Page 44 of Filthy Elites

Jesus, I thought he was knocked out.

“I already helped you in more ways than one. I’m going back to my room.”

“What if I need you later?”

“I’m not your nurse, Jason. And I think I have a fever again. I just want to rest.”

He flips a portion of the sheet back, confirming that he’s indeed naked.

“There’s plenty of space in my bed.” He taps the mattress.

I’m frozen. My brain is telling me to leave, but a bigger force wants me to stay.

“Why do you want me here? You already confessed you hate me with every fiber of your being.”

“Keep your enemies closer?” He smirks.

The wordnois on the tip of my tongue, but the room begins to spin. I have to brace my hand against the nightstand and wait for the dizzy spell to pass.

“Are you going to faint?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“See? You can’t leave. Who’s going to take care of you?”

I stare at him, trying to guess what wicked game he’s playing now. “I doubt you have good intentions in your heart.”

He frowns. “I’m a good person, Isabelle.”

“Your idea of good and evil is clearly different than mine.”

He leans on his elbow. “I know evil. And I also know I’m not it.”

That simple statement makes something click in my head. I drop my bag and case on the floor, take off my shoes, and slide next to him.

He drops his head onto the pillow while his hand rests on my hip. “That’s a good girl.” He smiles lazily.

“Who hurt you, Jason?”

His gaze becomes hard in an instant. He doesn’t answer for a couple of beats as he holds my stare. My heart is pounding much faster now, as if it’s trying to flee from my chest.

“You did,” he answers finally.

I can’t keep the surprise from showing on my face. I honestly expected another insult, not the naked truth. He isn’t lying. Whatever he thinks I did, he believes it completely.

“How is that possible? I just met you.”

He closes his eyes. “Shh. I can’t think straight. Let me sleep, Isabelle. I’m tired.”

Damn it. I’m tired too, but I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. Even sick as a dog, Jason has the ability to torture me. It must be a talent of his.

It doesn’t take long for him to start snoring softly. The noise is not that annoying, and if my brain wasn’t spinning like a top, I could fall asleep easily despite the company. But now I’m obsessing about his statement. When did I hurt him? It must have happened far in the past. Maybe I met him at a violin competition.Damn it.I can’t place him. Surely I’d remember him.

But even if I met Jason during a competition, there’s no way I could have done something to him to warrant the deep-rooted hatred he feels toward me.

An idea occurs to me. I touch his cheek. “Jason?”

He doesn’t react, save for turning his face the other way. I think he’s truly out. It’s time to do some snooping. I get out of bed slowly, careful not to wake him, and then I tiptoe toward his dresser. In the silence, everything sounds too noisy.

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