Page 88 of Brutal Crown
I didn’t care about anything.
What’s wrong with me?
I slam the door to my room shut behind me and lean against it, breathing hard. My heart won’t stop racing. My fingers dig into my arms like I’m trying to hold myself together.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe the maids who spat foul words at me and the aunts who judged me were right. Maybe I am exactly what they think. A whore. A stupid, easy girl who opens her legs for the first man who shows her a little attention.
No. I shake my head. That’s not true. I am not who they say I am.
But the feeling in my gut says otherwise. I feel dirty and cheap, like I gave away something sacred without even thinking. Like I betrayed myself. My father. Marco.
And worst of all, I still want him.
I press my palms to my face and groan. God, what is happening to me?
When I finally pull my hands away, there’s someone standing in the room.
Marco is leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed on his chest like he’s been waiting for me.
My breath catches.
His eyes rake over me once, and I imagine what he sees. My flushed skin. My trembling hands. The uneven breathing. And worst of all, the guilt on my face.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me. He looks calm, but his eyes are filled with something sharp and dark.
“I knocked,” he says flatly. “You didn’t answer, so I let myself in thinking that something was wrong.”
I swallow. Marco granted me my own room because he didn’t want to rush me. He wanted me to have my privacy; he wanted me to ease naturally into my position as his fiancée.
And this is how I pay him back.
I swallow hard. My stomach twists. “I was… I went for a walk.”
He tilts his head, still watching me.
I glance away, walking deeper into the room and pretending I’m not scared. Pretending I’m not unraveling inside. But he doesn’t move. He just keeps watching me, and somehow that makes me feel even worse.
“You went for a walk in the dark? With no shoes?”
I glance down at my bare feet.
“Try again,” he says in a low voice.
“I like to walk barefoot sometimes,” I mutter, and his sharp, humorless laugh makes my back stiffen.
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Lia,” he says, prowling toward me. He steps into me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back. “I know you’re lying. I know exactly who you were with.”
My pulse jumps. “You don’t know anything,” I say, feeling the need to defend myself, even though I know it’s useless at this point.
“I know my brother’s been walking around like a madman for days. And now you come back looking like this?” His jaw clenches. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t just let him take you in some dark corner like his dirty little secret?”
My nostrils flare as I push his chest, trying to get him away from me, but he grabs my wrist. His grip is not rough, but it’s strong enough to hold me still.
“Let me go, Marco.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he didn’t fuck you.”
