Page 38 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

“No.” I couldn’t believe it. “No. No. No.”

"Yes,” Saint insisted. “Ellie was never real.”

That was the moment I was certain the Earth had split in half, sucking me into the dark center of chaos. My head spun with thoughts that were nothing but a jumbled mess, my mind refusing to believe what Saint just said. “That’s insane. He told me about her, told me about how his abusive stepdad hurt her.”

Saint shook his head. “It’s not true.”

“It has to be. I…there.” I couldn’t form a single coherent sentence as my thoughts raced. “He has this music box that he bought her, but never had the chance to give to her. Saint, he has a sister. Why…why would he make her up?”

“His injuries together with the trauma of losing his father somehow caused Elijah to create Ellie inside his head. Like an—”

“Imaginary friend?”

“Something like that. As I said, I don’t have the details. All I know is what my father has told me in the past. That when Gianni rescued Elijah from that wretched house, his mind was…” Saint wiped his palm down his face. “His mind was broken.”

My legs grew weak, and I wanted to collapse right there and be trampled into nothing but dust. Saint grabbed my arm and helped me sit down on the nearest bench, the cold winter air slicing through the skin of my neck. “His mind is…broken?”

He sat down next to me, staring out in front of us. “It’s been more than twenty years. My father and I, we were sure the therapy helped. That Gianni managed to get through to him and somehow—”

“Fixed him?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“I can’t believe this.” I placed my palm in front of my mouth, unable to think straight. “What else has he made up?”

“We can’t be sure.”

I leaned back, my mind in a state of complete anarchy as I tried to recall every conversation Elijah and I had. One in particular stood out. “He told me that the night Gianni rescued him, he killed his mom with an overdose. Is that true?”

“No,” he answered, clipped. “The night Gianni found him, Elijah was hiding in the bedroom closet. He saw everything, how Gianni shot Roland and injected his mother to make it look like a homicide and suicide. The trauma of witnessing that gruesome scene was enough to cause some short-circuit inside his head, his mind fabricating what really took place that night.”

“Jesus,” I sighed, tears stinging my eyes as I watched Elijah and Milana in the distance. Elijah glanced my way, shooting me the most handsome fucking smile, and it knocked the wind right out of me. My heart was nothing but pieces of pain—the toxic lies and rancorous truths, it was unreal. I didn’t want to believe any of it. I wanted all of this to be nothing more than a horrible nightmare, to wake up and realize that my husband was the man I fell in love with. That the man who stole my heart so unapologetically was real, true, and not some broken version of the man I thought I knew.

“How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” I didn’t look at Saint, but I wanted him to be the liar in this story. I needed him to be the villain and not Elijah.

Saint held out a business card, and I took it from him. “Dr. Angus Hillebrand. Who is this?”

“That’s the psychologist who knows Elijah’s case. He’s expecting your call.”

Saint stood, and on cue Milana turned and strolled in our direction, her hand hooked into the crook of Elijah’s elbow as they chatted with smiles on their faces. They seemed like two people who didn’t have a care in the world.

Saint turned to face me. “You can come with us.”

I glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Come with Milana and me, and we’ll take you back to New York.”

I stood. “What about Elijah?”

“Leave him to me. I know how to deal with him.”

Tears slipped down my cheek, the cold air causing the salty liquid to sting my skin. “We can’t just leave him—”

Screeching tires sounded, both Saint and I looking in the direction of a speeding car pulling up close. The door opened, and Saint’s low voice cracked through the air as he screamed, “Mila!”

Adrenaline surged through the ice in my veins as I stood frozen, unable to move as I watched a man lean out of the car, gun in hand. It happened in slow motion, Elijah and Milana running toward us.

Saint grabbed his wife and pulled her down to the ground, Elijah still running in my direction. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. Time stood still, yet my pulse raced, and all I heard was the sound of my own heartbeat as it tried to rip through my chest.

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