of her love.

I really fucking tried to talk things through with her. I thought she came around to see why I had to leave. But apparently not.

And now she’s gone.

Again.

I should have known better than to think that Mel could ever stop running. A girl like that, with the past she’s had, will never be able to stay for long. And there’s no mistaking that I’m the reason she’s running.

Only this time, that’s not where the letter ends. Taking a shuddering breath, I unwrinkle the letter I crushed with the force of my pain. It would seem Mel’s decided to drop one last massive bomb on me. And as I keep reading, I feel as though the floor’s vanished from beneath me.

I know you’ve already done so much for me. But if you will, I have one more favor to ask. And it’s a doozy. Gabby should be sleeping soundly in your guest bedroom right now. I’ve decided to leave her with you.

After seeing how good you are with her, I feel safe telling you the truth. You’re Gabby’s biological father. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but it was the only way I could bear to tell you. I hope you’re proud of the little girl we made together. I know I am.

I trust that you will raise her well. Better than I could, I’m sure. Because if I’m being perfectly honest, the responsibility of motherhood is just too much for me. I know I can find my way if I don’t have a child holding me back. That’s why I’m leaving our daughter in your care.

I hope you can understand my choice. But this is what I need.

I hope you cherish Gabby and have a wonderful life with her.

Love,

Mel

I’m stunned speechless.

Of all the confessions I might have expected, that was the last on my list. And immediately, my sense of duty kicks in full throttle. Of course, I would look after Gabby. I would do anything for that girl.

But the level of confusion over Mel’s massive truth bomb has me reeling. I don’t honestly know what to make of it. And for a moment, I start to question if it’s even written in English. Have I actually lost my mind? Did I snap after learning Mel’s decided to run? I stare at the words, trying to make sense of them as their true meaning slowly sinks in.

And my mind starts to do the calculations. But Gabby’s not old enough to be my daughter… is she? Do I actually know how old she is?

It makes my stomach flutter to think she could be mine.

My heart beats a frantic, unsteady rhythm.

But then, before excitement has a chance to settle in, doubt takes hold. I’m not confident about how much of Mel’s letter to trust.

At the very least, the last bit sounds off.

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