Page 51 of The Counterfeit Lover

Michele leaned in so the man could look him straight in the eye.

"Good. You will go up that podium and the first thing that will leave your mouth will be an apology to Venezia. You will tell the entire world that you were wrong, and that you were a perverted old man for having insinuated she was anything but a perfect lady. Are we clear?"

There were tears accumulating at the corner of the man's eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

Still, Michele wasn't satisfied. He needed more. An entire fucking spectacle to show the worldshewas off-limits.

"When she comes up for her diploma, you will drop to your knees and you will prostate yourself at her feet," he added, his lips twitching in satisfaction at the mental image.

Mr. Landers' eyes widened, and he hesitated when it was his turn to nod.

Michele scowled, removing the sock from his mouth and inviting him to speak.

"Are we clear, Mr. Landers?"

The man blinked, seemingly confused about what to do. Slowly, and ever so reluctantly, he nodded.

Michele smiled, turning to go.

Yet he barely took a few steps towards the door when he heard it. The whispered slur.

Fucking whore.

"What did you say?" He pivoted, his expression monstrous.

“N-Nothing," Mr. Landers stammered.

"Well, I think I heard something."

In two steps, Michele was upon him. With absolutely no hesitation, he wrenched the principal's hand, digging his knife into the finger cast and wiggling it around until he perforated it.

"I will ask once more. What. Did. You. Say?"

"That she's a fucking whore," Mr. Landers screamed.

A sadistic smile appeared on Michele's face, and with one punch, he had Mr. Landers almost passed out—certainly enough for Michele to remove the cast with no resistance.

Finally, he beheld the finger, the suture lines clear at the base, and his glee increased as he brought his knife down onto it, cutting slowly, precisely—enough that Mr. Landers howled in pain from it.

When the finger was finally removed, blood pouring from the wound, Michele didn't stop. One hand around his neck, he pried the man's mouth open and he stuffed the finger inside, forcing him to chew.

"Let me make one thing clear. This is child's play compared with what I will do to you if you don't offer her an apology in front ofeveryone.I will know, Mr. Landers. I will be there and I will be watching for your every move," he said as he thrust the man back.

His mouth was open, his cheeks strained as saliva coursed down his chin. The finger was sticking out from his mouth, his teeth holding it in place as tears streaked his face. And one look down confirmed what the smell had already told Michele.

The man shat himself.

Good. At least now he knew Michele was serious.

If there was something Michele despised, perhaps more than he'd ever admit, it was anyone else insulting his pet. But to call her a whore?

A whore?

That was completely out of question and just hearing the implication dug painfully at his heart.

She was no one's whore—except his.

Because she washis.And for as long as she lived—for as long ashelived—she would be his. There was no other alternative for it.

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