Chapter 10

“I waited in silence
just to see if she’d break,
but it was me,
every time,
bleeding behind the screen.“

One Week Later…

Nathan’s POV

A week.

Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eighty fucking minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since I last saw her.

Since she dropped to her knees like she was born to worship me, since I dragged breath from her lungs and sin from her throat and still let her go like an idiot, like I wasn’t starving.

Since I told her I’d call, but didn’t, because I was trying, fucking trying, to play this game on my terms, trying to keep the wheel in my hands, even as it burned.

That was the deal, wasn’t it? Keep her wanting, keep her begging, and keep her just out of reach until I decide otherwise.

So why the fuck does it feel like I’ve been the one held hostage all week?

I exhaled hard, dragging a hand down my face. My fingers twitched, ready to slip into my pocket and fish a cigarette out to ease my inner burn, but I fought the urge. I leaned against my car and crossed my arms over my chest. The sun was far too cheerful for my sore mood as I waited, standing in the driveway of his house.

I could’ve walked up, could’ve rung the bell, or knocked on the door, but I didn’t. I just waited. I waited for Nikolas to come out and drag me to that godforsaken dinner I shouldn’t even be attending.

After he showed up unannounced last week and played on my fucking nerves alongside Christian, after he interrogated me, prodding for answers about the mission he dumped in my lap, after all that, and after I gave him nothing in return, he asked me, oh no, sorry, he ordered me to come to this dinner thingy Lilly’s throwing.

I mainly agreed because he looked so fucking threatening, one breath away from snapping my neck, especially after I joked about touching his son. He proved to me that I can’t fucking mess with him; the man doesn’t have a humorous bone in his infuriating body.

Christian stayed at my place for a couple of days and only left yesterday. Even though I didn’t and wouldn’t admit it out loud, his presence was a good distraction, one I desperately needed. Before he left, he asked me to join him, even if just for a visit, and maybe I should fucking listen to him and go back.

Maybe it will help erase a certain infuriating blonde princess from my mind.

My thoughts screeched to a halt the moment the front door opened. Fucking-finally. Nikolas stepped out, dark sunglasses on, his jaw set tight, as if that was his default setting. The man looked like a walking closed casket most days, and I still hated how much of myself I saw in his shadow.

But before I could say a thing, a sound caught my attention, a small one, a very soft one.

Little tiny feet, quick steps, and breathless excitement.

She appeared behind him, a small thing, so small that I could break her by accident. Her light brown hair was pulled into a half-bun that bounced with every step she took. She wore a white dress with tiny pink flowers, her little pink and white Nike sneakers squeaking with every childish skip.

Her tiny hand was latched onto Nikolas’s pants like he was her gravity and she was just learning the rules.

Her eyes found me, green, so green, just like his, but softer, much softer, untouched by rage, unscarred by the past.

And fuck me…something twisted in my chest.

She looked like she belonged in a poem of mine, a different one, a sweeter one, with no knives in the margins, no blood smudged at the corners. One I’d never write.

Her eyes widened, lighting up with joy, and then she sprinted. “Uncle Nathan!”

Her voice cracked, so happy, so bright, and I swear to God, I forgot how to breathe.

I crouched before she reached me. I couldn’t help it. My body moved on its own, my arms out as she slammed into me, all joy and innocence, tiny arms wrapping around my neck so very tightly.

I hugged her back and pressed my nose to the top of her head. I closed my eyes for half a second, letting it settle. She smelled like strawberries and candy and something so good I didn’t know what to do with it. It wrecked me.

And worse? It made me smile, a real unfiltered one.

What the fuck…

“You’ve gotten bigger, haven’t you?” I muttered as I pulled back, still smiling like I was infected with some fucking disease.

She nodded enthusiastically, her half-bun bouncing with every energized move. “Yes! I am!”

For a second, just a second, my heart crashed into something it wasn’t built for. I reached up and touched her cheek, my thumb brushing over baby-soft skin.

“You wanna get big?” I asked, and she nodded so hard I thought her head might fly off. She was a literal energy bomb, all rainbows and unicorns and glitter-colored delusions.

If we had a few more like her in the world, maybe the place wouldn’t suck so much, or maybe I’d just burn slower.

She was the only one I tolerated in this godforsaken family. Well, her and Lilly. Just them. The rest could burn. I’d supply the gasoline.

“Why?” I asked.

She opened her mouth to speak, then paused, hesitating. She looked over her shoulder, watching her father, and catching him looking at her with a soft smile and breathless eyes. So, he does smile after all. Then, Maria sneakily inched closer, lowered her head to reach my ear, and whispered, “So Chase will leave Lilly and marry me.”

Her innocent childish dream had my stuttering heart halt for a fucking minute, my eyes widening just enough, and I pulled back like she’d slapped me, “What the fuck?”

My whisper-shout earned me a shove from Nikolas, a hard, not gentle, rough shove that almost had me falling to the ground. I groaned under my breath, pushed to my feet, and still glaring down at her tiny, adorable, and clueless face.

Chase. Fucking Chase. Mr. Perfect was stealing hearts he didn’t even ask for. First my princess, then Lilly, and now this little innocent creature?

My eye twitched. Yeah, I definitely need to kill him. Preferably soon. He was becoming a full-time headache. A threat to my daily existence, a parasite in every corner of my life. I hated the fucker.

Before the fantasy of blood and bone could drug my junkie brain into something irreversible, more footsteps echoed from inside. My gaze shifted to the door, falling on…the other Nathan, the younger one, the one I didn’t like much, mainly because he shared my fucking name.

Have I mentioned I hate sharing? Because I fucking do.

His gaze was focused on his phone, typing something with one hand, his other tucked in his pocket. His hair was as dark as his father’s; it was shorter on the side, and more generous on top, a few strands falling over his forehead, the color a total contrast to his white, pallid skin.

He paused by the porch, his gaze lifting from his phone when he noticed a different alarming presence.

His eyes fell on me first, and they hardened instantly. Eyes so blue, just like his mother’s, like Ronald’s, like…my mother’s eyes. Why did he get to have them? I don’t like that. I don’t like him. I hate everything about his existence.

And yeah, the thought of throwing him off another cliff hadn’t completely left my mind. It lived somewhere behind my molars, nestled between instinct and memory.

But, like most of my more creative urges, I knew I wasn’t going to act on it.

“If you so much as breathe wrong in his direction,” Nikolas’s voice hissed from next to me. He was closer now, towering over me, threatening, “I will bash your head and break your fucking skull, you know that, right?”

He sounded like he meant it. I turned my gaze away from the little thief with my name and looked at Nikolas. Yeah. He looked like he meant it. Awesome.

My lips lifted into a smile, “How could I ever,” I said, “He is my nephew after all, isn’t he?”

The image of his blood soaking into concrete gave me a flicker of peace, just a flicker, but I’d take what I could get.

Maria slipped from my side and bounced over to her brother, light as air and loud as chaos. She tugged at his pants, “Nathan, Nathan,” She said, jumping up and down, grabbing his attention to her, “Look, look, this is Uncle Nathan,” She pointed at me, “He is like you,” She added, so innocent and unaware, my little adorable pixie, “He has your name.”

“More like he has my name,” I corrected, sending a wink to the little energy bomb.

Nathan gave me a very unbothered look, and I kept staring at him, analyzing, calculating. He looked like a good kid, probably smart, gets perfect scores, wins science fairs, would become a doctor or a lawyer, but behind all of those layers, in his eyes, there was something else, a fracture, a certain madness, one he probably inherited from his father.

Behind all the good boy act, I felt that there was more, a crack in the porcelain that no one else saw. All I had to do was find the right pressure point, the correct stimulus, and press. Let’s see what he becomes.

He ignored me and scooped up his sister. He smiled at her and brushed the hair away from her face as he walked toward his father’s car while Maria babbled nonsense in his arms.

“Christian left?” Nikolas asked. I nodded, eyes drifting from the kids to the towering threat beside me. “Yeah,” I mumbled, “Last night.”

He nodded in return, and I could feel him about to ask more, but the door opened again with a clatter.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” I heard Natalie’s hurried voice before I saw her, rushing out, the door slamming behind her, her hair flying, her purse swinging. Much like her daughter, she was so damn energized and chaotic.

When she saw me, her lips pulled up and she smiled, soft and warm, but I’ve seen better liars.

Even with her smile, I could feel the static under her skin, like she only played nice because she had to. Like she’d rather I vanish into a black hole, be as far from her and her family as possible, but didn’t want the drama that came with saying it out loud.

She got closer, and before I could take in my next breath, she wrapped her arms around me.

I froze, my arms limp at my sides. The fuck-

“Nathan,” she mumbled, her voice far too warm for my taste, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

My eyes flicked to Nikolas, my eyes widening and begging him, please get your wife off me.

She pulled back when she realized I wasn’t playing along, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “How’ve you been?” she asked. Her fingers toyed with her bracelet, twirling a tiny charm between her fingertips. She was nervous, very anxious. Told you she hated my presence.

I gave her the bare minimum. “Good.”

I wasn’t about to ask how she was. I wasn’t built for small talk, and while I tolerated Nikolas and was okay with his presence, I never quite figured out what to do with her.

Maybe I should try harder; she’s technically my sister. But something about her rubbed me wrong.

I could swear she hated me, not that she was wrong in her feelings anyway. I’ve stabbed her son and thrown him off a cliff. She could hate me all she wants, but she can’t expect me to smile and pretend that I liked her either.

“I will follow you with my car,” I said to Nikolas, putting an end to the family reunion, and slipped into my car, rather quickly.

I preferred to go there with Nikolas mainly because the guest list read like a personal hit list. There will be too many people in there, those who didn’t like me much. Emma could be there too, and as much as I have enjoyed our last encounter, I needed Nikolas as my safety net.

I tried to breathe on the drive. With one hand on the wheel, the other raked through my hair. My elbow propped against the door as thoughts gathered in a violent queue inside my skull. Too many, too fast, too many words. God, it gets loud in there sometimes. Ugly loud. I needed a pen and paper.

I parked my car behind Nikolas’s when we arrived and followed as they headed for Lilly’s flat.

Maria broke away from her brother and skidded toward me, all pink and mischief. She reached up, her palm open, asking without words. I wrapped my hand over hers, and she beamed ever so brightly. As we walked down the hallway, I stared down at her, wondering how pissed Nikolas would be if I just…kidnapped her for a while, just a day, or a month?

“Hey, hey, welcome,” I heard Lilly’s excited voice before I saw her. She edged closer quickly, hugging every member before they slipped into the house. The noises from inside almost made me turn around and run away, too many people and loud laughter. I hate people, so why am I here again?

Maria left my hand and rushed inside, and I was left with Lilly alone in the doorway. She smiled, her head tilted. “Hey,” she said softly, her hand brushing my arm and ushering me further inside, “I am glad you made it,” she added, genuinely.

“Well, who else is going to ruin this lovely reunion?” I commented with a wink.

Her eyebrow raised, her eyes all knowing, like she expected nothing less from me as we headed further inside.

She slipped into the crowd like she belonged, while I halted to a stop by the doorway, right at the threshold, like some haunted thing debating whether to cross into holy ground. The urge to bolt was so fukcing real.

The room was crowded, too many bodies, too many smiles. Lilly’s parents, that friend of hers, Chase’s parents, Emma, like I expected, and her little family. My eyes roamed around, and that’s when they fell on Ronald’s.

He caught my gaze and walked over, like he’d been waiting for this moment. His expression was almost amused. “Well, hello, stranger,” he said, one brow arched like we shared some kind of unspoken joke about how I was avoiding him.

“Hey,” I said, my tone as neutral as it could get.

To be fair, I liked him better than Natalie, which didn’t say much; I like paper cuts better than Natalie.

Ronald was…tolerable. On a good day only.

But he couldn’t seriously expect me to feel some brotherly connection that never existed.

So when he threw an arm over my shoulder like we were reunited long-lost friends, I pulled away immediately, breaking contact. Can they not touch me so much? The fuck is wrong with these people?

I moved closer to Nikolas, using him as my only shield. I knew that they all noticed me, of course, but they pretended not to, like I wasn’t the ghost at their dinner party, like my presence didn’t tilt the room’s balance a little sideways.

I was the loaded gun no one wanted to acknowledge.

So they all smiled harder and talked louder and clinked their forks against their plates like it would drown me out.

Out of everyone, Alex’s gaze met mine from across the room, his fingers curling a bit tighter over the glass in his hand, but he said nothing. Our eyes held for a breath too long, until his flicked to Nikolas, and a silent conversation passed between them, one only they understood.

Nikolas’s hand tugged at my arm, again with the fucking touching, “Stay next to me, okay?” He said in a low voice.

I didn’t know if he said that to protect me from these people, or to protect them from me. My money was on the latter.

Dinner moved forward, plates were passed, wine was poured, and conversations and laughter never subsided. I sat through it, my fork barely touching the plate. I took two bites, maybe less.

I didn’t eat, I didn’t speak, I didn’t interact, I only observed.

That’s what I do.

Watch. Count. Catalog. Predict.

Every glance, every brush of fingers, and every bite taken or avoided. The little details, tells, cracks, and weak spots.

That’s the thing about being quiet in a room full of noise, you start to see what everyone’s trying to hide.

And I see everything.

“Hey, Nathan, do yo—”

My head turned instinctively at the voice, because, well, it’s my fucking name.

My eyes locked on Max, standing a few steps away, mid-sentence, but apparently, he wasn’t talking to me.

No, of course not, he was calling for the other Nathan, the counterfeit, the knockoff version.

They both caught my reaction. Max raised a brow, his jaw tightening in irritation, “Do you really think I’d call for you?” he shot out, dry and mocking.

The little thief beside him glared at me like I was the insult to his existence, “You’re not the only Nathan in the room, you know?” he muttered, rolling his eyes before walking off with Max into another room, talking like they didn’t just piss gasoline onto my mood.

A harsh breath scraped its way out of my lungs, and I crossed my arms over my chest, looking around the room in distaste. I should fucking leave. I don’t belong in here. This is not me. I don’t want these people. I only wanted…

I only wanted my princess. Fuck, this made me miss her more.

Wait, what…miss her?

No. No, no—I meant miss fucking her.

That’s better.

My brain nodded in agreement, patting itself on the back for keeping priorities straight.

Nikolas nudged my arm, dragging me out of my internal crisis.

I turned to him, “What?” I shot out.

His brow lifted at my tone. “You what?”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I grumbled out, “Everyone here hates me, and to be fair…I hate every single one of them, too.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said plainly.

My lips lifted into a smile, “Aww,” I said with fake affection and leaned into him, “My daddy dearest—” I couldn’t even resume the rest of my mocking words because he shoved me away from him, harshly, while glaring at me.

I just smiled wider. God, pushing his buttons was so entertaining.

I winked. “I’ll go see where Lilly is…then leave,” I said, already rising to my feet.

Because yeah, my tolerance level was slipping, another five minutes and I’d need to carve someone open just to stay sane.

I drifted toward the kitchen first, hoping maybe she was there. But I was met with silence and empty counters, a few untouched plates, and a couple of half-dead wine glasses waiting to be cleared.

A low sigh slipped past my lips. I reached for the cabinet and poured myself a glass of water. My fingers curled tight around the glass, and just as the rim touched my lips, I heard footsteps from behind me.

I didn’t need to turn, I already knew who it was. The way she rearranged the air, I felt it.

I turned slowly, leaning against the counter as Emma stepped into view. Her expression was neutral, her movements deliberate as she reached for a glass and poured her own, like she hadn’t tried to collapse my ribcage a couple of weeks ago.

She didn’t look at me at first.

But I looked at her.

She took a sip, slow, methodical, giving the moment time to breathe just so she could strangle it later. Then her eyes met mine, and she smiled, not soft, not cruel, just controlled.

And for the first time tonight…I felt alive. This could be the chaos I needed. The spark to set this sterile little gathering aflame.

I was so bored, violently, soul-crackingly bored, and I needed something sharp to bite down on.

“Relax,” she said smoothly, picking up on my adrenaline. “I’m not here to make a scene. I care about Lilly too much to ruin her night.”

My eyes flicked to her hand, still loosely wrapped around the glass. That same hand had been wrapped around my throat. I wondered, if I triggered her hard enough, would she lose it again? Would she crack that mask and spill something red?

I stayed silent at first, leaning back against the counter, casual as a ticking bomb, watching her and waiting.

“So, is this how it’s going to be, from now on?” She tilted her head, licked the last drop of water from her lips. “Is this your new thing? Showing up at family events?”

I shook my head, “First and last,” I shrugged, “Not my scene.”

“Good boy,” she said, her voice too sweet, too condescending. My jaw ticked, and my fingers twitched.

Her eyes flickered all over my face, reading my irritation, my anger, and boredom, and her smile widened.

“Tell me,” she murmured, so unbothered. “How does it feel?”

I said nothing. I let her dig her grave.

“To spend all those years,” she continued, “wasting your time, your energy, your obsession, trying to break down this family. And for what?”

Her smile sharpened, “How does it feel to lose, Nathan?” she asked, “To crawl back here with your tail tucked between your legs, knowing none of us really want you?”

That did it.

My lips twitched, and I straightened up slowly. If Emma wanted to play? Well, I was done being civilized. Let her try me. Let her wake me up.

“If I really wanted to break this family,” I said, voice dropping to a lethal murmur, “none of you would’ve been standing here today.”

Her brow lifted. “Still full of yourself, I see.”

“No,” I said, “Just full of potential.”

I stepped forward, showing her that she doesn’t threaten me. She is scary, true, very much so, but I don’t get afraid, not at all. Fear is for people with survival instincts. I don’t have those. I was born to crash.

“I know all of you,” I said softly, sweetly, “Your strengths, your flaws, your little cracks under pressure. I’ve watched you all for years, studied, and memorized every single fault line. And if I wanted to break this family…”

I smiled, all teeth.

“I would’ve reduced it to bone dust and ashes.”

She didn’t move.

“But I didn’t,” I added, “Because I was doing it for the wrong reasons. That’s the only reason you’re all still standing.”

Her jaw locked, but she didn’t bite back yet. She was calculating, so dangerously, god, I liked it.

“So what?” she grated out. “I’m supposed to bow down on my knees in gratitude? Thank you for being so merciful?”

I laughed.

God, it felt good.

“God forbid, no,” I said, my eyes gleaming. “There’s only one person I want on her knees, and she’s not in this house.”

Her grip tightened on the glass. She was seconds from snapping, and fuck, it was glorious.

“All I’m saying,” I went on, “is I don’t feel guilty for what I did. I only regret who I did it for. That’s the difference, and it’s about time everyone got that straight.”

She stepped closer, right into my air. Her anger wrapped around my ribs like a noose. Anyone else might’ve backed up, but I inhaled it like a drug.

“I don’t know how you convinced Nikolas to give you a second chance,” she hissed. “After everything.”

I grinned, my brow lifted. “That’s the funny part,” I said. “I didn’t do a damn thing.”

She stared at me, shaking with the effort not to break the glass in her hand.

“You really feel nothing?” she demanded. “After what you did to Max? To Nathan? To…Noah?”

Ah. There it was. Her voice broke slightly, her hand twitched, the glass creaked. I leaned closer, enough to set her off.

“Guilt?” I echoed. “Nope. Never felt it in my life. Remorse? I hear it’s cute, a real sweetheart. Empathy? Well, it sounds exhausting.”

Her knuckles went white, the glass groaned again, begging to shatter.

So I did what I do best.

I poured gasoline.

“You want the truth?” I said, “I still fantasize about throwing Nathan off another cliff,” Her chest rose. “I still dream about peeling Max’s skin off his bones.”

Her eyes sparked, but I wasn’t done.

“And my favorite fantasy…” I smiled, “is when I wrap my fingers around Wyatt’s neck and squeeze until—”

She moved, like a storm, a sound tore from her throat, no, not a scream, but a snarl.

Her arm swung up, the glass arcing through the air, a perfect goddamn weapon, but I saw it coming long before she thought of using it, and I stepped left, as quick as light. That’s when it crashed. The glass exploded against the counter behind me, water sprayed, and shards scattered like confetti.

I grinned. Yay.

She wasn’t done, not even close. Before I could lift my eyes from the glittering wreckage, she lunged, so fast, so unhinged, as she grabbed a shard and slammed me back against the wall.

My spine cracked and the frame behind me rattled. Her fist pinned my chest, and the tip of that glass pressed against the side of my throat, sharp and cold and so fucking sweet.

She didn’t shake, she didn’t blink, and fuck me, I think I’ll add her to the shortlist of people I tolerate in this blood-soaked family, right after Lilly and Maria.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?” she hissed, venom pouring from every syllable.

“Killing me won’t magically make him alive,” I said, “Killing me won’t make your guilt go away,” I added, twisting the knife deeper. She says she blames me for Noah’s death, but deep down, she knows that she blames herself only. I am just the pretty outlet.

She pressed the shard deeper, a tiny bit, but I felt the sting, warm, wet, and red. Ah, to be alive and bleeding.

“He loved you so much, you know,” I offered her a way out of the rage, slamming her right into pain and grief. “Now, I can see why,” I smiled, “Whenever I’d mention you or Wyatt, he’d go batshit crazy on me,” I added, giving her a glimpse, “When I made him choose, you or his biological mother, he chose you without blinking,” I added.

Her grip on me loosened, and I was winning again.

“You were his mother after all, weren’t you?” I added, and that’s when she fully let go of me. Her hand dropped, the glass slipped, and her own palm bled now, too, poetic, really.

Her chest heaved, her eyes still wide, storming, wreaking havoc.

With the damage done and my sadism fully fed, I stepped past her.

“This isn’t over, Nathan,” she spat. The promise of blood in her words, the threat, the warning, it made me smile, my eyelids dropping down for a second.

“Not by a long fucking chance,” I muttered, and then I walked out, happy, high, and breathing again.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Three days later…

Aylin’s POV

The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the city’s noise. I stood there for a second, just breathing, just existing. My carry-on rolled a few lazy inches past my heel before stopping, as if it were as exhausted as I was.

My body didn’t know what day it was anymore, what city, what language to dream in?

This was the fourth time I’d been in Rome in the last ten days. Relentless back-and-forths, layovers that blurred into check-ins, caffeine instead of sleep, and polite fake smiles instead of silence.

I hadn’t had a single minute to be in the past week, no time to catch up on my routine, no time to check messages. No time to think, especially about him, which was good.

I exhaled and dropped my carry-on near the wall. My heels came off first, then I pulled my hair tie out, letting the tension unwind with it, blonde strands tumbling down in waves over my shoulders.

The jacket came off next, it slid from my shoulders and landed across the bed, and that’s when I paused in my steps, that’s when I saw it.

A basket.

Sitting in the center of the table, wrapped in soft chiffon, tied with a red ribbon. Cute, almost too cute.

I frowned because I’d been staying in this hotel all week, in this same room, and not once had they ever left me something, not even a mint on the pillow.

I stepped closer, my brows pulled together. I hovered, staring at the basket like it might attack me. Carefully, I reached out and tugged the ribbon loose, peeling back the fabric as if the thing might explode.

The basket was full, too full. My eyes had to move slowly, absorbing each item like a riddle.

Right at the top, there was a…box of tampons.

I blinked.

My lips parted in genuine confusion.

…Okay?

And then I saw what was tucked beneath it, a smaller parcel, wrapped in soft tissue paper. I pulled it out, unwrapped it carefully to reveal a crimson lace lingerie set, dark, rich red, like sin stitched into silk.

A breath slipped from my mouth, and then, without meaning to, I laughed. My eyelids fell down, and I threw my head back, laughing, the kind I hadn’t heard from my own chest in weeks.

Because, of course, I didn’t even have to read the note. It was him. Only he would mix practical and obscene like that, care with chaos, control with cruelty, and tenderness with threat.

I looked back inside the basket and reached for the next thing, oh dear lord, a silver tin of throat lozenges. A few words were scrawled over the lid in black marker. ‘You earned these, Princess.’

“Oh my god,” I muttered, my cheeks already burning. I could feel my throat pulse in memory of what he’d done to me, of how I let him, of how I didn’t want him to stop.

I shook it off and kept going.

My hand moved, pulling the mini perfume vial, my very own, my favorite, the one I use repeatedly, my scent. God, how did he know the right one? He must’ve hunted it down,  or remembered it, or broken into my apartment. All three were possible with this psycho.

Nestled beside it was a velvet pouch of bobby pins and a silk scrunchie, all similar to ones I use. Right next to them was my favorite lip balm, the one I had to stock up on because I couldn’t find it everywhere.

How did he—

I didn’t finish the thought.

Instead, I took another breath and reached in again, resuming exploring the package. I found a small hand cream, the same brand I keep in every bag of mine. Next to it, a glass jar of dark roast coffee beans, the exact brand I drank on layovers, the bitter kind no one else liked. Next to it, my favorite snack ever, a packet of pistachio biscotti.

These were all little details about me, that I didn’t even notice, so how did he?

My fingers found a small box at the bottom, matte black velvet, smooth and heavy in my palm. I opened it slowly, half expecting it to detonate.

Inside sat a very classy silver bracelet. Simple, delicate, so beautiful but looked way too expensive. Two charms hung from it. One, a tiny metal airplane, no bigger than my fingertip. The other, a miniature moon…the meaning of my name.

My heart gave a tight little twist, something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to.

I stared at it for too long, trying to think, to understand but I kept failing. Finally, I broke the spell and reached for the last item.

It was a single folded page. I picked it up, unfolded it carefully, and read.

“My Princess,

You move like the world’s not watching.
But I am.
Always.
I watch you like a storm watches the sea,
waiting for the moment you slip.

I see the cracks before they splinter.
The softness you hide behind grit.
The little rituals you think go unnoticed,
I notice.
And I hoard them like sins.

I’ve memorized the taste of your lip balm,
Your scattered bobby pins,
The dent your scrunchie leaves in your wrist,
The twitch in your fingers when the caffeine hits.
The sinful sound you make,
when you bite into biscotti,
like you’re mad at the sweetness
for not being my fingers instead.

You think you pass through life unseen.
But I see you.
Ruthlessly.
Reverently.
Like an altar I wasn’t invited to worship at,
so I broke the doors instead.

I want your unraveling.
Your chipped polish.
Your bruised arches.
The heat between your thighs when you pretend not to ache.
I want the sound your throat makes
after I’ve claimed it,
and the quiet you carry
like it didn’t beg for more.

Every piece of you is mine.
And I don’t borrow.
I don’t share.
I take.
And I keep.

I take care of what’s mine.
But I ruin it, too.
I lace it in silk and pin it to the bed.
I whisper into its mouth,
and then fuck the softness out of it
until it forgets how to speak.

You will never be loved with me,
You’ll be devoured.
And still,

You will keep crawling back,
like your ruin was your idea all along.

—Your knight in dark armor.”

I stared at the note for too long after the last lines.

My fingers tightened around the paper before I could stop them. I hated how the lines made something flutter in my chest. Like some broken, betrayed part of me still wanted to be claimed, and devoured, even if the hands doing the claiming were covered in blood and obsession and things I wasn’t allowed to crave.

He didn’t write “love”, he didn’t write “miss you.”

He wrote:

I notice.

I take.

I ruin.

Any sane person would run, right? So, why aren’t I?

My throat burned and I folded the paper slowly, like it might change if I did it gently enough. Then I set it down beside the basket like it might stop vibrating through the room.

God, he was everywhere.

How did he…how did he even know which hotel I’m staying in, which room?

I didn’t know what emotion to reach for first: to laugh, to cry, to scream, or to bolt away and disappear.

Instead, I sat down on the edge of the bed, and watched how the dim light cast a gold shadow over the basket.

I stared at it for a moment too long before a messed-up part of me, the broken, unhinged one, had me getting up, grabbing my phone, going to his name, opening a chat.

I snapped a picture of the basket and typed under it:

Thank you.
for the basket, and the mental breakdown it caused 🙃

The reply came less than a minute later.

Psycho:
I don’t like that word.
also, instead of a dry thank you, I thought you’d send me your pic with the lingerie.

I tried to ignore his words and texted.

Me:
Why aren’t you asleep?

Psycho:
Sleep is for the emotionally stable.

Me:
And what are you?

Psycho:
A handsome disaster with insomnia.
send nudes.

Oh dear god, this man.

Me:
You’re insufferable.

Psycho:
And you’re stalling.
Just admit you tried it on.
stood in front of the mirror.
wondered what I’d say if I saw you in it.

I didn’t do that, but did I think about it? I sure did.

Me:
I didn’t.

Psycho:
liar.
I can feel your blush through the screen,
bet your thighs pressed together too.

Me:
This is harassment.

Psycho:
This is foreplay.

Me:
You need to be arrested.

Psycho:
Only if you’re the one cuffing me.

Me:
I hope you choke.

Psycho:
On your name?
already do.
every fucking night.

I dropped my phone on my lap and stared at the wall for a second. I can’t with him. I really can’t.

I leaned back against the headboard, sighing as I got more comfortable, like this ridiculous little back-and-forth had somehow kicked the tired out of my bones.

Me:
You’re exhausting.

Psycho:
You love it.
Now be a good girl and send me your picture.

I don’t know where I got the courage, or the idiocy, or whatever cracked piece of me decided to play along.

But I opened the front camera and stared at myself, my eyes were still heavy from sleep but full of life for some reason, my cheeks flushed, my hair a bit of a mess, and my shirt a little crooked.

God.

Why did I look like I’d just done something I wasn’t supposed to when I’ve done nothing at all?

Without hesitation, I snapped the photo, no filter, and no retakes, and I hit send.

I waited.

One minute passed.

Two.

Nothing.

The typing bubble came. Then vanished. Then came again. Then vanished again.

I sat there, heart tapping at my ribs like it wanted out, already regretting all of my life choices.

Then finally.

Psycho:
Jesus fucking christ.

Psycho:
you really expect me to survive this?

My lips curled up into a big smile, my heart a bit crazy, and I typed, totally not affected at all.

Me:
Good night, psycho *grey heart*

Another minute passed, then two, then three.

Psycho:
What the hell does a grey heart mean?

Me:
It’s just…a heart
like the others

Psycho:
No it’s not. Hearts are red, and bloody.

Me:
Yours is grey.

Why was I playing with fire? Goddammit.

Psycho:
I’m pretty sure mine bleeds too.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just stared at the screen, biting the inside of my cheek, trying not to feel what those words were doing to me.

A knock echoed from the door, startling me for a second. It was most probably room service with the food I ordered. I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood, barefoot, crossing the carpet with heat I couldn’t name coiled beneath my ribs.

I unlocked the door, it opened, and the world stopped moving.

It wasn’t room service.

It wasn’t my food.

It was Nathan.

Here. In Rome. In my hotel. Outside my room.

Holy crap.

My eyes widened when they fell on him. Leaning against the frame, one shoulder hitched, hazel eyes dragging over me with that signature mix of amusement and hunger that felt like a threat.

His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, and his arms were crossed, muscles flexing beneath a black T-shirt that clung to him like skin.

He looked too good, too dangerous, like the kind of mistake you don’t regret until it’s too late, and even then, you want to make it again.

He straightened up as I froze. A flicker of something dark passed behind his eyes.

“Grey heart, you say, huh?” he murmured, almost amused.

My pulse stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped just close enough that I could smell him, clean, soap, sin, and something expensive.

He leaned closer, “Making it bleed.”

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

For those who think Nathan is like Nikolas, are you still sure? xD
They do have similarities, but they are just so different.

Please do vote, comment, and share your thoughts on these toxic babies 😉

See ya soon 🙂