Page 30 of Brutal Crown

LIA

Ican’t sleep.

I’ve been lying awake for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that night. It’s the only thought that fills my head every night and the first thought that greets me when I wake up.

I should not be thinking about him. It is all shades of wrong.

The entire house has been buzzing for the past week now, and it’s because of his upcoming engagement party. I’m having sleepless nights and not-so-innocent thoughts over a man who is promised to another woman.

A man who hasn’t spared a glance my way since he kissed me a few nights ago.

I hug the covers tighter around myself, the bruise on my pride throbbing deeper than anything physical. There’s a hole in my chest I keep trying to patch up.

Somehow, Francesco’s absence is louder than his presence ever was. It’s worse because I see him around the house every day. I heard he took charge of all the engagement ceremony preparations.

It’s as if the kiss we shared made him suddenly remember he was getting married soon. Post-kiss clarity, maybe.

A groan slips past my lips. I toss and turn in bed, trying to get him out of my mind. He doesn’t deserve to be in my thoughts. He’s made his decision. He’s proved me right—that after kissing me, he would proceed to act like he didn’t know who I was, like I was nothing but his prisoner.

God, I feel so stupid.

He couldn’t have made it any clearer to me what this is—a game. I’m his plaything, an object to satisfy his desires whenever he’s bored. Yet, I’m still hurting. I’m still thinking about him, wanting him to look at me, secretly hoping he would show up at my door again.

And then, there’s Marco. Insanely charming, undeniably attractive, and also kind. He finds me wherever I am, talks to me without caring who might be watching us, and even makes me laugh.

He’s hard not to like.

Whenever I talk to him, I momentarily forget how terrible this place is, which is… insane, because his family is the cause of my misery.

Yeah, I might just be going crazy.

Marco casually strollsinto the kitchen the next morning after breakfast. It’s a Sunday, so almost everyone is home. I’ve learned from my time here that Sunday is the only day of the weekend that is observed religiously. Even the usual chatter of the engagement party has died down.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, rinsing the already-washed dishes as he slides beside me. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

The only other maid in the kitchen, a younger woman whose name I don’t know, pretends not to look at or listen to us, but I know her entire attention is focused on me and what it looks like I’m doing with one of the bosses.

As expected, Marco just laughs. “You won’t get into trouble.”

Oh, I will. If information about our constant communication reaches the wrong ears, I’ll be in soup. Olga has already issued me a warning. At this point, I’m just playing with fire.

But unlike before, when I was just entertaining Marco because I didn’t have a choice, I like being around him now. His presence doesn’t feel overwhelming. We talk every day, yet I still find myself looking forward to our chats. His presence is not overbearing in any way. I know he watches me—he always seems to know where I am—and it doesn’t scare me.

I should probably be scared by the attention.

He lingers whenever he spots me in a hallway, shows up at the garden when I take walks, and makes excuses just to see me. I try not to enjoy his company too much.

Because deep down, I know that he’s dangerous too. Maybe not in the same way as Francesco or Dante, but there’s something wild under Marco’s smile. Something simmering just beneath the surface, like a bomb waiting to explode.

“Come with me,” he says.

It’s not a suggestion, yet I gape at him. “You can’t pull me out of my duty post.”

He leans against the doorway, his hands casually slipping into his pockets. “No one will question me. You won’t get into trouble. Now, come.”

“Marco—”

“Lia,” he says, soft but firm. “Don’t make me beg.”