Page 20 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

M orning light floods the room, bright and obnoxious, chasing away sleep as birds chirp like some annoying animated movie. I squint against the glare. I don’t need to move to know I’m sore—every muscle aches, thighs, arms, ass, all of it screaming. I smirk, biting my lip at the memory.

Axe’s side of the bed is cold, the sheets empty. I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. God, the things he did to me. The way he touched me—like he was claiming something deep inside me. It wasn’t just sex. It was something more.

Something perfect.

He knew exactly what I craved, and he fed it like an addiction.

I glance down at the faint scratches on my arms. They don’t hurt, but remembering how they got there sends a shiver down my spine. And then…the part that really messes with me. He took care of me after. Cleaned me. Dried me off. Treated me like I was something worth keeping.

He held me.

It unsettles me more than anything else. I’m not used to this. Guys fuck and leave. But Axe, he fucked me like he had something to prove—he stayed. And for a moment, I felt…treasured.

I clutch the pillow he left behind, inhaling the scent of spice, cedar, and masculinity. My chest tightens. He’s Axel Hawthorne—the Reaper. He doesn’t do love.

But last night, maybe, just maybe, a part of him actually cared.

Ugh, stop.

I shove the pillow away and sit up, instantly regretting it as my body aches. I reach for one of Axe’s t-shirts, pulling it over my head. It’s soft, his scent clinging to the fabric.

Seriously? Obsessed much? I roll my eyes at myself.

Walking toward my room, the house is eerily quiet.

Sunlight pours in through the massive windows, making the marble floors glow.

I dig through my closet, yanking on training shorts, a sports bra, and a hoodie.

Mascara, lip gloss, then brush through my hair—done.

I look like hell, but I don’t have time to fix it.

I grab my dance bag and head outside, the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes the only sound. Just as I reach the Range Rover, my phone chimes.

Dad

Come to my office.

Me

I’m on my way to rehearsal.

Dad

Now.

Ice slithers down my spine. Whatever this is, it can’t be good.

I shove the phone into my pocket, climb into the car, and pull onto the road, my mind racing. I haven’t spoken to him since his birthday. Haven’t wanted to. Not after everything—the villa, the lies, the fact that he’s been feeding me bullshit my entire life.

As traffic crawls, my anxiety kicks up a notch. What if Alicia’s had enough of waiting? I still have time before she needs an answer, right?

Fear coils in my stomach, winding tighter with every mile.

Needing a distraction, I dial Spencer. Voicemail.

I grit my teeth and try again. Voicemail. Again.

Perfect.

I exhale slowly, gripping the wheel, forcing down the panic. It’s probably just a check-in. Just more of his control. But as the Iron’s towering metal gate comes into view, dread sinks in deep.

As I park, I squeeze the wheel for another second, pulling myself together.

This is fine. It’s fine.

The elevator ride down is slow, every floor pressing heavier against my chest.

Whatever this is, I already know—I’m not going to like it .

The sterile brightness of the hall makes me squint, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I weave my way toward Dad’s office, my pulse a steady thrum. Reaching the door, I hesitate for a second, shaking off the instinct to turn and run. Instead, I knock, the sound too loud in the silence.

“Come in.” Dad’s deep voice rumbles from inside.

I push the door open, stepping inside.

Spencer’s here.

Relief flickers, but it dies the second I realize he won’t look at me. Shit. Something’s off.

“Sit,” Dad snaps, eyes still glued to the papers on his desk. No glance, no acknowledgment—just orders. The irritation is automatic, but I shove it down. He always does this.

I step farther in, gripping my keys. “What’s going on?” My voice is calm, but my insides are unraveling.

Dad finally looks up, his cold, ice-blue stare pinning me to the spot. “Where did I fail as a parent?”

The question sends my nerves spiraling.

“What?”

“I said”—his voice is harder now, fists clenching against the desk—“where did I fail as a parent?”

My mouth goes dry. The tension in his face, the fire in his eyes—I know exactly what this is . Alicia.

“You have no idea what kind of damage you’ve done,” he growls.

I swallow hard. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the bullshit, Victoria,” he spits, slamming a thick stack of photos onto the desk.

I don’t need to look to know what’s inside them. I already feel the shame sinking its claws into my chest. Alicia fucking lied. She was supposed to give me more time.

My father leans forward, eyes full of cold disgust. “Did you really think no one would find out?”

The pictures sit there, a pile of evidence. Of humiliation. Of my mistakes.

“Dad, I?—”

His fist slams down again, rattling everything on the desk. I flinch, stealing a glance at Spencer, but his gaze stays locked on the floor.

“You’ve been whoring yourself out,” he snarls. “You’ve broken your Sovereign vow.”

“No, it’s not like that?—”

“Then what the fuck is it?” He throws the pictures, and they scatter across the floor, each one worse than the last.

I can’t breathe.

“Why would you do this?” Spencer’s voice is quiet, but the betrayal in it is deafening.

I turn to him. “Spence, I?—”

“You have disgraced this family.” Dad’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Your actions will not go unpunished.”

“Dad, let me explain,” I plead, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Explain what? That you have no respect for the Sovereign?”

“No!”

“That you would rather get on your knees than serve your Sovereigns? That you would betray us and sell yourself?”

“I have given everything to the Sovereign!” I shout, desperation echoing in the air. “I have devoted my life to this, and it still wasn’t enough!”

“What have you given?” He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound.

“EVERYTHING! I have given everything! I married for you!” My voice rises, laced with anger and hurt. “YOU SOLD ME! My duty for your pathetic excuse of a legacy!”

“The only pathetic one here is you. Not even Axe wants you.” He slams a document onto the desk, and through my blurry vision, I see it clearly—a divorce agreement signed by Axe.

My heart shatters, dropping to my feet in jagged pieces.

“No,” I whisper, voice breaking. “He wouldn’t sign this.”

“He doesn’t want you. No one does.”

Shaking my head, I shove the paper away. “Stop. Axe wouldn’t do that.”

“You were never enough. And now you are nothing.”

“No...”

“You have no honor. No loyalty. You’ve broken your vows, disgraced the Valentine family.”

I hear the final blow before he even speaks it.

“You’re not welcome here.”

It knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Daddy, please.”

“Leave.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. Where am I supposed to go if even Axel doesn’t want me?

His eyes darken, fists curling at his sides. The explosion comes fast, brutal.

“GET OUT!”

I barely have time to brace before his backhand collides with my face. The crack rings through the room. The sting of his ring tears my cheek open, blood dripping down my face as I stumble, crashing to the floor.

“You’re nothing but a worthless fucking whore, just like your mother,” he spits.

The room tilts. My ears ring.

I turn to Spencer, my voice small, shattered.

“Spencer?”

He doesn’t look at me.

Doesn’t move.

The silence is worse than the pain. Worse than the blood.

Dad’s command is final. “Victoria. Get the fuck out of my office. NOW.”

Tears blind me. The humiliation burns. I have nothing left.

I scramble to my feet and run.

My breath comes in broken gasps as I race through the hallways, hoodie pulled tight over my head, desperate to hide the evidence of my shame.

The pain inside me is so much worse—bone-deep, gut-wrenching.

He divorced me.

Axe doesn’t want me. My father disowned me. My brother didn’t even fight for me.

I have nothing.

Reaching my car, I yank the door open with trembling hands. I collapse into the driver’s seat, body shaking, throat raw, mind splintering under the weight of it all.

A whore. Branded. Ruined.

My forehead hits the steering wheel, and I scream. A gut- wrenching, soul-ripping sound that no one hears. No one cares to hear.

It’s over.

My world is gone.

My father’s words pound inside my skull.

No one wants you. You’re nothing.

I suck in a shuddering breath, clawing at something—anything—to hold on to. But there’s nothing.

Nothing except him.

The one person who sees me for what I am. And holds me anyway.

I reach for my phone.

Me

I need you. Please.