Page 125 of The Heart of a Villain

“I know,” I whisper, standing up and letting his big arms swallow me, giving me a tight hug. “I love you too, Levi.”

He squeezes me one last time. “I have to go now. It’s getting late, and ladies wait for no one.”

“We need to talk about your whorish ways.”

“Absolutely. Once you make a choice, feel free to ask me all the details.”

He leaves the room to my loud laughter, and somehow I feel lighter after our conversation, some pieces of my soul healing, and I quickly go to my room, closing myself in with the lock.

An exquisite wooden box lies in the middle of the bed with my name carved into it, and I marvel at all the small details displayed on it.

Resisting the urge to open it, I head straight to the shower and take one in record time before slipping on my nightgown and then jumping into bed.

Flipping the box open, I see a stack of letters clipped together and take them out, recognizing my own handwriting.

My letters to Rush.

I want to put them aside but notice that to each of mine, there is another pinned underneath that has nothing written on the envelope.

Untying the ribbon, I start to read, and my heartbeat speeds up when I realize he has written me replies all these years that he never sent.

And in a way, this also heals the little girl in me who thought her friend ignored her and that her voice and deepest thoughts were never heard.

Each of his letters opens a different view of him to me, showing me his traumas and pain but also a heart that resisted the dark urges inside him.

His harsh and painful letters contrast with my naïve and foolish ones, but at the same… I know my letter calling him a murderer and destroying the painting he gave me hurt him.

Not in a way that he felt anything romantic toward me back then, obviously, but maybe I was for him something that he always was to me.

A person he could show his vulnerability to because he was sure I would never say anything to anyone.

The letters warm my soul, sending heat to the frozen, hurt parts of me, and then I shift my focus on the wooden box again.

There are more letters inside it, and putting aside the old ones, I gasp, since these are all dated in the last three months.

There are countless, shorter than the old ones, and I hungrily read them, greedy for his every thought in the months we have been apart.

Aileen,

My revenge became a weapon that destroyed me instead, but I guess that’s the poetic justice of it all, right?

A man who strives to hurt… ends up hurt himself.

It’s been two weeks since you traveled back to New York, and I followed you because how could I not?

But I respect your silent wishes to stay away, watching you from a distance, drinking in your every feature, and wishing to caress you, touch you, and love you.

For just a glimpse of you, I’m willing to stay in the shadows forever, protecting you even when you despise me.

Even though that won’t be enough to atone for my sins.

A tear slides down my cheek, and I read through more.

Aileen,

I’ve read a lot of poetry in all this time, searching for clues and maybe hoping to find answers to all my questions.

Especially to the one plaguing me the most.

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