Lucian’s Reign: A Billionaire Romance
Lucian’s Reign: Chapter 9

“Every villain has a past.

A past so hideous you wonder how he survived it.”

Lucian

Lucian, 7 years old

My bare feet slap against the snow-covered concrete, leaving deep imprints as I run with all my might, the frigid air slipping into my lungs and squeezing them harshly inside my chest.

“You fucking thief!” a man screams behind me. By the heavy thud echoing in the otherwise silent street, I know he follows me, fully intending to punish me for the crime I’ve just committed.

Pressing the torn loaf of bread harder to my chest, I swallow harshly and inhale a deep breath. I speed up, using all the strength I’ve got and focusing on my destination in the distance.

A small opening inside the wall, where his big form won’t fit and he won’t be able to hurt me, leads to an abandoned basement.

Or more importantly take away the food I dared to steal from his store. I haven’t had anything in a week, and nothing could have stopped me from resisting the temptation.

Pain won’t kill me. I’ve experienced it so much through the years, I can attest to this. But hunger will.

Or so all the other homeless people on the street say when they are not busy shushing me away or beating me.

“Stop, you little asshole!” he screams again as the harsh wind hits me on the face, billowing my torn coat back and exposing my bare chest to the cold weather breaking goose bumps on my flesh, which only urges me to add a bit more speed.

My dry throat begs for some water, but I couldn’t find any or snatch it in the store before the manager noticed me, so I had to run with what I got.

I will have to gather some snow in a bowl and let it melt again. The only perks winters have, you never have to look far for liquid.

I almost reach the small opening, ready to crawl inside when a strong hand grabs me by the neck, wrapping tightly around me before spinning me around to face an angry man, his face red from the chase and he shouts, “You little fuck!” He pushes his arm back and delivers a blow to my cheek, slapping me so hard my head snaps to the side and my skin instantly burns. “You think you can steal from me, huh?” A punch this time harder, and my ear starts to ring.

I still the whimper threatening to escape when he throws me, my back connecting with the ground and sending waves of pain through my body. “Little piece of shit.” He kicks me several times in the stomach. I curl into a ball and cover my face with both arms, knowing from previous encounters that the most important thing is to protect my head.

Otherwise, I might become dizzy, and then I’d be lying motionless on the cold ground, catching some sickness or something else.

Medicine is almost impossible to find in the trash, and other people won’t share it, so I have to be very careful.

Breathing through my nose, I imagine the sweetest scent of orchids and roses associated with summer, my favorite season, as the weather is so warm I never have to escape it or try to find clothes to hide from it.

The vision lets me concentrate on something else other than the violent hits the man keeps giving me, and I grit my teeth, withstanding it all.

“Little asshole. Your mother didn’t teach you not to steal?”

Kick. Kick. Kick.

I never met my mother. The only memories I can recall include living on the streets, so whoever she is, she didn’t stick around for long to teach me anything.

“Little fucks like you shouldn’t have even been born.”

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“Never come back to my shop again.”

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Saliva mixed with blood gathers in my mouth, my gag reflex pushing through to the surface, ready to spill out when he finally steps back, stopping his assault.

He rips the bread from my clutches, tugging it harshly because I still grip it hard, and then he shakes it in the air. “This is what you wanted, huh? Well then.” He drops it and then steps his dirty shoes all over it, crunching it in front of me as tears form in my eyes, and everything inside me weeps at the sight of food being so carelessly destroyed while my stomach flips inside me.

The man must have never been hungry in his whole life, or he wouldn’t have behaved like this with the bread.

“Here.” He twists his foot on it one last time. “Try eating this, you piece of shit.” With that, he spins around and walks back toward his shop while I spit on the ground, wipe my mouth, and wince before getting up, groaning in pain.

Waiting a little bit until he disappears from my vision and hopefully won’t be coming back to deliver more blows, I remove my coat and kneel around the crumbs, picking them up placing them on the coat, as many as I can get… even the dirty ones.

Once they are tucked inside, I move slowly to the opening before slipping inside, detesting the pain traveling through my body so much it seems it’s everywhere, adding to the previous bruises acquired after a certain band on the streets noticed how I snuck a potato from them.

They beat me up, shoved the potato in my mouth, and then made me eat it raw as they kicked me hard in the stomach, enjoying their actions.

I withstood it though.

Because no matter what, I need to survive.

Survive until I can beat them.

One day, I don’t know how I will do it, but I will become so strong… so strong no one will hurt me again.

And I’ll destroy every single person who has ever hurt me, because I’ve memorized their faces in my brain.

“Javier?” a voice calls, pulling me from my thoughts, and I crawl quicker, reaching the place and hop down from the opening. “Is it you?”

“Yes,” I reply, mustering a smile for Andreas who lies on the cardboard in the right corner, his washed-out jacket thrown over him as he probably tried to sleep after his unsuccessful hunt for food.

We take turns; every week belongs to someone else so we can rest from our trips that entails violence one way or the other.

Even when you search for food in trash cans, which proves to be more challenging in winter, it all depends on the location and who claims the territory.

They all tend to gather in groups, and somehow none of them accepted us, finding us a liability.

We met several months ago and decided to stick together to help each other out and have company because it gets lonely.

Andreas sits up, pressing his back to the wall and grimaces as he notices blood dripping down my chin. “Does it hurt?” Fear crosses his face, and he wraps his jacket tighter around him.

We are both very skinny to the point of our bones sticking out in various places, but Andreas seems somehow weaker compared to me. He doesn’t have good enough stamina to run fast, and he scares easily, never taking risks in order to get us food. Not to mention his health—he has a cough or fever every week or so, which once again makes him unable to hunt.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him, grinning wider even though it hurts my mouth, and then come closer, putting my coat between us and dropping to the cardboard next to him. “This is all we got, but it should keep us going for one more day. I’ll check the trash bins a few blocks away. We always find some spoiled food there.” The trash cans are located near the restaurants, so they are full of uneaten food. I hesitate to go around there after last time when a waiter spotted me. Although he never said a thing, I didn’t want to take unnecessary risks.

Andreas glances at the smeared-in-dirt breadcrumbs, puts a few on his palm, and eats them up while I do the same.

Instantly my stomach does a sucking motion inside me, welcoming the food it has been denied for so long. “It should be my turn to go,” Andreas says, finishing his crumbs.

I shake my head, taking a few more crumbs before putting the rest in a small box we have and storing it for later.

I throw my coat over my shoulders, shifting closer to Andreas so we can share some warmth. “You need to rest. Besides, it’s far away, and you’ll have to run a lot. You know you can’t do it.”

He scrunches his nose, clearly hating my statement, but it’s the truth. If the streets have taught me anything, it’s that only the strongest one survives, and all things need to be carefully thought out.

Strategy is the word for it, I think.

“You probably wonder why you even have a friend like me.” My brows furrow at this, and I glance at him, noticing something in his eyes that I can’t name. “I bring more trouble to you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues to talk. “You have to share food with me. You’d be better on your own.”

Despite everything, a laugh erupts from my throat, and I hiss at the sudden pain zipping through me. “Nonsense. You’re my best friend. My only friend,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder, and hopefully he hears the truth ringing in my statement.

He’s stayed by my side compared to everyone else in this world, tended to my wounds and even told me interesting stories to momentarily make me happy.

True friends show you exceptional loyalty no matter what, and this is what Andreas has given me, so I’ll cherish this bond for the rest of our lives.

He might be weaker, but his strength lies in his desire to live no matter what.

We will achieve a lot if only we can survive until we can beat them.

“You are my only friend too, Javier.” He waits a bit before licking his lips and exhaling heavily. “I don’t think you should go tomorrow.”

“We won’t survive on crumbs for long, amigo.” Maybe he has another fever?

I place the back of my hand on his forehead, but he slaps it away. “I heard something yesterday.”

Adjusting the coat better on me, I extend my legs, wiggling my toes to warm them up a little before grabbing the nearby blanket, our most treasured possession.

We found it in here and have used it ever since after we return from the hunt, only together because it’s big and fluffy, keeping us warm for a long time.

Placing it over us both, I say, “What?”

“Dylan mentioned a man who gives away food to kids like us.”

My hackles rise at that bastard’s name on his lips, and familiar rage sinks into my veins.

Dylan belongs to a group of boys who hang out in the rich part of the town, always having food and good things since these people apparently throw away even unused shit. Due to the fact he and his three friends are bulky and muscled, probably eating all that food pays off, they scare away anyone else from that territory. Plus they are fourteen, so trying to fight them always proves to be a lost cause.

“Where did you see him?” Although we’ve met him once, it was a very memorable encounter.

His goons held us up by our feet, swinging us from side to side so all the food we managed to find that day dropped on the ground, and they showed us with their fists that we better never breathe in their vicinity again.

Ever since, I’ve avoided them like the plague because although I hate him, he has power right now.

And who holds the power sets the rules; that’s why someday I will have it too.

So all these fuckers can choke on their damned rules when I make them pay one by one.

I rein in the darkness creeping into me, calling my name, and urging me to explore the weird needs slamming into me more frequently lately.

Especially when someone harms me over and over again… and some weapon like a rock or knife lies beside me, almost whispering to me to wrap my palm around it and hurt the enemy so much their blood will spill for everyone to see.

As if a permanent madness chases me, longing to sink into me and never let go, giving me freedom to explore my desires.

Such thoughts scare me most days, and I always block them away, storing them in the back of my mind, and promise to never ever think about them longer than a minute.

Because I think if I allow myself that… I might engage in things that have hideous and deadly consequences.

“They were strolling through the main street when I tried finding water, but don’t worry. They didn’t see me. But their voices were so loud, it was hard not to listen to their conversation.” Andreas’s explanation snaps me back to the present, and I welcome the reprieve from the gory images playing in my head. “Anyway. This man lives in a fancy neighborhood on the outskirts. All he wants is to talk to kids. After that, they leave with their bags full of groceries. One of the boys even got chocolate.” Pleasure flashes in his face, and his voice becomes dreamy. His sigh billows his bangs up. “He asked Dylan to spread the information around, and for it, he gives him money.” A beat passes. “I think we should go there.”

Uneasiness rushes through me, alerting me to the danger lurking right around the corner, and the instinct that’s saved me so many times so far almost screams that this story has more layers than it seems.

A man who easily gives away food.

Why?

In all my life, I’ve never encountered nice men or women. They either walk away quickly, forbidding their kids to come near us or punish us for just wanting to eat.

Yet this man apparently doesn’t mind it? Talk to kids?

Why does a grown-up need to talk to kids anyway?

Plus the whole Dylan connection.

I open my mouth to refuse, but then my stomach growls loudly, accompanied by the same sounds emitting from Andreas’s, and he winces a little when he cradles his arm—the one the guys twisted the last time.

My bruised body weeps just at the idea of facing another beating or going hungry for weeks, feeding only on crumbs if we’re lucky.

We have no food here, winter just started, and our prospects become less than stellar with each hunt.

Would it be so bad to go check that place out?

A bag of groceries would last us months. Months!

We might sit here the whole winter and not have to face the cold, harsh reality where everyone hates our guts and screams at us that we are just a stain on this society and our mothers should have known better before birthing us.

Survive.

Survive until I can beat them.

But how can I beat them if I die of hunger?

So I nod and say, “Okay,” which immediately brings a smile to Andreas’s face, and he rests his head on my shoulder, content to stay like that as we both think about the future.

Destiny.

One word I always heard about but never understood what it meant until one of the guys standing by the fire explained it to me.

It’s when certain events are predetermined for you, and no matter what you do, it will happen.

You might cry, resist, scream, but the outcome will be the same.

Because it was written before we were even born.

Destiny has been cruel to me from the minute I took my first breath, for it denied me my parents and any human rights.

Life certainly couldn’t get worse.

Or so I thought anyway.

Until I ended up in a nightmare in which my hunger, coldness, and pain paled in comparison.

La vida es cruel.

Life is cruel.

And destiny showed me how much.

Esmeralda

Hot water cascades over me as I stand under the shower spray, scrubbing my skin until it aches, wishing to wash away all Lucian’s touches that still send revulsion through me.

Thousands of thoughts swirl in my mind, one more depressing than the next, while my future looks grimmer by the second chained to a monster who hunts at night and sinks his claws in any face who inspires the darkness in him.

I might not know much, but judging by the news, serial killers have a type, a signature style so to speak, and never divert from it, which the photos still lying on the floor prove.

All the victims are men, so that’s who he hunts. Maybe they remind him of his father and his addiction? The psycho in him awakens to kill them so they won’t do other harmful stuff?

His scars come to my mind, and my sponge falls on the tile as I wash away the soap and turn the water off.

They speak about abuse and pain he must have experienced in the past. Could it be possible that Ricardo and Harold were so blinded by their love and devotion toward the Cortez family that they failed to see the hideous crimes happening right under their nose?

Is this why they support him now?

The guilt eats them alive so they pretend he’s normal, because otherwise they would have to face the truth that is too painful to withstand?

Grabbing a towel and drying myself off, I let the water drip on the floor from my hair before putting on a fluffy new robe. Just the idea of wearing anything that has his scent makes me sick.

I quickly rush to the room, pushing the chair closer to the desk and flip one of the books open, scanning through the table of contents, hoping to find something on the subject that might help me escape this madness.

Knowledge is power, and I need all the power in the world in order to win this twisted game of his.

He hasn’t displayed a short temper so far, which means he controls whatever it is that urges him to kill and doesn’t need to attack everyone.

This gives me an advantage, to think about a strategy to find a way before this wedding. Even if I pretend to go through with it, surely there will be people in the church he doesn’t know, right?

Or even the courthouse.

The evidence still lies inside my dress, so to believe my truth will be easier.

The more I think about it, the more the idea about the whole marriage seems appealing to me because it would allow me to leave his mansion, and a hunter is helpless outside his territory.

Focusing back on the book, I’m about to read how to study a serial killer’s character through his victims and weapons when the lock twists and Harold enters, holding a silver tray.

Closing the book, I press it to my chest while warily watching him, and he smiles at me. But under my cold stare, his smile vanishes.

Clearing his throat, he speaks up. “Lucian wanted to make sure your feet do not hurt.” I glance at my bruised feet that have several scrapes and blisters from all the running. They pinched in the shower, but the pain barely amounted to anything compared to the inferno burning in my soul and shattered heart. “I brought ointment and bandages. A pain pill too.” He lifts them up one by one from the tray as if trying to reassure me he doesn’t have a hidden weapon there.

He comes closer, and I press my feet to the floor despite the ache, sliding the chair slightly back and regret fills his eyes when he places the tray on the desk. “There are also socks you can put on so they will heal better.” He clenches his fists, and I stay silent. “The wedding dresses should arrive soon. We didn’t know what you might like so we ordered around ten. Hopefully one of them will be to your liking.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me at the last sentence and a chuckle slips past my lips, stilling him while his brows furrow, creating a deep wrinkle between them. “Because a wedding dress is my main priority right now?”

The man might be old, but he couldn’t be this delusional and think I would accept all this shit like they do?

And why does Lucian want to put me in a dress anyway? Or does he crave an illusion of a willing bride who loves the monster within him and chooses to spend her whole life with him?

Harold speaks up again, ignoring my sarcasm. “Ricardo was wondering if maybe you are hungry and would like for him to cook something?” A beat and then, “Whatever your heart desires.”

Snatching the ointment, I flick it open and apply it to my sore skin, welcoming the cooling sensation blanketing the pain. “My heart desires freedom from Lucian. I want to go home and put him behind bars.” Harold pales a little, tugging on his cravat. “If you and Ricardo can help with that, I’ll be very happy.” Throwing the tube on the desk, I rip open the bandage and stick it to my heel. “Otherwise you know where the door is.” Only my mother’s words drilled into me from an early age about respecting our elders stops me from shouting at him or letting my temper flare.

He continues to stand though, glued to the spot, and I sigh heavily. “Harold, I understand your devotion to this family. Truly I do. Loyalty means everything, and you don’t have to be on my side.” Life proved a long time ago I can protect myself if necessary. “But please don’t expect me to participate in all this with a smile on my face.”

He swallows. “Lucian has many layers.” Is this what we call killing people now? Having layers? “He has a heart, though, under all this darkness, and he will be very loyal to any woman he marries. Loyalty is in their blood.”

Okay.

There goes my respect.

“He’s a murderer.” The air hitches in his throat as I no longer give him an opportunity to run away from the freaking truth. “He uses blackmail to marry me. A man who does all this—” I stand up, wincing a little at the stab of pain in my feet, and point at the picture. “—cannot have a heart. Because having a heart implies compassion, love, goodness. Things he is incapable of.”

“Goodness and evilness lay in the eye of a beholder,” he says, kneeling down and gathering all the photos before getting up. “Every story has a past, a beginning. Maybe if you asked him…” He trails off, hope dancing on the edges of his tone, but it dies quickly when I shake my head.

“I don’t care.” Even to my own ears it sounds like a lie, and I hate myself for this weakness within me that still wonders about his scars and what kind of past led him to these choices, despite having all the riches in the world.

My heart, the idiotic heart that holds affection for the man who no longer exists, wishes to uncover the secrets that have seemed hidden in his gaze that shines a light on the man he has become but also on the monster he is.

And part of me, the one that noticed his lack of rough treatment, is scared I might excuse all these deeds too if the story moves me.

Then I’ll become one of the statistics, a woman who knew about her man and puts her selfish desires above the life of other people.

“I’m an obsession, and we both know it.” He casts his eyes down at my words, and even though they pain me, they showcase our courtship in true glory.

A hunter spotted his prey and wanted to possess her.

However, obsessions have a very limited lifespan, and what happens then?

When will his obsession no longer serve as a shield between me and his sadistic inclinations?

I have experienced firsthand what serial killers do when nothing goes according to their plans, and I refuse to live through such a nightmare again.

I will not stay long enough to find out anyway.

“For some, their obsessions are sacred,” Harold says, walking toward the door and resting his palm on the knob. “Especially for a man who never knew love.” With these parting words, he disappears behind the closing door.

My eyes land on the ointment and bandages that somehow also show that he does care for my pain, at least physical, while Harold’s words play in my mind.

Goodness and evil lay in the eye of the beholder.

But how could killing someone lie in the eye of a beholder?

Lucian

A knock echoes as I pour whiskey into my glass, and I call out, “Come in.”

“Lucian.” A dark-haired man enters as he adjusts his thick glasses on his nose, his cassock flapping in different directions when he takes long strides to come closer to me. A heavy cross dangles from his neck, swinging from side to side, while a Bible is pressed to his chest. He huffs in exasperation. “Harold called me. It seemed like the world was on fire or something.” He gulps for air and rubs his forehead. “He really scared me.”

“Paul,” I say, snatching a bottle of water and throwing it his way, which he catches easily.

Flicking the lid open, he takes a sip and frowns. “Father Paul.” He corrects me and then glares when I only chuckle, finding the idea hilarious calling a boy I used to hang out with in the mansion when his mother cleaned our house by anything but his given name. “I took an oath, you know.”

“Congratulations on that.” I pick up my glass and walk to my chair, dropping onto it and motioning for him to sit down. “You’re still the boy with whom I guzzled tequila until we turned blue, and Harold busted us, hosing us from head to toe in freezing water.” I clack my tongue. “Fun times.”

The man wouldn’t shut up for a week about how stupid and irresponsible we were for even engaging in such risky activities.

And Harold didn’t appreciate me telling him that if he paid as much attention to my father and his risky activities, maybe he wouldn’t have turned into a drunk who couldn’t stand on his own feet most weekends.

Needless to say, Paul’s mother ripped him a new one, but it didn’t stop us from continuing our friendship despite our social differences.

Or views, because the whole church thing inspires nothing but cynicism in me, all the talk about divine interventions and how if only we believe, things would change.

Yeah, right.

My childhood can attest to the fact that just having belief is never enough.

A ghost of a smile appears on Paul’s face before he schools his features again; priests probably shouldn’t think about their pleasurable pasts. Would that be considered a sin, I wonder?

Ah, the life of a saint must be so difficult. I prefer to be a sinner.

“What’s going on?” he asks, settling on the leather cushion and sipping some more of his water before placing it on the desk. “Is someone dying?”

My laughter echoes around the room and I tilt my glass a little. “Why would you think that?”

“You urgently summon me, and let’s not forget the staff here is ancient.” Well, he has a point there. Besides a few maids I hired to clean the house and security, almost everyone used to work for my grandfather. None of them want to leave though, and I have enough money to pay them until they die. “So I repeat. Qué está pasando, amigo?”

“Me voy a casar.”

Paul blinks, his gray eyes widening while the book drops to his lap. “You’re getting married?” he asks, and at my nod, a laugh escapes his throat while he claps a few times. “De verdad?”

“Sí. The bride is getting ready upstairs as we speak.”

“I cannot believe this. A man who said he would never, ever do it. I’m so happy to hear that, Lucian!” He raises up on his seat, ready to come to me and hug me. Despite my opinion on the matter, he loves these fucking hugs, but I do not welcome anyone’s hands on my body but Esmeralda’s.

He falls back on his ass when I tell him, “I’m blackmailing her, and she calls me a monster. Right about now I think she’s trying to come up with a plan to use this wedding to her advantage and escape my clutches.”

The fire shines brightly within my woman. The girl who saved herself once will not let anyone else harm her, so her survival skills will use any opportunity to run away.

Ah, that might be quite interesting, and while she will never be my victim, for the first time someone will display bravery instead of begging me for their life.

I finally dug deep enough to find the classified information of the police report regarding a homicide eleven years ago and just finished reading it before Paul’s arrival.

According to the autopsy, the killer had been extra cruel and done everything imaginable to the victim sans rape. He even tortured the body days after she died as if his anger was so strong he couldn’t control it. Such a violent crime made even the bravest of police officers sick.

Suzanne must have used all her connections in the upper levels to hide this information from the press. In a way, protecting Esmeralda. Because the minute fame knocked on her door, this would have been circling around all the time.

The strangest part though?

The older sister was nowhere to be found. And connecting all the dots with the fact that Esme must have been in the house during all this shit makes only one logical conclusion.

The serial killer committed an emotional crime, punishing their mother for a rejection and wanting to eliminate Esme as well because she represented a danger to what he loved and valued the most.

Evangeline.

Judging by all the wounds and angry slashes on the victim’s body, I know for a fact she was his first. Their mother snapped something inside him, which opened up a flood gate he couldn’t stop and that started to drive him crazy.

He thrived in it, but he couldn’t control it, which probably resulted in erratic killings.

And his sick mind believed it was Esmeralda’s fault because, according to him, her death would mean an end to the madness.

The more information I gather, the more I start to wonder if maybe I’ve been mistaken.

The man who wants to rebuild James’s legacy and the man who hunts Esmeralda… cannot be one man.

The former needs a calculative mind, twisted desires, and business skills.

The later has hectic actions, a need to kill, lack of concentration, and the skills to face me.

However, Francis and Jeremy were informed about a woman and delivered this information to me.

So these two psychos must know each other in order to share such vital details from the past.

An alliance built on a mutual agreement to get what they want?

One gets my downfall, while the other… his missing piece?

Motherfucker.

A divisive, strategic plan to divert my attention to someone else, while he continues to build his underground kingdom, thinking I’ll fail to stop him in time.

What a better way to get rid of the hunter?

Cause him to stray from the right path and send him into the unknown.

“Lucian.” Paul’s voice pulls me back to the present, and I detect shock lacing his voice. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

My lips twitch in amusement. “I thought priests didn’t swear.”

“They do when their best friend holds a woman captive!” He slaps his splayed hand on the desk. “I will not officiate a wedding with an unwilling bride!” He gets ups, anger flashing on his face as he shakes the Bible in his hand. “I took an oath, and it might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. This is wrong.”

Before he makes a single step toward the door ready so storm off upstairs—Paul never gave a fuck about my temper or the things I engage in at night, because he knows well who dies by my hand, but he draws a line at innocent people—I speak up. “If I do not marry her, someone will find another way to punish her. And I will not risk her safety for your fucking moral code.”

He blinks several times, musing on my words and then sits back on his seat for the third time. “Explain it to me.” My brow rises at the command in his tone, and he huffs in exasperation. “You’re asking me to go against everything I believe. I will not do so blindly.”

“Our friendship lacks trust, I see,” I say mockingly and finish my glass before putting it on the desk. “My heart is broken.”

“If I didn’t trust you, I would have gone to the cops fifteen years ago.”

Right.

After he found me in the basement, my hands smeared in blood, and the body inside a trash bag.

Paul must have already anticipated his calling to serve God and his children, because instead of running scared, he stayed and listened to my reasons.

To this day, his action astonishes me, and maybe that’s why he will forever have my loyalty. He is one of the few people who actually has had my back through thick and thin.

“A killer who wants her will thrive on her pain. Marrying me right now is one of her greatest nightmares. He has to see the punishment and not come up with another before I catch him.”

He ponders my explanation for a few seconds. “She doesn’t know someone is after her.” I shake my head. “Why won’t you tell her the truth?”

“She knows I kill people.” He sighs heavily, running his fingers through his hair, clearly seeing how this complicates things right now. “Besides, her grief and resistance must be real since he watches her carefully.” Fury slides through my veins, slipping into every shattered crack of my soul and urging me to locate these two fuckers quicker so my woman can sleep peacefully at night. “And then I will use his weapon against him.”

Paul grows quiet again, resting his head on the chair’s back while closing his eyes, which is a sign of him placing the information in blocks inside his head to make a decision.

Harold choses this time to come in. “The dress lady is here along with a makeup artist. We need around an hour to get ready. The garden is almost done. I took the liberty to invite a photographer.” Leave it to Harold to think my bride wouldn’t mind snapping a few pictures on this day. She’s more likely to spit in my face rather than stand still long enough for a flash to go off. “Since your room is occupied by the bride, I put your suit in the guest room. According to tradition, you’re not supposed to see her before the ceremony.” Paul chuckles at this, and I join him, our collective laughter filling the air while Harold gives us the stink eye. “I don’t see what you both find funny about this.”

“I think we broke the tradition when I blackmailed her.”

Paul barks a laugh again and then winces when Harold smacks him in the back of the head. “Watch it, boys. You’re both not too old to get hosed down again.” With this, he takes off, muttering something under his breath.

“The scary part is that he actually means it,” Paul says, and then all amusement is gone from his gaze as he focuses on me. “Do you love her, Lucian?”

Everything inside me freezes at his question as my woman comes to mind, and the good-for-nothing heart in my chest thuds loudly as if truly beating when she’s around.

Her laugher.

Her beauty.

Her weird quirks that I somehow find adorable, even though I didn’t even know the meaning of the word until she came into my life. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Esmeralda has become a necessity, a ray of light in my darkness, a calmness to the monster raging inside me, and an obsession to the man who never had anything to call his own and craves her to the point of insanity.

Madness for her consumes me. I desire to own her body and soul. I want every man who comes close to her to know who she belongs to.

I need her wearing my ring on her finger and have my family name attached to her so wherever she goes, whatever she does, everyone knows that Lucian Cortez owns her.

And if they dare to touch, hurt, cross her… they will have to deal with me.

My darkness should swirl around her as a warning to anyone, but it should never glide over her or sink its claws in because she doesn’t belong in my hell.

An angel fell from the sky, and my twisted web trapped her, yet she has kept all her good qualities, refusing to succumb to the lesser emotions.

Barbaric, such barbaric, thoughts, yet the possessiveness spreads deeper and deeper into my psyche, polluting my mind and blood with its intensity, where only one word remains that’s a synonym to her name for me.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Being around her almost makes me believe I could live a normal life, where the past would not pierce into my present and future. Where there is more to life than just never-ending revenge.

More than pain, more than memories or the agony.

Almost, because it’s an impossible dream for those who have lived in darkness their whole life and are smeared in it so much even love will not cure them.

Love.

Such a simple word, but I never understood the meaning of it.

And right now, compared to the fire burning brightly inside my soul just from fear, it seems like such a small word to describe it.

“Ella es mía.” I finally give the only appropriate answer to Paul.

And she will stay mine until both of us die.

Hopefully later rather than sooner though.

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing, amigo, because relationships built on force and lies do not last long,” Paul warns me and reaches for the bottle of water. “I’ll do it.”

Relationships do not last long when a man fails to protect his woman, but I decide not to share this little tidbit with him.

We are in the middle of a war right now, and I can’t be gentle with my gatita.

A smile curves my mouth, and I wink at Paul who only shakes his head at me. “You owe me big.” A beat passes, and he adds, “We laid the foundation for the church.” Right after he got his title, he decided to rebuild an old church that burned to the ground around thirty years ago. “But we still need finances for the roof and other things.”

“Didn’t I pay for it last time?”

“You paid for the foundation.”

“Ah, yes. Just call my accountant, and it’s done.”

Yeah, I can always count on Paul.

He would never betray me.

And after I marry my woman, I will have one more person in my corner who always has my back.

Because Esmeralda might not admit it, but she loves me and will never do anything that might endanger me.

No matter how revolting her mind finds that idea.

Esmeralda

“Oh my God,” Jaqueline, the woman who brought the wedding dresses to me and stayed in order to check which one fits me better, exclaims as she steps back from me. “This one is perfect.” She adjusts the huge, full-length mirror Harold dragged in here when she complained the bride would have nowhere to look at herself. “Ta-da!” she shouts, clapping her hands together after I spin around and finally study my reflection, momentarily struck speechless by the vision in white I make.

The A-line, off-the-shoulder wedding dress with a deep V-neck hugs my body tightly, showcasing my breasts and creating a deep curve sliding to my waist and flaring to my hips. The chiffon-silky skirt falls to the floor; however, on one side it has a long slit, trailing from the middle of my thigh to my foot, giving me plenty of room for movement. Tiny crystals catch the sun streaming through the windows and shimmer under it as they draw attention to how the dress complements my paint-stained skin.

Jaqueline removes the pins from my hair, letting it cascade down my back in heavy waves, adding vivid color to this composition.

Someone clears their throat, and I glance to the side at the makeup artist, Felicia, who crosses her arms. “With a little makeup you’ll look gorgeous.” She taps on her suitcase. “It does wonders.”

“No thank you,” I reply, and even Jacqueline glares at her. After a loud huff, she walks away shutting the door so hard it rattles.

Why they even invited her is beyond me. I’ve never put on makeup in my life and surely don’t intend to start now.

My skin already bears so much paint on it, it doesn’t need me adding to its suffering.

“Look at these sapphire eyes. They can be your something blue.” She winks and then picks up a shoebox from the bed. “Lucian requested these in a special color, and although I’m surprised, I understand the reason now.” She takes out lilac stilettos and puts them on the floor. “It gives such a nice balance to your whole bride image.”

I slip into my shoes, which give the entire ensemble an even more artistic look because the dress is far from ordinary. My heart pangs painfully at how Lucian thought about every single detail to create the illusion of a perfect wedding—where even the dress matches my soul.

I’d spent two hours studying various chapters on serial killer psychology before Jaqueline came. There was an especially specific one that made me question if all my behavior wasn’t rushed, and maybe I should have listened to Lucian before making judgment on whatever he does.

Considering his scars… and cryptic past… is it possible all these men deserved to die because they inflicted torture on those surrounding them, and there was no way to stop them but to kill them?

Just the idea scares me, that I can justify murder, but then my past plays in front of my eyes.

How the monster came at night, storming into our house and calling my mom’s name.

How she frowned in confusion as she walked down the stairs and told me to stay in her room.

How she screamed for me to run and then raced to my room, giving me time to escape from him and then her endless cries while he laughed, laughed, and laughed some more until she stopped making any sounds.

What if Lucian kills people like that monster who ruined my life and occupies my nightmares?

My fingers rub over the hickey he gave me on my neck last night, my soft skin contrasting so much with his rugged texture. His embrace was so tight around me while he whispered all these illicit things in my ear.

This would certainly put a different spin on this situation, never making it okay because we have no right to take away someone’s life. We have the law and a justice system in place for this reason. We can’t be the judges who decide who gets to live or die.

However, this I can understand, see from his perspective, and maybe discover that the monster is not as scary as I think, and nothing like the one from the past.

They say psychopaths are excellent manipulators, but the way he held me last night—as if he never wanted to let me go—he wouldn’t be able to pretend that, and even now I’m unharmed.

Would a serial killer behave like this with his true prey?

Pushing away hysterics and pain and leaving only rational thinking and hope, I might discover things I never expected.

“We just need to put the veil on and… Esmeralda!” she shouts when I fist the chiffon in my hand, raise my skirt up, and dash toward the door, too impatient to wait until this ceremony to clear all my doubts and maybe start this marriage on the right footing.

I can live with a sort of vigilante who has some warped moral code, which has been shaped by his environment, letting the victims of such people sleep peacefully at night. His obsession with me will probably suffocate me sometimes while his control makes us fight, but his possessiveness and protectiveness calm any fears I might have.

I cannot live with a serial killer though who kills people for fun.

And how I proceed from now on depends on the answer Lucian gives me.

Flying through the door, I almost bump into a surprised Harold and pass by him as he calls, “Miss!”

Ignoring him, I run to the stairs while my heels click loudly on the marble. I halt when I see the man standing by the bottom step, his back to me.

Sensing my presence or hearing me, he slowly turns around and the air sticks in my throat when all his charming handsomeness comes into view.

He wears a three-piece suit that emphasizes every rigid muscle and those wide shoulders, which would carry the weight of the world if you let them.

His brown orbs glow as he sweeps his gaze over me, my skin prickling at the invisible caress he awards me, and then heat scorches them, promising me all kind of bliss. I just need to ask for it.

However, ownership fills them too, and he says, “Eres hermosa, gatita.”

You’re beautiful, kitten.

A dashing villain in shining armor who stole the princess from princes and knights alike.

A raspy breath slips past my lips, and I slowly walk down the stairs, minding my dress, as his eyes roam over me, drinking in my every feature, but he frowns at my exposed leg in the slit.

Finally I reach the last step and stand there, and still he manages to tower over me, his dominance shrinking this house—where everything that surrounds me has him in it. “Running away, gatita?” he asks and then catches a lock of my hair between his fingers, tugging on it a little. “I’m afraid this time around, I’m blocking the exit.”

“Why do you kill all those people?” He stills, his body growing tense while the air around us electrifies, and his entire demeanor changes from playful to aloof. “Did they deserve it?” Licking my dry lips, I desperately try to control my rapidly beating heart that squeezes so hard, expecting his answer, because no matter what transpired between us earlier, it still has a hope.

A hope that should have been the first sign to me that I started falling in love with him.

“Have they done such hideous crimes that the only choice was to punish them in the ways you did in those pictures?”

The silence stretches between us as emotions play on his face. They change so quickly I cannot name any of them, and then he cups my cheek, brushing his thumb over my skin and temporarily soothing the chaos seething inside me. “Once upon a time there was a princess who fell in love with a villain,” he says, gliding his hand around my neck, pulling me closer to him until our chests bump against each other and our lips connect for a second before we share a breath. “The villain corrupted her mind so much she started to believe goodness resided in his soul.” He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. “Gatita, darkness possesses my heart. Not every villain was a hero once. Some of us are destined for hell, thriving among the chaos.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” I whisper, clenching his vest in my hand while silently pleading him to give me something to hold on to. To accept the olive branch I’m extending to him and open up about this madness that’s his life, and the whole wedding charade.

To give me one reason to believe in him and that what we had wasn’t just a fantasy created by a psycho.

He squeezes my nape and then drops his hand by his side, rocking back a little and leaving emptiness with his retreat that sinks me into an even bigger coldness than before. “I murder whoever I see fit.” Ice coats his voice while anger laces his tone; clearly, thinking about his victims doesn’t bring out the best in him. “I’m a villain who does not need redemption.” Our gazes clash. “That’s your answer, Esmeralda.”

A single tear slides down my cheek while my heart shatters inside my chest like the rarest porcelain, the thousand sharp pieces bruising every organ in my body as the hope I harbored disappears too. “Thank you,” I whisper, and he raises his hand to wipe away my tear, but I take a step back, avoiding his touch. “Now I can hate the villain without any doubts.” His hand hanging between us fists while he grits his teeth, and I do my best to ignore the pain enveloping me because the wedding is about to begin.

And I have to concentrate on my escape.

The fairytale has come to an end.

Heavy footsteps echo in the space, and Jacqueline breaks the silence settling upon us. “A bride needs a veil.” She breathes heavily as she runs down the stairs and then stands in front of me.

She puts it on my head, clips it with a few pins before throwing it over my face, covering me from prying gazes as another tear falls. “Now it’s complete.” She turns to Lucian. “My job here is done. I’ll send you an invoice.” With this she blows me a kiss and then jogs to the door and disappears behind it.

He extends his open palm. “Let’s go get married, gatita,” he says softly.

Ignoring his outstretched hand, I walk past him, heading to the door, already expecting the car that will take us to the church or courthouse to be waiting there.

Thank God I slipped my credit card and ID inside the pocket when Jaqueline wasn’t looking.

Bursting through the door, I stop abruptly when I see a flower-covered wedding arch standing several feet away where a priest stands, flipping through the Bible as he adjusts his glasses.

He raises his gaze, spots us, and straightens up, closing the book.

Another man walks around the property, snapping a few pics here and there, and it doesn’t escape my notice how they choose the prettiest part of the garden where rose bushes and orchid are in the background.

No.

No. No. No.

He plans to have the wedding here?

Although I should have seen it coming, right?

Why would he give me an opportunity to escape or even talk to other people when he needed me trapped?

His nature is ruthless toward anyone standing in his way; that’s how people describe his character in business.

“Checkmate, darling,” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“Those who announce their victory too fast tend to be disappointed,” I tell him and then march to the priest who watches me with a curious expression. The closer I move toward him, the more I’m convinced he just might be the one who can take me away from the corner I’ve been put in.

Despite being hidden by thick glasses, his eyes are kind as he smiles gently at me, and then he glares a little at Lucian, which hints at his displeasure at this situation.

If there is a crack in someone’s resolve I will use it to my advantage.

Besides, this wedding would be easy to annul.

The photographer mutters, “Oh shit,” and runs to us, snapping more pics and then says, “Hello. Would you like to a have photo before the wedding?”

I’d laugh if the situation wasn’t so tragic.

“No,” I say, and his brows rise, but he nods, stepping away. “Can we start the ceremony now?”

Lucian chuckles. “Eager, are we?”

I shrug, stepping closer to the priest who opens the Bible and once again his gaze lingers on me.

Oh yeah.

Definitely traces of guilt in there.

“No point in prolonging the inevitable, right?” Besides, acting like a willing bride will fool him enough to loosen his guard.

“Paul, let’s start.”

He nods, but then his brows furrow. “I think we need a second.” He motions with his chin behind us. “The old folks have a hard time catching up.”

Half turning, I see Harold and Ricardo racing to us, the former waving a small bouquet in his hand. They both have changed into black suits and even combed their hair differently.

My God, they do consider this wedding real, and they want to be part of it.

Apparently, even if your boy is a killer, you still wanna watch him get hitched.

“Miss, here.” Harold practically shoves the bouquet at me, and I wrap my hand around it. “Would you take a picture, please?” He addresses the photographer and then stands closer to me while Ricardo does the same on the other side. “We welcome a new señora today.” Happiness laces his tone, and by how excitement flashes on his face, I don’t have it me to tell them no.

At least someone will have a good memory of today.

So, plastering on a smile, I let the photographer click a few photos before Lucian grabs my elbow and growls “Enough” and drags me to stand back in front of Paul. “Comencemos.”

At his command to start, everyone springs into action. Harold and Ricardo stand behind us, the photographer adjusts the camera lens, and Paul clears his throat, rolling his shoulders back.

“Dearly beloved…”

The wind whooshes over us, rustling over my skirt. The birds chirp loudly as the sun begins to set on the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow on us all. Nature herself mocks us by giving us a picture-perfect wedding that’s nothing but a farce.

I think how all of this could have been different if several minutes ago, he’d just answered differently.

That a villain can have a heart, and his crimes are not driven by hate but by something else.

I would have hugged him close, urged him to tell me about his past so we could share each other’s pain, and start a new life together.

I’d be the happy bride marrying the villain who might not be perfect, but he was mine.

Why couldn’t he say yes?

Paul clears his throat again, and I realize I’ve zoned out and allowed the ceremony to pass in a blur. Both men look at me expectantly.

“I do,” I whisper, guessing what they all needed to hear.

The minute the words slip past my lips, a collective exhale comes from behind me. They held their breath it seems, expecting my answer, and Lucian shifts me to face him.

His arm wraps around my waist, bringing us impossibly close, even though I try to push him away, and then he removes my veil, hooking it on the top of my head. His brown orbs glisten in satisfaction while mine still have traces of tears in them. “I pronounce you husband and wife,” Paul says and then hesitates a little before continuing. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Lucian leans toward me, and I hiss, “Don’t you da—” He swallows my protest with his mouth, giving me a hard, short kiss. “—re.” I finish on an angry huff when he separates our lips.

“Bienvenida a mi vida, mi amor.”

Welcome to my life, my love.

My betraying body flutters at the new endearment while I allow myself to wonder if that’s how he feels about me now.

His love?

However, a rational mind and anger sweep in quickly, calling me all kinds of stupid, and I finally wiggle free of his hold.

Amusement flickers in his gaze. “Is this how you treat your husband, mi amor?”

“I’d like to talk to Father Paul. Alone.” I emphasize the last part, and Paul frowns in confusion while Lucian stays absolutely freaking relaxed! “You married me. You won.” Urgently searching for an excuse, I spit out the first thing coming to my mind. “I have a confession to make.”

He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and his warning gaze makes me stand still. “Ah, the guilt.”

Never.

A means to survive.

But I keep this to myself.

“Exactly that.”

Although I have no doubt everyone here except the photographer knows about his dark deeds, they did not promise to serve God and help those in need like Father Paul did.

His conscience and morals hold my future in their palm.

“Okay. I’m gonna go to my office. Harold, pay the photographer and tell him to get the fuck off my property.” The butler nods and immediately goes to the man who heard Lucian just fine.

Ricardo heads to the house too while Lucian places a kiss on my forehead and whispers over my skin, “If we do not answer for our actions, someone will.” A lethal promise stains this statement, letting me know in no uncertain terms that someone will have to pay for my tricks.

And as bad as it sounds… I don’t care.

They chose his company willingly. I haven’t.

The minute they all leave us alone, Paul smiles at me and asks, “What is it, Esmeralda?”

“I need to get to the airport and go back to New York.” He blinks several times, barely comprehending what I’m saying. “You probably know he blackmailed me into this marriage.” His cheeks heat up, red stains smearing them. “Father Paul, please help me.”

“Esmeralda, Lucian might not be what he projects to the world, but—”

“Spare me the details about his heart. I gave him a chance, he blew it. I cannot stay married to him. I will not be anyone’s captive. Help me.” He clasps his hands together, twisting them while shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with my request. Desperation grows inside me at not seeing how I can run away from here without someone’s help. “You serve God. How can you be okay with this? Please, Father.”

His jaw moves from side to side while his gaze hardens, and to my utter relief, he finally nods. I hug him, wrapping my arms tight around him. “Thank you so much.” In a mansion where everyone tries to convince you a monster has a heart, it’s a blessing to find someone who would choose to help you, even if it means going against their friend.

He awkwardly pats me and murmurs in my ear, “Let’s go farther into the garden. We need to talk all the time so no one finds it suspicious. There is a backdoor no one knows about, but I do.” Hope blooms more and more with his words. “It leads to a main road where we will find you a car. Do you have money?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go then.”

“Thank you,” I say to the cab driver when he parks the car. I give him the cash Paul stuffed in my hand when he flagged the car for me.

Exiting the vehicle, the corner of my dress gets stuck and tugging on it rips it a little. Then dirty water splashes on the white silk when I step in a puddle.

My nerves are eating at me as I count the minutes silently, trying to predict when Lucian will get his hands on me, and what he’ll do to Paul once he finds out, although the priest has reassured me I shouldn’t be worried and to keep my head clear to get to my destination.

Fisting the skirt of my long dress tighter, I rush inside the sliding doors of the airport as my high heels click loudly on the perfectly polished floor.

Instantly, humming fills the air, loud voices merging with one another as countless people run, creating an interesting chaos. I’m reminded of ants gathered around their anthill, trying to get inside before some invisible threat kills them all. Some of the people drag their luggage; others travel light with just a briefcase as a myriad of emotions play on their features, from happiness to pure annoyance, but they all have one thing in common.

Under no circumstances can they be late and miss their flights.

A voice on the intercom reverberates and snaps my attention. “Passengers flying to New York, please report to the check-in counter now. It will close in five minutes.”

A distressed whimper slips past my lips at this information. Clenching my skirt tighter, I hurry, my gaze focused on the counter several feet away. The AC billows air around me and plasters the tulle against my face, making it almost impossible to breathe—not to mention the coldness sending shivers through me. I have to roll my lips together so my teeth won’t chatter against each other.

Made out of the finest material that shimmers in the light, the veil brings attention to the bride’s face. The French designer sent me a personalized note singing praises to the groom who, according to him, is one of the most magnificent men on this planet.

When, in fact, he’s rotten and despicable from the inside, a monster who feasts on the flesh of the weak and displays no mercy to those who dare to go against his wishes.

A brown-eyed, charming devil who belongs in hell among the dead sinners, but instead he’s bestowed his obsession on me.

As long as I consider him a villain with no heart, the idea of reporting him to the police and running away from him forever, destroying any chances between us, will not bring me pain or mental anguish.

Shaking my head from the unwelcome thoughts, I gather my courage and focus only on the plane heading to New York.

For in my beloved city, he won’t be able to hurt me. I have power there and connections.

Grandmother would never let him harm me, and even Eugene might be on my side. Lila will cause mayhem once she finds out what Lucian did to me.

A little girl gasps, pointing a finger at me while several other people spin around to get a better look at the crazy lady running, but I hardly pay attention to their shock.

When a woman fights against a monster to escape her fate, she doesn’t have time to dwell on what people say or think because survival is her top priority.

Reaching the counter, I grab the veil and pull it over my head to face a rapidly blinking lady standing behind the counter. Her curious eyes sweep over me, studying the once-magnificent, silky wedding dress whose crystal accents reflect the light streaming from above and highlight the dirt smears and edges torn to shreds.

My appearance would have probably raised questions anyway, especially in the airport.

“I need to get on that flight.” I raise my finger in the air as the intercom once again reminds me about the closing check-in and how the plane departs in exactly an hour.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds.

Enough time in which the devil himself might come after me, finding a way to trap me in his hell once again, because his power is absolute.

The all-too-familiar panic envelops me; fear sinks into every bone in my body, creating horrendous images in my mind while my heart thumps in my chest so wildly I’m afraid it might push through the skin and drop on the floor for everyone to see.

The air sticks in my lungs, and I gulp for a deep breath, fisting my hands so tight the nails dig into my palms hard enough to draw blood.

New York. You need to get to New York, and it will be over. Just get on the plane.

The words spoken to myself do nothing to soothe me though and only add gasoline to the fire spreading in my veins at the prospect of my future if this plan fails.

Because the alternative creates devastation and agonizing fear inside me, painting a future of being trapped in darkness with the demon who deems himself the untouchable king of the underworld.

I dared to run away from him, didn’t listen to the threat. Who knows how he might react or what he might do to me now that I’ve truly angered him?

What if he drags me to his dungeon?

Or worse?

Although, even to myself, it sounds unbelievable, but as we’ve seen in the last twenty-four hours, my judgments cannot be trusted.

She finally snaps out of her stupor, dropping her gaze to the computer as she types something furiously. “Of course.” She smiles widely, but then her brows furrow. “The only tickets available are in first class.” Regret laces her words when she adds, “We can get you on the next one. It leaves in four hours.”

I barely hold back a hollow laugh that wants to erupt from my throat at the thought of giving two hundred forty minutes to the monsters roaming Chicago to find me in this city and never let me go.

My mom once told me to never engage in a fight with anyone stronger than me, because I’d inevitably lose and end up hurting myself more.

Her statement proved to be useless, because true strength lies where we are brave enough to go against those who think all their deeds go unpunished.

Besides, death seems like a better alternative than eternal suffering next to him.

Even when the monster declares you are his queen and gives you all the riches in the world, it doesn’t change his nature.

After all, evil will always be a choice, and he drowned in evil a long time ago, sacrificing his soul at the altar of the greed it brings.

Otherwise, he would have tried to explain rather than preach about not craving or needing redemption.

“First class is fine.” Before she can ask for it, I place my ID and credit card on the counter.

She picks it up with one hand while the other continues to type, putting my information in the system. “We have an excellent clothing shop inside the airport,” she says without raising her eyes. “In case you’d like to change your dress.”

“Thank you.” That’s the first thing I’ll do once I have my ticket and go through security. This dress mocks everything that’s holy about matrimony and love, and it causes hives all over my skin, which reminds me of the man who proclaims himself invincible for all the power he holds among the elite… and even the law.

An elite that will side with whatever stupid story he decides to spin in his favor, as long as his madness stays hidden from the world.

Everyone already considers me weird. Will he try to say I’m insane and wield his legal power over me?

My family and friends though will stay on my side, and their combined wealth will squash anything he wants to do and put him where he belongs.

Behind bars.

I ignore the stab of pain in my chest at the thought or how Paul’s and Harold’s words still flash in my mind about him having a heart.

She opens her mouth to add something when she freezes, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, and she leans closer to the screen reading something on it. She musters up a smile for me that’s fake and grabs the phone, dialing a number as she mumbles to me, “I need to check something before we can finish this. Just a formality.”

Warning bells ring in my ears, alerting me to danger lurking nearby, because he has probably already found a way to block my departure. Stepping back from her, I want to spin around and dash outside to find solitude among the empty streets before coming up with another plan.

Although this one already was created out of desperation. What other way would allow me to leave this city or even manage to call someone from New York to stop the deadly game he promised me should I ever dare to reject him?

A man who knows what he wants, he gets… no matter the price.

“Mi amor.” The deep, husky voice addressing me from behind stills everything inside me, blocking the world around me away and dumping me in a vacuum where the air doesn’t exist and only fear remains. It glides over my skin like the softest of ropes, awakening every hair on my body, before wrapping tightly around my throat, promising me all kind of retributions if I don’t listen to the silent command his gentle words represent.

Scrunching my eyes and clenching my skirt, I take a deep breath before slowly turning around to face the devil who ruined my life.

Because he decided that I belong to him.

A sinister smile curves his mouth as wickedness settles on his symmetrical features, alluding to forbidden desires swirling around him, bringing attention to his handsomeness that would rival those of Greek gods. After all, there isn’t a woman alive who can resist him or so people say. The icy coldness filling his brown orbs negates his male beauty though, and it sends shivers down my spine that fill me with discomfort, because unlike everyone, I know what his true identity entails.

After all, most villains wear mesmerizing masks of deceit designed to lure unaware souls into traps where they strip the sanity and goodness from their prey, feeding on their desperation and pain.

My feet stay glued to the floor, too afraid to move, because I might just collapse right here, and he would see the weakness slowly pouring into my blood, making me unable to fight against the decision he made when I refused to be tangled in his dark and twisted web.

He steps closer to me, his muscled form towering over me, and I gasp when he circles his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him, bumping our chests together, his masculine tobacco scent twitching my nostrils. “Mi amor,” he repeats, and I wiggle in his hold, trying to get free, but my strength is nothing compared to his.

I hiss at him, “I’m not your love, you psycho!” And I push at his chest, not caring how a crowd slowly gathers around us and security runs in our direction. “Let me go!”

An amused chuckle makes me want to claw his eyes out.

He catches my chin between his thumb and index finger, digging them painfully. “Mi amor, is this how you should treat your husband?” Hatred sparks inside me, erupting like a volcano and sliding through my veins. I can almost feel the bitterness filling my mouth.

Because, despite my emotions, I can’t argue how he refers to himself—the legal papers state as much.

“I hate you, Lucian.”

“Careful, gatita.” His eyes flash in warning as his hold on me tightens, and I still the groan threatening to slip past my lips. “Wise people say there is a thin line between love and hate.” His hand slides over my cheek, his knuckles grazing my skin in a featherlike caress that makes me nauseous. “And you will cross it, mi amor. Sooner or later.” Heavy footsteps come closer and closer, telling me the security guards are almost here. Maybe they will believe my story over the one this monster possesses, and they’ll find the courage to fight against his power in order to free me.

Hope flourishes in my chest, determination replacing my earlier fear, as I decide to use this chance to my advantage, only for hope to crash and burn when he leans closer, his hot breath fanning my face. He speaks into my ear so no one else will hear his despicable words. “I will never force you, mi amor. However, there are consequences to every choice. Are you willing to risk them?”

Dread crawls over me; familiar and beloved faces flash in my head, reminding me about the various ways this monster might hurt me without so much as touching me by instead focusing his rage on the innocent people whose only crime is being part of my life.

Thousands of crushed dreams, hopes, chances for a better future.

My freedom right now would mean imprisonment of those I hold dear to my heart. How could I live with that?

His revenge wouldn’t be subtle either, but vicious and ruthless in every way, making them all wish they had never crossed paths with me in the first place for all the devastation he would pour on everyone.

When he dished out his threat the first time, I thought that after he was put in prison, they would not come to fruition. However, this man wields so much power… my escape was a fantasy not meant to come true, and I was foolish to think I could outsmart him.

A raspy breath escapes me as a single tear slides down my cheek that his thumb quickly wipes away before he steps back, no longer trapping me in his embrace. Instead, he grips my hand, raises it up, and fishes two rings out of his pocket. A platinum band with diamonds wrapping around it, matching the one he wears on his finger and slides it on mine while slipping my engagement one right above it.

Settling his ownership of me once again.

The symbols of his possession feel unbearably heavy, but I barely focus on that as he presses his lips to my skin, the hotness of his touch burning me from the inside out. “Bienvenida a mi vida, mi amor.” He repeats once again his earlier words. Somehow this time around though, this statement sounds like the final nail in my coffin, trapping me in all this because he has left me no other choice.

You don’t have to physically force anyone, but push at them psychologically, and they will dance to your tune.

My world and heart shatter.

Because a monster disguised as a prince decided to marry me and trap me in his darkness.

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