Page 59 of August and the Night

The fact that I now equate August Steele to "just a man" hits me like a ton of bricks. That's what he is now—just a man—no matter what my heart tells me. He is nothing. Just a man I slept with.

I step out of the shower, blow-dry and style my hair, and conceal my tired eyes with makeup before applying bright red lipstick. I try to imitate Lily’s makeup style as much as I can. I miss her like crazy; she hasn’t called me since our encounter a week ago. I understand her though; why would she want to talk to an ungrateful monster like me? I just hope she is somewhere resting and not doing my father’s dirty work. The police still have not caught him despite trying their hardest; unfortunately, the manhunt dedicated to him still has not located him, which means that his monstrosities are still continuing.

I open my closet and rummage through it. I find a super short black lace dress that could pass as lingerie. It's backless, with a plunging neckline and barely covers my butt, I bought it specifically for sexy time with August but now it has other purposes. I put it on, completely bare underneath. I am a seductress now, after all. Just as I'm about to leave, something sparkling catches my eye on the floor. I approach it and ecstatically discover it's Lily’s engagement ring from that prick, Oliver Davis.

I slip on the ring onto my finger, deciding that if my father isn’t caught, and he still has control over Lily, I will be the one to marry Oliver Davis. I will be his fiancée, his future wife. I will free my sweet Lily from this burden. I spritz perfume on myself, grab my handbag stuffed with cash, and slip on incredibly high heels that make my legs look long and toned. Then I leave the apartment, my walk confident and sexy, a way I never walked before.

Once outside, I hail a taxi and head to a notorious downtown club called Red. It's time for me to embrace the persona I was always meant to be, the persona I was born for. When the taxi arrives at the club, I pay the fare, offering the driver a playful wink. I sashay into the club, swaying my hips seductively, and take a seat at the bar.

I scan the room, searching for the perfect man to seduce tonight. I nurse the whiskey I ordered as my eyes roam, though no one here is as handsome as August.

I remind myself that he is now a thing of the past. Finally, a tall man captures my attention. He has deep hazel eyes and black hair tied up in a man bun. August does not have hair that long. I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands through this man's hair while he pleasures me.

He is also quite tall, but what truly captivates me are his full, juicy lips. This is the man, the first man I will seduce as Layla the seductress.

I slide off my chair and approach him. I watch as his gaze devours me, and then I wrap my hands around his neck. With a deliberate rasp in my voice, I whisper in his ear, "Are you alone tonight?"

He chuckles, sending shivers down my spine, before responding, "From the ring pressing against my neck, I should be asking you that question." My hands glide up to his hair, freeing it from the tie, and I play with the luscious locks. "I am alone tonight. Tell me, would you like to feel that ring on places other than your neck?"

I swear I hear a faint moan escape his lips. I derive no pleasure from this, though. I am on autopilot, merely practicing. This is my way of proving that I can save Lily from the fate of the seductress. I ensure that my body melds into his, that my eyes exude desire, and that my fingers enthusiastically play in his hair.

I take calculated steps to appear to enjoy this encounter because a seductress would. I feel his hands move from his sides, finally touching my naked back and caressing it. That's when I notice a ring on his finger. He's married. I fight the urge to grimace. A seductress would never let that stop her. He leans in with a nod, and we kiss.

His mouth feels all wrong, his tongue entwined with mine feels wrong, and his hands on me feel wrong. It was different with August—it felt right. But August is no longer part of my life, and this is what I must do to save Lily. So, I let out a calculated moan, showing him that I'm enjoying his touch, even though I'm not. Suddenly, he is gone. I open my eyes in shock to see August holding him up by the neck. Why is he here? How did he find me?

August's gaze turns towards me, a glimmer of murderous rage in his eyes. They are terrifying, swimming in anger. "Did you enjoy the way he kissed you?" he growls, his voice clouded with so much fury that I can barely recognize it. But I've had enough—enough of him discarding me and returning as if I must answer to him, enough of being threatened and violated by the men in my life. So, I make sure my voice comes out in a seductive tone, "No, August, I didn't just like his kiss. I loved it." And that's when all hell breaks loose.

47

August

I tremble with worry as I gaze at Layla's bedroom, she isn't there even though she usually would be fast asleep at this time. It has been a week since I have broken her heart, a week of planning how to get her back to me, how to grovel to be worth even a second of her time.

I can't stay away though, at night when I lie in my cold bed, I always end up going to my car and heading to park outside her apartment, just to get even a small glimpse of her. The weight of guilt consumes me as I realize the depth of pain I've inflicted upon a genuinely good woman. Deep down, I've always known that she possesses a gentle soul, though I refused to acknowledge it.

Now, I must face the consequences of my actions—the inability to touch her, to breathe in her scent, to hear her voice. I understand that she needs time and space to process the revelations, but her absence is tearing me apart.

Witnessing her struggle, knowing that I am a significant cause of her pain, yet being unable to be by her side, it's an agony I cannot bear.

I decided to grant her the necessary breathing room before making my move. I refuse to let her slip away.

I won't allow another man to swoop in and mend the pieces I shattered. I vow to ensure she no longer sheds tears of pain, not because of me or anyone else on this earth.

Another five minutes pass without Layla's return, and my nervous energy intensifies. It's unusual for her to sleep anywhere other than her own bed; my bed has been the only exception. Well, it used to be. It's highly unlikely she's sleeping on the couch. I call upon John, who is lounging in the parked car next to me and tell him my concern.

"Mr. Steele, please do not worry. We have security personnel everywhere, and no one has reported any suspicious activity. However, I will knock on her door to check up on her, just to put your mind at ease," John assures me in a composed manner. I nod in gratitude as he proceeds to enter the building to inquire about my beloved white dove.

Ten minutes pass since his departure, and still, there is no sign of him. Filled with mounting anxiety, I open the car door, ready to rush inside. Just as I step out of the car, John comes sprinting toward me, his face flushed and drenched in sweat. My heart races in response to his urgency.

"Mr. Steele, Layla isn't in her apartment. I knocked and called repeatedly, she didn’t answer," he blurts out, his words hurried and his features marked with concern.

My chest tightens instantly, and panic surges through me. Layla has left the apartment on her own, without any protection, in such a fragile state. What if someone takes advantage of her vulnerability? Moreover, she hasn't been eating properly, and her weakness adds to my growing alarm. What if she collapses somewhere? What if she contemplates doing something to herself? Desperation grips me, and I find myself striking my chest, attempting to calm the racing of my heart so I can focus on what needs to be done next.

The atmosphere around me thickens with panic, yet John swiftly formulates a plan. He sends security personnel to scour the nearby streets, and requests footage from all the security cameras around for the past couple of hours to be sent to his phone.

John assures me that we will find her, but I struggle to find solace in his words. What if she has departed with the intention of starting a new life in some faraway place? Perhaps she has someone who can facilitate such a move—Dante. Helping her would make Lily happy, and that man is obsessed with her, he would stop at nothing to get in her good graces. The thought fills me with an excruciating blend of fear and uncontrollable anger.

If Layla reached out to him for help, it would drive me to madness. I alone am responsible for soothing her pain and pleasing her. No other man has the right to believe they can heal the wounds I've inflicted upon her. She is mine to please and to make whole again. It's no one else's duty or concern.

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