Page 197 of Sinful Desires
The bastard knew exactly what I was.
“Pretty fucking stupid of you to show up here, Kensley.”
Travis Kensley.
British cameraman.
He’d made a career out of staying behind the scenes, always close enough to watch without drawing attention. I pulled every file I could find.
Every shoot, every project, every credit roll.
Nothing ever put him near Scarlett. Her videos, her campaigns, her films. He was never part of any of it. He had no place around her, but somehow, he kept circling closer.
But something stank.
After weeks of digging, I found him listed in the credits ofThe Afterlife, hidden deep. A film led by Luke Conrad, the same golden boy who’d died choking on his own vomit in Scarlett’s hotel room. The same man whose family had tried to put her in jail.
When Lazzio confirmed it was Kensley who’d broken into her condo, I’d traced his IP. Found him already crawling around Los Angeles like a rat.
And now he was fucking here.
Not for long.
He turned to face me, his back pressed against the glass balcony.
I let out a low hum.
“My gun’s already warm, Kensley. You’ve got two fucking seconds to tell me why you’ve been sniffing around her, or I’ll shove it so far down your throat you’ll be shitting bullets.”
He let out a shaky scoff, but his hands betrayed him. Small, nervous things. The glasses slid down his nose as he looked up at me, blinking quickly.
Barely five-foot-seven. Frail. Skin like paper, shoulders curled in.
But it wasn’t fear of dying.
It was worse.
It was the look of a man who already lived like he was buried.
“I think you already know,” he snorted. “But I’ll spell it out for you. Luke didn’t deserve what happened. He was the kindest man I’ve ever met. The sweetest. And everything burned the second he met her.”
His lips trembled.
“Scarlett ruined him. She’s the reason he’s dead.”
His gaze drifted to the sky, his mouth twisted, bitter and trembling.
“He was the love of my life. And now he’s dead in the ground while she walks red carpets and pretends it never happened. Why the fuck does she get to move on when he can’t?”
He was the love of my life.
There it fucking was.
It wasn’t about grief, but revenge.
Behind us, the party kept pulsing. Music thumped through the speakers, champagne splashing in crystal glasses while laughter echoed off the water. The pool glowed a soft blue, catching the shimmer of sequins and cigarette ash.
I didn’t take my eyes off him.
