Page 82 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

I stand there, my body tight with tension, a cold sweat beginning to form on my neck. I don’t know what he’s after. I don’t know what he wants from me.

“So, tell me,” Samuel’s voice breaks the silence again, smooth and unsettling, “are you the artist of the painting?”

My thoughts scatter, trying to piece together why he’s asking, why he’s here, what the hell he wants.

“I don’t know why you’re ignoring me, muñeca,” he continues, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “I thought we could have a conversation, but clearly, you’re too proud for that.”

I force myself to meet his gaze, my throat dry, the words stuck there, too afraid to speak.

Samuel stands and steps forward suddenly, closing the gap between us. My pulse leaps in my chest, and I feel like a deer caught in headlights.

He steps even closer. He leans in, his breath warm against my skin, his words like poison.

“You see, muñeca,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark, “I spent millions of dollars on that painting. It was meant to be mine from the start. And when it appeared in that auction—” He pauses, the words laced with menace. “I went blank. I couldn’t think straight. All I could see was that painting. It was like the one my grandfather described to me—a piece of history, a symbol of everything I’ve fought for.”

My heart stutters in my chest, his words sinking in. What does he want from me? Why does he need that painting so badly? And why is he here?

Samuel takes another step closer, his dark eyes never leaving mine. My breath is shallow now, coming in quick bursts, and my hands begin to shake at my sides.

But Samuel doesn’t notice. He’s too absorbed in whatever twisted game he’s playing. His voice drops, becoming more venomous as he continues.

“But now?” His lips curl into a sinister smile, one that sends a slow, creeping chill through my bones. “Now, there’s something else I want.”

I swallow, the taste of bile rising in my throat. My body stiffens, a deep sense of foreboding unfurling in my gut. What could he possibly want from me? The thought alone fills me with terror. My fingers curl into fists, and I instinctively step back, the urge to put distance between us becoming almost unbearable.

Samuel steps forward again, closing the gap between us with slow, deliberate movements. Each step makes the knot in my stomach tighten, makes my heart race faster. My breath comes in shallow, quick gasps, the panic rising in me, clawing at my chest. I try to hold it back, try to steady myself, but every part of me is on high alert.

“You,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, like a blade slicing through the thickening air. He doesn’t just speak the word, he emphasizes it, as if the sound of it is some kind of victory. “You’re what I want, muñeca.”

I feel the air leaving my lungs, my heart leaping into my throat. His words hit me like a freight train, knocking the airfrom my lungs, stealing every coherent thought from my mind. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My body wants to collapse, to crumple into a heap on the floor, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place, trapped by the weight of his gaze, by the terrifying promise behind his words.

Samuel watches me, his dark eyes gleaming with some kind of twisted pleasure as he takes another step forward.

"Why?" I manage to force out the word, my voice shaking, barely above a whisper. The fear in me is too thick to ignore.

Samuel laughs, a low, dark chuckle that makes my skin crawl. “Oh, muñeca, you can’t be that innocent, can you?” His voice is soft, but the mocking tone lingers, curling around me like a tightening noose. “After Dominic robbed me of millions and thinks he can get away with it by using my sentiments—well, I’ll do the same.”

Samuel’s piercing, amused gaze doesn’t leave mine as he steps even closer. It feels like my legs have turned to stone, like there’s nowhere left to run.

He’s right there now—too close. So close that I can feel his heat radiating off of him, the expensive whiskey on his breath heavy in the air. I close my eyes for a brief moment, trying to compose myself, trying to stop the overwhelming sense of dread from drowning me.

But it’s useless.

He continues, his voice dropping, low and mocking. “You’re just another piece in his game. But you’re not his to control anymore.”

My pulse spikes in my throat. The words feel like a slap in the face, cutting through everything I thought I knew about Dominic. My mind is still reeling, still trying to hold onto the belief that he isn’t using me, that I’m more than just a pawn in some twisted game. But Samuel’s words are gnawing at me, like tiny daggers digging into my thoughts.

Samuel’s lips curl into a dark smile, and it feels like the world has shifted on its axis. The room feels smaller, suffocatingly so. His eyes glimmer with a sense of satisfaction, a cruel knowledge that makes my stomach turn.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he sneers, his voice rising, thick with contempt. “You’re the most precious thing Dominic Castellano owns. And I—” He pauses. “I’m going to wreck you.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face, the cold sweat prickling on the back of my neck. I open my mouth, wanting to protest, wanting to defend Dominic, but the words die before they even reach my tongue. My throat is tight, constricted by fear.

Samuel watches me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I want to deny it, to fight it. But there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I am nothing in this moment but prey.

"Stop it," I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips. I don’t know why I say them, but I can’t help it. It’s like I’m pleading with myself more than with him. "He cares about me."

Samuel’s laughter fills the space between us, deep and mocking. “Oh, muñeca, you’re so naive.” His voice drips withcontempt, and I feel the sting of his words in every inch of my skin.

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