Page 41

Valeria

T he fog clouding my brain slowly lifted, and my heavy eyelids opened. I stared into the shade, exhaling heavily.

I’d never seen the ceiling above me. The metal bars created a rectangular picture that engaged my tired mind into focusing on the maze. My eyes connected the dots, imagining different patterns as if I were watching the night sky.

"You're awake."

A deep baritone that sounded like a strange mixture of angelic melody complemented with demonic vocals disturbed me from picturing the bouquet of tulips.

Unhurriedly, I turned my head to the side, zooming on the dark figure standing at the end of the bed.

My heart missed a beat, and everything returned with crushing force.

Abruptly sitting up, I looked around, seeing nothing but an empty space. The last time I was in this warehouse, I was tied to the chair. This time, I lay on a comfortable four-poster bed with black silky sheets that felt cool against my skin.

"You kidnapped me again," I hissed, trying to remember how I got here, but the only thing that popped up was the conversation in my car.

"You fainted. I brought you here to relax," Zefarin objected calmly, walking to my side of the bed. I quickly moved away from his reach, locating the metal door on the other side .

"Thank you," I said, scanning my surroundings for the quickest way out of here. "Now, I would like to leave. I need to go to work."

"I texted your boss that you don't feel well," Zefarin announced nonchalantly, sitting on the bed. His white eyes never left my face. In the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand, he looked like a devilish mannequin from a circus show.

"You texted my boss," I repeated, staring at him blankly. "What about my daughter? I need to pick her up from school."

"Your mother-in-law picked her up two hours ago," he replied, trying to touch my hand, but I yanked it away.

My heart was frantically beating inside my chest, but I couldn't tell with absolute certainty if it was out of fear because he trapped me in his den again. It could easily be because I found his methods highly exciting.

Whatever the reason, I felt like I might collapse at any second.

My hands trembled, and my mind wasn't able to devise a plan of action.

I wanted to run, but my body wished to stay.

I was exhausted, and his dominance and demanding behavior provided me with strange comfort that I desperately sought despite knowing it was wrong.

“Stay in bed, mon c?ur.” Zefarin's soft voice cut through my thinking, soothing me. "I'll keep my distance if that's what you want, but you need some peaceful time."

"Peaceful time?" I repeated in disbelief, my temper rising. "You murdered a man and hung him before my window," I spat, barely containing my anger. "You're the reason I'm a mess right now!"

"It was a gift," he whispered apologetically, making me groan in irritation.

"I have a seven-year-old daughter at home!

" I yelled, letting the gathered frustration out of my system.

Crawling to him, I punched his shoulder hard.

"What if she saw him!" I shouted, feeling tears burning in my eyes.

"She already has trouble sleeping. Did you know she pees herself every other night!

?" I slapped him again, my palm hurting from attacking him.

"Do you have any idea what your little gift would cause if she saw it? "

"I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering his head, but it wasn't enough for me. He scared me to death. He endangered my daughter's mental state. He destroyed my fantasy of him. He deserved every fucking piece of my anger .

"I don't care that you're sorry," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm done with you. I don't ever want to see you again."

"You don't mean it," he opposed, taking my hand, but I slapped him again, moving as far as possible from him so he couldn't put his filthy hands on me.

" Oh , I mean it." My voice jumped an octave higher as I hopped from the bed. My bare feet collided with the stone-cold floor, but I refused to think about the shoes. I just had to get away from him.

"Valeria, be careful." He stood up, following my every move with his white eyes. "You're weak. You might faint again."

"I want to leave," I stated, ignoring his concerns.

His attention was my biggest weakness. He knew how to get under my skin.

I couldn't let him manipulate me again. He was a murderer, a psychopath.

I couldn't have him in my life even when a huge part of me craved to forget about his sins and hide in his massive arms.

"I promise to let you go after you calm down and let me explain myself," he negotiated, and I hesitated.

Did I want him to defend himself against my accusations?

Of course, I did. But he couldn't change the fact he killed George. No matter the noble reasons behind his actions, he took someone's life.

"There is nothing to explain," I ground out as calmly as possible, but my voice wavered. I was disturbed and unable to keep my emotions under control.

"Please, Valeria." Zefarin stretched his gloved hand toward me. "Let's talk."

"So you can charm me again?" I asked, stepping back from him when he moved in my direction. "Or sweet talk me into understanding your reasons?"

"No." He slowly shook his head, his probing gaze holding me captive. "I just want you to calm down. We can talk about anything you want."

"Will you answer my questions?" I inquired, thinking about giving him one last chance. Maybe there was a more significant reason behind all of this .

"What about you answering mine?" Zefarin countered, shrugging when I cast him a confused glance. "I found some things in your past that need clarification."

"What things?" My brows furrowed, staring at the skull mask that didn't reveal anything useful. His eyes were usually calm, and his voice was firm but kind.

"Drug addiction, for example," he replied slowly, making me gasp in shock.

"Those records are sealed," I whispered, horrified at how much he knew about my past. "How did you get them?"

"Records are digitized," he answered, slowly approaching me, but I didn't move this time. I was too shocked and ashamed to think about him closing the distance between us. "Your arrest history is impressive, too."

"Stop." I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest to shield myself from the painful memories. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Will you tell me what it was about?" he asked, gently touching my arm. His touch was soft like a feather but felt like a burning coal against my skin.

"Why?" My voice was barely a broken whisper. No one cared for me back then, and after I managed to put my life in order, I tried to forget about that part of me. The part that still silently suffered and was buried deep inside my soul.

"Because after I read what you went through, I need to know you have moved on." His eyes softened, holding so much affection my heart almost instantly melted.

In years of marriage with Chester, he never asked me about the horrors of my past. Yet, the man who knew me for a few months cared for me enough to spend his time talking about it.

Or maybe he just wanted to drag my attention away from a dead body he hung before my window.

Whatever his intention was, it worked because he again made me feel like I mattered to someone.

"I learned not to think about it," I said after a moment of heavy silence that almost crushed me. He gave me time to ponder if I wanted to dig into my past, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea. My life back then was darker than he could ever imagine .

"It started when your parents died, right?" Zefarin took my hand tenderly, sitting me on the bed. He plopped opposite me when I crossed my legs and leaned against the headboard.

"Yes," I confirmed, feeling my heart constrict in my chest with pain. "It was the worst day of my life. They were gone in a millisecond, and I was sent to a foster family."

"Was it bad?" Zefarin placed his large hand on my knee, moving his thumb in soothing circles. I watched the slow motion, returning to the days I lived under the same roof with five kids ten years younger than me and one guy my age.

"It was depressing," I disclosed, inhaling a shaky breath. "They took me in only because of the money. No one ever cared about me until I formed a relationship with Michael."

"The kid who lived with you?" Zerafin asked, his voice holding an odd glint of hostility.

"He was the same age as me, and somehow, we found a way to get to know each other better," I said, noticing that my stalker's shoulders were tensed.

"He taught me how to smoke and deal drugs to earn money," I added, unable to stop the words from pouring out.

"We started using them together. Of course, we slept together, and I went through a miscarriage because I didn't know I was pregnant, and I spent my days on drugs and alcohol. "

"I'm sorry," Zefarin whispered, gently squeezing my leg, but I shook my head.

"Don't be. It was my fault, and I have to live with it."

"You were just a child without anyone to protect you," he opposed, moving closer to me. The proximity of his body was comforting. Somehow, I trusted him more than anyone in my life.

"Yes, and after that, it got worse." I gulped, recalling the night I found Michael dead in our secret hideout. "Michael overdosed himself a month after I lost the baby, and I was arrested for the possession of heroin."

"I read about it," Zefarin confirmed, pulling me into his arms. I didn't know when he moved beside me, nor did I realize I was crying until he wiped the tear from my cheek. "Now, tell me how talking about it makes you feel. "

"Like I lost a piece of my soul that was never restored," I mumbled, stiffening with a sob. "I told him that he ruined my life and that I hated him. I left hoping to never see him again, and he granted my wish."

I burst into tears, burying my face into the soft fabric of Zefarin's hoodie. He enveloped his robust arms around me, kissing the top of my head while I cried out my thirteen-year-old grief and guilt.

I never told anyone what I said to my stalker about Michael and me.

The social services had no idea about our relationship.

Our foster parents didn't care what we were doing, and I didn't have any friends at the new school.

I was an outcast whose only purpose was to survive until I was eighteen, and I could forget about the nightmare my foster family was.

"None of this was your fault," Zefarin whispered, moving his hand slowly up and down my back while I clung to him for dear life.

He was right. I learned it over the years of therapy, and then when I met Chester, I wanted to never think about it again.

But it never fully disappeared. That wound never healed.

It was part of me, gnawing at me when I felt the worst and reminding me that maybe I didn't deserve what I had.

Perhaps I should've died that night when I lost the baby, and everything would have been solved.

"You know what is funny?" I said, pulling away from Zerafin's soothing embrace.

"My first boyfriend was a drug addict who got me into jail and therapy.

I married a notorious liar who values cards and slot machines more than his family.

And I'm cheating on that man with a murderer who refuses to show me his face.

" I released a deep, exasperated groan, tilting my head back.

"I am a perfect case for a psychiatrist."

"You're a perfect match for me," Zefarin claimed, curling his arm around my waist and pulling me closer. "Damaged but fixable." His fingers grazed my cheek. "You were smashed by life and survived. You're the strongest person I know."

"Every time I think about my past, I feel like a tragedy," I admitted, placing my hands on his chest. I couldn't look into his eyes. I felt so exposed and vulnerable.

"No, my heart," he whispered, taking my hand and kissing my palm through the mask. "You're a blessing. Never think less of yourself."

He pressed my hand against his cheek, leaning into it while I almost melted into a puddle .

"How are you doing it?" I whispered, grazing the rough fabric of his mask with my thumb. "Making me feel like I'm the center of your universe."

"Because you are the center of my universe, Valeria," he answered matter-of-factly, staring into my eyes with pure love that destroyed every barrier I tried to build around my heart.

"You murdered a man because of me," I mumbled, unsure how I felt about it.

"If that's not proof I'm capable of anything when it comes to you, I don't know what is," he declared.

I didn't comment on his statement. Instead, I wrapped my body around his and rested my head on his chest. The feeling of safety enveloped me like a thin blanket, allowing me to breathe freely again.

The talk with Zefarin helped, even when he didn't explain what happened with George. I didn't accept the fact he was a murderer. I didn't want to forget about it. Ignoring such a massive red flag and hoping for a happy ending was dangerous and naive.

I was well aware of the consequences if I didn't end things between me and Zefarin, and still, I couldn't make myself do it, mainly because my heart belonged to him.

It beat for him, craved him, and thrived under his dominance and attention.

I fell for him, slowly and steadily, until he wholly owned me.

But the rational part of me knew I was heading toward a massive heartbreak.

This couldn't end well, yet I couldn't let it go.

Not even the murder could cure me from the sick addiction with a masked criminal.

Eventually, I didn't know who was obsessed with whom.

Him with me? Or me with the fantasy he created?