Page 36 of His Beloved Princess
19
Conflicted
Bastian
Iwas so angry that I might explode like a fucking bomb, taking buildings, roads, and trees with me. Shit! I was furious. Not at Electra or my idiotic brother, who, probably for the first time in his life, wasn’t the one to blame. I was pissed at myself. I should’ve known about this!
First, my PI messed up with Peter’s daughter and his girlfriend, and now this? He got a lot of money every month to give me helpful information, and he failed twice in a row. I should’ve been aware of this!
My motorcycle speeded through the city. The road was a blur. Since meeting Electra, I’d avoided adrenaline sports because she would fear how crazy I was, but I desperately craved it. My mind had to forget about that awful conversation and the fucked-up situation. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Not because of the sex part. Thinking that my princess was a virgin when I started to date her would be extremely naive. Yet this was too much, even for me.
I was open-minded and respectful when it came to someone’s preferences. Still, the woman of my dreams slept with my brother, claiming that he fulfilled her fantasy. How the fuck could I live with that?
I should be the one to do that, to be the man who would help her to discover the darkest corners of her soul, her deepest desires, things she was ashamed of but yearned to try. I should be her partner, her rock, her safe haven. And I did everything in my power to accomplish that. I supported her every step of the way, giving her what she needed.
Almost every night, I held her in my arms while she cried in her sleep. I persuaded her to work on herself in the gym, not because she wasn’t attractive and desirable to me, but because it would boost her confidence and make her feel better. I intentionally forced her to give a speech in the opening because she needed to acknowledge how wonderful she was. I wanted her to see herself through my eyes.
If it went by my playbook, I wouldn’t change one thing about her. She was perfect in every way, but she desperately needed to move on with her life, with everything. She could become anything she wanted and forget this PA nonsense. I had resources, and I would give her the world. All she had to do was tell me what the hell she wanted.
But, just on the contrary, instead of building our life together, she broke my heart with one awful statement. One fucking sentence crushed me like an annoying mosquito.
Ten years ago, when my relationship with Rose ended, I was devastated, burning from the inside. The rage consumed me because it was my fault that we separated ways. And I believed that I would never experience that kind of anger, shame, and disappointment with myself.
However, this was much worse. I felt like a total failure like I was the biggest mistake in Electra’s life, like I didn’t do enough to be worthy of her, when in reality, all of this, what was smashing me to smithereens, happened before she met me.
Actually, only that one thought was keeping me sane. Because if she ever slept with another man after we got together, I would’ve been on a killing spree right now.
Fuck! I was deep in this.
I gripped the handlebars tighter when the image of my princess and brother appeared before my eyes. I knew something wasn’t right. I fucking knew it, and I didn’t listen to my instincts. I could have avoided this, talked to Peter, and never made Electra so afraid of what I might do that she’d told me the first thing that looked like a good idea to stop me.
Even after such a shock, my brain worked properly. The healthy part knew that I was overreacting, but the crazy part demanded an explanation. And only one man could provide that.
Maybe if Peter confirmed Electra’s words, I would feel better. I would know that she didn’t lie to cover his pathetic ass, and I would let him stay. But I would break him in half if I notice the slightest hesitation with his answer. I didn’t care that he was my brother; he would end up in the ICU if he hurt my princess.
I parked the motorcycle outside my club, and one of the bodyguards immediately joined me. It wasn’t the building where the BDSM den was placed. This was a high-class, elegant spot for wealthy people to get drunk without annoying reporters and fans.
Everything was luxurious and highly comfortable. Even the half-naked waitresses were dressed in lingerie for thousands of dollars. And, of course, they served not only the best alcohol on the continent but also the cocaine of exquisite quality.
Not one cop in the entire city dared to step foot here. My name was enough to keep them away. But when the information about my connections leaked, they just walked by without one glance.
As I entered my VIP lounge, one blonde girl handed me my usual glass of whiskey, and another took my leather jacket. I looked around, but the place was unusually empty. The majority of my friends were still at my new firm’s after-party.
“Is Andreas here?” I barked at one of the servers, who flinched. I glowered at her trembling frame, unsure if this was the right place for her.
“He’s outside,” the bodyguard answered instead of her because she was staring at me with her mouth open like I had just grown another head.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, sitting on the bar stool and sipping my drink. Opposite me stood an almost sixty-year-old woman who was also the manager of this place. Her red hair and extravagant clothes were in big contrast with her age, but given her nature, I should be glad she wasn’t dressed the same way as the rest of the girls.
I respected and valued her work no matter what, yet seeing her two hundred and fifty pounds in underwear was too much. Maybe if two bottles of whiskey coursed through my veins, I wouldn’t mind. But I didn’t want to try my chances.
“She is new, and you roared at her like a fucking lion,” Denise answered, frowning at me. “Where are your manners, Sebastian?”
I hated it when she talked to me in this tone. She sounded exactly like my mother when she scolded me.
“I don’t need employees who are afraid of the customers,” I retorted, annoyed. I didn’t want to fight with her because I was on edge, and taking my anger out on her would be rude. We were friends; she didn’t deserve it.
“She is young, beautiful, and she needs money,” Denise objected, giving me a pointed look and an exasperated sigh escaped my mouth.
