Page 54 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Forty

“I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star.”

― Emery Allen

Théo

I knocked three times, my throat tight and chest heavy. Not from nerves, but from the pressure of everything she remembered now pressing straight into my bones.

The villa was quiet. Too quiet.

Her friend had gone out with his co-stars hours ago. It was just me, her, and the ghosts pacing the hall.

I’d been pacing the shoreline for hours, salt biting my skin, sand grinding in my teeth. The urge to throw myself into the ocean and vanish clawed at me.

But the thought of leaving her alone?

Not a fucking chance.

When the door opened, she looked up at me. Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat. She clutched the sweater tighter around her waist, holding it like a barrier, as if fabric could protect her from me.

As if what she’d seen in my eyes last night wasn’t the truth she’d been running from her entire life. That someone could want her for everything she was, not for the polished mask the world made her wear.

Not for the spotlight, or the headlines, or the chaos that followed her name.

But for the girl beneath it.

The broken, furious, wild thing clawing to survive.

I was in love with her.

Irrevocably . Completely .

Not with the global icon, but with Scarlett Stella Harper Lazzio.

The woman. The wound. The storm.

And I would burn through every version of her fame just to have the one no one else ever tried to keep.

Last night, when recognition had finally hit, when she’d realized who I was and what I had been, she’d run. Her breath had shattered down the hall, sobs tearing through the walls. She’d shut herself in her bedroom.

I hadn’t fucking slept.

Couldn’t.

I’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, listening to her unravel everything she thought she knew. Every memory she’d thought belonged to her alone, now rotten with the truth of me.

She’d spent hours alone on the beach, letting the ocean gnaw at whatever pieces of me still haunted her.

I had watched from the upstairs window, tracking the shape of her shoulders as the light shifted and the tide crept closer.

When the sun grew sharp enough to burn her, I’d walked down and left everything she needed without a word.

An umbrella, sunscreen, a salmon cream-cheese bagel, nearly identical to the one she’d been ordering at least three times a week from Bagel & Jo for years.

Because even across an ocean, I knew she’d miss the comfort of small routines.

And her favorite apple juice she always drank then left half finished on the counter.

She hadn’t looked at me.

Just whispered a thank you so soft it barely made it past her lips, and I turned away before the sound could wreck me.

She needed space. I gave her mine.

But while she sat in the sand, I’d slowly died.

She hadn’t gotten it yet. What it meant to be mine. What it had cost me to stay in her shadow all these years—watching, waiting, needing her to remember me.

An unfamiliar feeling crawled up my throat.

Fear .

I was fucking terrified of losing her.

Petrified she’d walk away now, leaving me in the wreckage she’d once softened.

Over my fucking dead body .

I would tear the world apart to keep her. Break bone. Swallow blood. Strip myself raw until she understood that if I couldn’t be hers, I would rather do the thing I was supposed to do the night I’d met her.

Take my own life.

Because I couldn’t survive her choosing anything but me.

I’d told her I loved her. She hadn’t said it back. And somehow, that silence weighed less than the fear clawing through my chest.

Her blue eyes had swept across my face before settling on the gold chain at my neck.

Her necklace. She hadn’t asked for it back.

Thank God .

“Come with me,” I said, my voice low, holding out my hand.

She exhaled, shaky and unsure. “Where?”

“I need to show you something.”

She folded her arms and bit the inside of her cheek, weighing whatever doubt was breaking behind her ribs.

“Théo, I?—”

“You wanted the truth about who I am. I’m going to give you what you need.”

My hands curled into fists. Acid coiled up my spine.

The thought of dragging my past into the light, of saying the things I’d buried deep enough to rot, made my skin burn.

But if she needed the truth, I’d tear myself open.

I’d bleed for her until there was nothing left.

Her arms dropped. Her hand twitched once, then found mine, knuckles first—like she didn’t know if she should, but did anyway.

“Lead the way, Mister LeRoy.”

She gasped when I opened the car door and helped her out. The wind curled around her, pulling her red hair into the air as she drew her cardigan tightly over her chest.

My eyes dropped to her legs, bare and already marked with goosebumps beneath the edge of her denim skirt.

I slammed the door shut and took her hand. My thumb grazed her knuckles, trying to calm the twitch in my own fingers as I led her down the dock where Captain Pascal waited under the bruised sky.

I’d called him an hour ago. Told him exactly what I needed.

He gave me a short nod and offered her a smile.

“ Le soleil va bient?t se coucher, Monsieur LeRoy . Nous devrions partir maintenant .”

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

I helped her onto the narrow bridge, holding her steady as the wooden planks creaked underfoot.

“Whose yacht is it?” she asked, gripping the edge of the railing, hesitation tightening her voice as she placed one careful foot on the boat.

“Mine.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You own a yacht?”

“And other things.”

I walked her across the deck, the silence between us heavy and tight. Every step dragged memories from the polished teak under our feet, old ghosts rising with the salt in the air.

This place hadn’t touched me in years, and now it pulsed under my skin.

I opened the tall glass doors and let her step inside.

The living room was exactly as I remembered it. Massive black leather couches, a wall-mounted flat screen, and the golden bar stocked with every one of my mother’s favorite wines.

Nothing had changed.

I dropped onto one of the couches and pulled her with me, settling her onto my lap. Her arms circled my shoulders slowly, warily.

Her eyes roamed the room. “I think this is the biggest yacht I’ve ever been on.”

I pressed my mouth to her neck and sank deeper into the cushions, my grip around her waist tightening.

“She’s named Venus . After the goddess. My father gave it to my mother on their tenth anniversary. She passed it down to me when I turned twenty-three. I never set foot on it again. Until now.”

She inhaled, soft and shaky, then leaned back slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric at my shoulders.

“I thought you had no family.”

The engine hummed to life beneath us, low and steady, and the yacht began pulling away from the shore. She slipped off my lap and walked to the window, the sea swallowing her reflection as she stared out.

And I stayed, still tracing the shape of her in the glass. Letting the past press in, but this time, I wasn’t drowning alone.

“I lied.”

It came out rough. Strangled. Like dragging barbed wire out of my throat.

She didn’t turn around. Just let out a low hum, her eyes fixed on the horizon bleeding into the sea.

“We all do, don’t we?”

Then she turned slowly, leaning back against the wall beside the window. The gold dusk lit up her hair, her skin, her mouth. Everything I was never supposed to touch.

“What else have you lied about, soldier?”

My jaw clenched. Bile rose sharp in my throat, and I swallowed it with a breath that nearly broke me.

I moved toward her until we were chest to chest, breath to breath, and I could see every shard of confusion in her blue eyes.

My hand caught her chin. I dipped down and kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Her palm flattened against my chest like she was holding me back, but she didn’t pull away.

“Must’ve been a hell of a lie for you to be this sweet,” she whispered, her breath trembling.

I pressed my forehead to hers. My voice was low. Raw. Barely there.

“I’m trying to get the words out.”

But they were too sharp, too heavy. Telling her meant digging them out of the place I’d buried them years ago. And I didn’t know if I could survive it.

Her fingers dragged over my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt like she knew what was underneath. Not just scars, but fucking landmines.

She rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to mine, too kind for the monster in her arms.

“I’m here, Théo.”

God help me, I wanted to believe her. But some truths were too fucked to say.

And I was one of them.

The sunlight cut across the water as the rocks came into view. Captain Pascal steered us closer.

I dropped my hands to her shoulders, then let them slide down to her waist, stopping at her hips.

I stayed there. Frozen. Her body against mine, her breath brushing my collarbone.

It felt like my fucking soul was pressed to hers.

And I fucking needed it.

Because once we stepped off this boat, I knew she’d never look at me the same.

And maybe after what I had to tell her, she wouldn’t ever let me touch her again.

“I love you, Scarlett.” My voice cracked, rougher than I wanted. “More than you can fucking imagine.”

Her eyes softened, lips parting as she raised a hand to my cheek. “Théo?…”

She didn’t say more, her fingers digging into me instead.

I grabbed her hand, holding it there against my face.

“You need to know it before I show you what I am. Before I rip it all open.”

The boat rocked hard. Metal shrieked as the anchor dropped and rattled into the sea.

We were here. No going back now.

“Come on.”

I pushed the glass open. The air hit like smoke in my lungs.

She stepped out behind me, barefoot and silent, her cardigan clinging to her shoulders in the wind.

The dock groaned under us as the bridge lowered again.

I took her hand, holding it too tightly.

Helped her down until she was on solid ground.

She stopped short. “Oh my?…” Her voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

I didn’t look at her. I looked at the thing that had haunted me for years.

There it stood—jagged and silent, rising out of the rocks.

Le Chateau LeRoy .

Its bricks were blackened at the edges, sea-bitten and scorched by time. The windows were glassless scars. Vines crawled up the stone like veins choking what was left of its heart.

“A castle,” she whispered. “In the middle of the sea. How?…?what is this?”

“Family blood,” I said quietly. “One of my ancestors was a Duke. Got it as a gift from some King. Don’t ask me which, I don’t fucking know.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, hands braced on her hips, breath caught somewhere between awe and shock.

“Are you saying your family was part of the French aristocracy?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

She blinked once. Then again.

“Wait, wait, wait—you’re telling me you’ve got noble blood? Should I be bowing?”

“My blood’s anything but noble, Scarlett.”

She took a step back, hand dragging through her hair.

“Well, if I had that in my lineage, I’d tattoo it on my forehead and demand a parade every morning. I’d be insufferable.”

A rough laugh clawed up my throat.

“French people don’t parade their royalty or aristocracy. They guillotine them. Probably best I kept the legacy quiet, chérie . It’s not exactly a flex in this country.”

Her eyes narrowed, mouth twitching.

I didn’t tell her how deep the bloodline ran.

How our name had once echoed through marble halls and oil fields. How my great-great-grandfather had built an empire in petroleum, and my grandfather had turned it into something even fucking bigger.

But legacies didn’t mean shit when your hands are stained with blood.

Her eyes swept over the castle and its overgrown garden.

“It’s like a little private island,” she said, slipping off her flip-flops and leaving them by the rocks.

Then she stepped barefoot onto the stone, toes brushing over rough edges until she reached the weathered deck. She moved toward the castle slowly, carefully, like the place might wake if she got too close.

I didn’t follow. Not right away.

I just watched her.

Fuck, she looked unreal in that light—hair burning like fire, skin kissed gold by the sun. The mimosas had bloomed wild along the stone, yellow petals scattering in her path like even the earth couldn’t help but make room for her.

She looked fucking holy. Like something divine set loose in hell.

She didn’t belong here. Not with me.

Not with ghosts and salt and blood still drying on my hands.

But she walked anyway. Toward the graveyard of everything I’d buried.

Mon étoile filante . My shooting star .

She sat down on the stone steps, elbows on her knees. The sea wind tangled her hair, but she didn’t push it away.

I stepped closer.

“Why did you bring me here, Théo?”

Her voice was quieter now.

“You asked me what else I’ve lied about,” I said, my hands curling at my sides. “There’s something I never told you.”

Her brows pulled together, and she hugged her legs to her chest.

“The first man I ever killed,” I said, my breath sharp in my throat, “wasn’t some faceless terrorist.”

I paused, long enough for the silence to start chewing at both of us.

“It was my father. Right here. On this island. Fourteen years ago.”