Page 35 of The Heart of a Villain

Or maybe simply inexperienced.

“Let’s not make it difficult, princess.” He rests his hands on the footboard, his knuckles turning white. “I will kill your father.” My heart stops; for a second, all air leaves my lungs while his words hang between us and send chaos my way. “And no pussy in the world has the power to stop me.” With this, he pushes back and orders, “Get dressed and have breakfast. And if you value your life, keep your ass in the mansion and stay away from me. Otherwise, I always have the dungeon, where you can stay with the rats as your company.”

I look at him in disbelief, the cruel and cold words stabbing into me one by one akin to rocks leaving dents in my soul. Revulsion washes over me, as he reduced all our moments to… to… to me being just a random pussy?

“I hate you,” I whisper, gripping the blanket with all my might, and a tearing sound echoes through the space, alerting me to the damaged cloth, but I’m too angry and hurt to react to it. “I hate you,” I repeat, my heart breaking in two for things I don’t even understand.

I wasn’t in love with him. How could I have been? But him saying all this means he wasn’t affected by me at all, that I’m not special. I’m just a woman he fucked.

Oh my God.

“Ah, darling.” He pats his side and grins, making my hands itch to swipe away his smirk with my nails and crack him in the jaw! “I figured after this knife wound…” A beat passes, and he shrugs. “Yet even hatred cannot stop that pussy from being wet for me.”

I cover my ears from his unfamiliar crudeness. He has never spoken to me this way, but maybe that’s how men become once they get what they want.

He acted all possessive yesterday because his brother dared to touch what he considered his spoils, and to punish me, he created an illusion of wanting me, when in truth he couldn’t give two shits about me.

How to hurt a naïve fool? Dump her in a fantasy and then crush her into reality, forcing her to scoop up the scattered pieces of her soul.

Willing all my self-respect and control into my voice, I spit, “Get out.” My eyes focus on the torn blanket, my breaths speeding up, and I yell this time around, “Get out!”

Seconds trickle by, and finally I hear the door open and shut. That’s when I allow the tears to fall down my cheeks as silent sobs shake me.

Because a man just humiliated me after spending the night making love to me, enjoying my addiction of him while I believed… What did I believe, really?

That I’d be so special to a man after only days of being together, and he’d changed his mind about revenge? That, like in the fairy tale, the Beast would fall for me and spare my father?

Did I really think my affection or the idea of owning my heart would make him give up his revenge decades in the making?

I grab the pillow and hide my face, screaming into it, while hurt penetrates every bone in my body along with self-loathing.

For how can a woman cry over her captor finally giving up on her and just letting her be?

Then his words ring in my mind, bringing me back to the painful present.

“I will kill your father.”

Rage laced his tone, so his determination only grew with all my behavior and in this fuels my desire to finally help Rafael.

After our lovemaking last night, I wanted to tell him about his mother’s diary and how it might hold keys to the past, not wanting to deceive him yet again.

So I should be grateful for this honesty today, as it gave me free rein to do whatever I want without an ounce of guilt anymore.

I will do everything to save my father. He might not be a saint; in fact, the more time I spend on this island, the surer of that I become. But my father is incapable of harming women and children.

Nothing and no one will convince me otherwise.

Temporarily putting a lid on the onslaught of emotions I just experienced, I lift my head and wipe away my tears while gulping deep breaths.

The diary.

I have to find it and hopefully fix everything before going back to my perfect and boring existence, where no men use me for their selfish desires and then sum up all our time as role playing.

Fury replaces the hurt, and I throw off my blanket, swinging my legs to the side, and my toes curl against the freezing marble, shivers running through me.

I rush to the bathroom, wishing to wash away Rush’s touches and smell off my skin, so nothing will remind me of our sexual encounters.

But when I flip on the light in the bathroom, I realize it’s easier said than done, considering the freaking jerk left several hickeys on my neck and collarbone for everyone to see, stamping his marks of ownership all over my flesh.

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