Page 46 of Always A Villain

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.