Page 81 of The Counterfeit Lover

More than anything, it was something she reached for often—evidence being its location at the desk she spent all her free time.

For the first time in forever, Michele was speechless.

He didn't know how to feel. He certainly didn't know how to process the information.

He'd met his pet before—he'd met her at a time where he'd still been himself. And maybe, if circumstances had been different…

No, he couldn't think about that—couldnotdwell on the past and the what-ifs. There was just pain to be had the moment he allowed himself to feelanythingother than anger at the world.

Before he could give himself to the pull of the drawing, he put the paper back on the desk, stepping away from it and closer to his pet.

After all,thiswas why he was here. For her. Not for some idiotic past that he'd already completely ejected from his mind.

Moving the chair quietly, he placed it next to her bed as he took a seat, his eyes affixed to her. She was wearing the same bland white nightgown as before, a thin sheet covering half of her body.

She was curled in a fetal position—her default sleeping position. For as long as he'd monitored her, he'd only seen her like this. It was almost as if, unconsciously, she sought to protect herself from the world. Even in her sleep, she was wary—afraid.

Michele's fists clenched in anger. It was because of those boys, wasn't it? Those puny boys who'd laughed at her, later to be joined in by the adults—by her teachers and even the principal. Suddenly, he was pissed that he'd gone too easy on them. They should have suffered tenfold what his pet was suffering, and even then it wouldn't have been enough.

It would haveneverbeen enough.

He was sure it wasthemwho'd made his pet become so terrified and so withdrawn.

Never once did it occur to him thathemight be the source of her nightmares, of her constant anxiety. His only fault, as he'd convinced himself, had been to leave her unattended for a few weeks and thus without defense for others to attempt to hurt her.

Thathe could accept.

He couldn't see that he'd permanently broken her heart—destroyed every little bit of love she'd held for him. In his mind, she was merely put off with him because he'd temporarily dashed her dreams of love. Considering her complete adoration of him, anything else was out of the question.

But that was inconsequential as he would rebuild everything once more, ensuring they went back to the way they'd been before. Even better, this time he would make sure there would benoboundaries between them, and he would own her unlike he'd ever owned anything—utterly and irrevocably.

Smiling to himself, he leaned closer so he could watch her better.

Her face was tipped upwards, her lips slightly parted as she released a small, breathy sound. Like that, he could take his time studying her—observing and committing to memory every little detail that made her who she was—and what she meant to him.

It was odd to think he'd had so many opportunities to see her like this, but he'd never trulyseenher, had he? He'd looked, but he hadn't seen.

The beam of light from the moonlight made its way through the semi-drawn curtains, giving her an ethereal look that bewitched Michele.

There was something about her—something ineffable that could just be felt, not spelled out. It was something that reached deep within and took vicious hold of him, threatening to never let go. It was the only way Michele could describe what she instilled in him, something incredibly violent but equally tender, and the dichotomy confused him more than anything.

He wanted to own her. Even now, as he watched her sleep peacefully, he wanted nothing more than shake her awake so he could imprint himself on her—so she would know it was him and only him. Yet there was another side of him that wanted nothing more than hold her gently, touch her tenderly and kiss every inch of her skin—drape himself in every bit of her.

He continued to gaze at her as one would the wonders of the Ancient world—in awe at the absolute perfection, yet in constant trepidation that everything would be gone in one blink of an eye.

Because, deep down, that was what his pet signified for him.

Utter fulfillment. But also the potential for utter loss.

Unable to help himself anymore, he tentatively reached out, brushing the back of his hand against her soft cheek and stifling a groan at the sensation of pure bliss that assaulted him.

Touch. Pure, incredible touch. Debilitating, yet uniquely supercharging touch.

But then that was specific of her, and only her.

Whereas with others he would already be in agonizing pain just from one brush of skin against skin, this was the opposite. She was able to free him from his cage—show him he didn't have to isolate himself from the world. That he was still a man—a living, breathing man.

Michele's world, at that point in time, was split between the two realms—living, andnotliving. His default setting was the latter as he'd accustomed himself to keep his distance from anything and everything a normal human would derive joy from. He'd closed himself in his icy prison where his anger was the only force pulsing in his veins.

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