Page 28 of Ruthless Lord

Charlie

I ’m getting used to staying up late. It’s probably not a good thing.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until my husband falls asleep.

I hate doing this. All I want is to curl up beside him, feel his warmth, feel the slow movement of his breath, and pass the hell out.

Instead, I’m waiting until I can go use the shredder in his office without being overly suspicious.

I wasn’t made for this spying stuff.

I’m too anxious. There are a million different thoughts running through my head. But most of all, I hate the idea of betraying him.

Grandfather hasn’t pushed yet. I have a feeling he’s been busy with other things, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts pressing me for information.

I have no clue what I’ll say.

Lying to Grandfather feels easier than lying to Stefano. At least the old man deserves it. Grandfather, not Stefano. But even if I start making up details or spinning excuses, eventually he’ll figure it out, and I’ll be in the exact same place as I am right now.

Which means I’m going to stay married to Stefano.

The idea should repulse me. When I first walked down the aisle and said my vows, I only managed to keep myself from freaking out because I knew there was a way out.

Now I’m willingly trapping myself.

That doesn’t scare me as much as it should.

Stefano’s not the man I expected. When we got married, I assumed he’d be some vicious meathead asshole. Instead, I’m finding new levels to him.

He’s ruthlessly honest. That annoys me sometimes, but it means he’ll do what he says. His word means something. There’s an old-school honor in him that I really like. He knows who he is and he doesn’t apologize for it. He won’t change, no matter how much I want him to.

And I’m jealous of that.

I’ve been malleable for so long. First, I changed to become Grandfather’s favorite. I followed all his rules and obsessed over his guidance. I became the first heir to his empire.

Then I started going to the fights. I pretended like I was someone else prowling around the edges of the crowd, taking on secondhand excitement, faking like I belonged.

That wasn’t me , either.

I don’t even know what I like these days.

But with Stefano, I don’t have to worry about that stuff. He accepts me no matter what. There’s something so simple in his devotion. To him, we’re married, I’m his wife, and that’s all there is. Nothing more complicated than that.

Slowly, I steal out of bed when I’m confident that he’s asleep.

If I wait any longer, I’m going to slip under without realizing.

I pause to pick up my jeans. The keycard is in the back pocket where I left it.

After grabbing it, I sneak across the room and very softly slip into the hall, closing the door behind me.

The house is dead quiet. I hurry to his office, wanting to get this over with. The sooner the card’s shredded and the pieces are tossed in the outside trash, the sooner I can get back to bed and start figuring out what I’m going to do with my future.

Now that I’m no longer the heir to the Westbrook fortune.

The thought should scare me. All my life, I’ve defined myself by how important I’ve been to the family. I liked the power it gave me. There was a clear path and a reason to get up in the morning. I used to crave Grandfather’s approval, and the mantle of heir was like the ultimate achievement.

Not anymore. It’s like I’ve been wrapped in layers of gauze and I’m just finally slicing it all off. The cold air’s chilly against my skin, but I like it.

I’m free in a way I’ve never been.

I pause in the hall outside the office. The door’s shut, but light shines through the crack at the bottom. Was Stefano in there earlier? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use the lamps, and it’s definitely not the overhead light. It’s too weak for that.

Carefully, I edge it open and peer inside.

A shadow’s moving near the desk. It’s a person hunched over, rifling through the drawers.

I stare in surprise, my brain so shocked that it’s not really computing what’s going on.

I step into the room and open my mouth, thinking this is one of Stefano’s guys sent here on some bizarre late-night errand, but he’s a criminal. That sort of thing happens, right?

Instead, the person looks up.

I’ve never seen him before in my life.

His nose is hooked and crooked. He’s got sharp, narrow eyes and a bald head that could use a fresh shave. His scalp gleams, greasy in the weak light. I open my mouth to say something, but before I can make a sound, he’s flying across the room at me, leaping over the desk and sprinting head-on.

I yelp, barely an aborted scream, before the man slams into me, knocking me back against the wall.

My head smashes into the corner of the doorframe. Lights burst in the edges of my vision and pain flares on my scalp. I groan, trying to turn away, but the man grabs my wrist and yanks me deeper into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

I twist away, yelping as I grab a picture frame from a shelf. I throw it at the man as hard as I can, but he dodges to the side. The frame smashes against the wall and shatters.

“Bad timing,” he snarls, rearing back his fist.

This can’t be happening.

He snaps his arm forward and slams his knuckles straight into my face. I gasp at the pain and buckle to the floor.

Nope, definitely happening.

God damn it, that hurt. How does Stefano get hit like this all the time and keep going?

I roll to my side and try to crawl away, but the man kicks me hard in the ribs, knocking the wind from my lungs.

I heave, almost throwing up, fingers scrambling at a chair leg.

I have to fight back, I have to get away.

I need to scream for help and wake Stefano but I can’t breathe.

The man kicks me again. And again. I’m struggling to keep myself conscious, let alone to make noise. He kneels down on my stomach, putting all his weight on me, and wraps his hands around my throat.

Black jacket. Black jeans. His nails are yellow and dirty. His lips pull back in a snarl, showing off clean white teeth.

“Real bad timing,” he growls as his fingers dig into my windpipe. It hurts and I can’t breathe. “I’m going to get in trouble for this.”

Then let go. Please let go. Please, please, please, I just decided I want to live, I just decided I want to be with my husband, please don’t kill me ? —

But I can’t make a sound. I gag and choke, struggling weakly against him, but the man’s too strong and too big. I’m dizzy and more spots are forming in my vision. They’re growing bigger, starting to eat my world like hungry black holes.

“What a mess,” the man sighs, shaking his head, tightening his grip. “Gonna be a long night.”

Please don’t do this. Please, I can’t, I won’t, please… Stefano… I don’t want… please…