Page 17 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

I cried and screamed, expensive bottles of perfume spilled and splattered on the bathroom floor.

The mirror on the dressing table was cracked, thanks to the flower vase I had launched at it. For hours, I stared at my distorted reflection within the cracks, dying lilies scattered around my bare feet. I hardly recognized myself anymore. But the question I kept asking myself was whether I had ever known who I really was, or if I had merely adapted to life in order to survive without ever getting to know the woman inside.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I closed my eyes when I heard his familiar voice.

“I gave you your freedom.”

“Maybe it’s no longer yours to give.” I opened my eyes, and our gazes met in the cracked mirror.

“Why haven’t you left, Mila?”

“Because, despite what you might think, I do have a will of my own, and I chose not to.”

“Who said you had a choice?” He placed his hands in his pants pockets, sleeves rolled up mid-arm, the top two buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned.

I stood and turned to face him. “If you hadn’t intended for it to be a choice, you would have dragged me out of here yourself.”

“Is that what it’s going to take to get rid of you, to drag you out myself?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you try it and find out?”

He scoffed. “I don’t know how you do it.” He turned his back on me and walked out of the bathroom and into the large open space of the bedroom.

“Do what?” I followed him out.

“Anger me without provoking the monster in me.”

“It’s not like I’ve survived this long with you unscathed.”

The potent smell of bourbon drifted in my direction. “Where have you been?”

“Out.”

I rubbed my hand up and down my arm. “You thought I wouldn’t be here when you got back?”

He shrugged. “A man can hope.”

“Stop. Just…stop.”

“Why? It’s the truth.” He approached me with a few calculated steps. “I’m a wretched man, Mila. A monster who uses people to get what he wants, just like I’ve been using you from the start.”

“But then things changed.” I refused to let the threatening tears free. “Everything changed.”

“Not me. I haven’t changed.”

I lifted my chin. “I have.”

“No,” he stopped a few inches from me, “you haven’t. You’re still Mila Black, the orphan.”

“Only stronger,” I sneered refusing to cower before him. “Maybe even wiser.”

Dark brows slanted inward. “Wiser? If you were wiser, you would have taken your chance at the freedom when I handed it to you on a silver platter.”

I could see what he was trying to do. He was pushing me away, hoping I’d crack and run. He reeked of alcohol and desperation masked with anger. He was desperate for me to make the decision so he didn’t have to live with it. So he didn’t have to live with the regret and the guilt of deserting his wife and child.

“I’m not going to do it, Saint,” I said with conviction. “I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

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