Page 29

Veronica

I t’s 10:00 a.m when Veronica finally could wake up. The early hours of the morning are still a blur. She knows he didn’t stop—not even after taking her from behind. Not when her body threatened to give out. He went another round, and another, until she blacked out. There’s only so much her body can take. And that fucking man is a beast.

But something feels off when she pushes herself into a sitting position on the bed.

She was naked. Now, a white button-up shirt hangs loosely over her frame. The silk sheet from last night—which she remembers to have been quite messy, reeking of sex—has been changed to a new set, the soft smell of flora lingering in the air. Also, she’s tucked in neatly.

Her eyes sweep the room, searching for any sign of him. Nothing.

He’s gone.

And he’s back—Raidon.

The man who spent her night with her would never have thought to do this. He’s selfish, callous and narcissistic. And depraved men hardly care about anything other than themselves.

Instinctively, she raises her hand to pack her hair into a bun—a subconscious habit. But there’s no need. It’s already up, not exactly neatly, but the person tried their best.

Her pulse ticks faster, the air in the room heavy with something she can’t name.

Then her hand flies to cradle her stomach as a sharp pain suddenly grips it. Hunger. She did eat heavily last night. Enough to have lasted her till brunch. But with the kind of work Kael or whatever he said his name was made her do, it’s no surprise that she’s starving. He made sure to suck her dry of energy.

Kicking the cover off her body, she attempts to step off the bed. She does struggle to rise up, but the impact of her action is immediately felt when she tries to walk and a sharp, burning pain awakens between her thighs.

She is still sore. Too fucking sore.

Afraid to take another step, she sits back down at the edge of the bed, gripping the cover she pulled off her body earlier, willing the pain to fade. Five minutes. Maybe that’s all she needs. Because that’s how long she thinks she can last for without any food in her stomach.

Barely one minute and hunger gnaws at her again, relentless. Her hands tremble. Her stomach twists. Nausea creeps in, familiar, inevitable. She always feels this sick when she’s running on empty. And right now, she’s fucking starving.

But where is he? Why did he leave the room? She has questions. She has a million and one questions to ask. Whatever happened last night till the early hours of this morning isn’t something to just shrug off. There is something lurking in the shadows. She has a clue, but she doesn’t want to jump to conclusions yet.

This is complicated.

She hates things that don’t have a direct answer. She should book the next flight and be out of here.

It’s not even a debate. Maybe the answers shouldn’t be her problem. What needs to be done is get the hell out of here as soon as possible. If she can get a flight today, she is leaving.

She should get out of here fast.

Her thoughts scatter the moment the door to the ensuite living room creaks open, ushering someone in. Her heart pounds as her eyes shoot to the door of the room, anticipating whoever just walked in as footsteps echo in the living room. The sound grows nearer until the person hovers over the door now.

The door creaks and she holds her breath. Then Raidon walks inside, and she releases a sigh.

Somehow, she thinks she can tell which version of him walked through that door. Whether it’s him or the nightmarish being from last night.

But it’s him. She knows deep down. His eyes are kinder, his face relaxed and his hair is back in a half-bun, unlike the other version, who seems to really hate that style.

He looks to have just freshly showered. He is dressed in his signature white dress shirt and black pants, every detail pristine.

But, however drop dead gorgeous he may be looking, it’s what’s in his hands that matters the most to her.

A tray holding a plate of food.

Her eyes widen, her stomach clenching in awareness as hunger slams into her again, sharp, insistent. A low growl escapes her gut, betraying how desperately she needs whatever is on that plate.

There is no doubt about it. It’s the real Raidon. He is the selfless one, the kind and considerate one. He is carrying food when he can’t stand food. That is also a question that she needs answers to. How has he been living if he can’t eat a proper meal? Why have so much money if all he settles for is coffee and a cheap sandwich or a cup of noodles?

See? He is complicated. There are suddenly too many puzzles to him. Almost as if he is no longer the same man she knew before coming here. There are now too many locked doors now, too many questions to answer, and too many secrets hidden beneath the surface.

“You are awake,” he says, softly, in the gentle voice she is used to, not the sinister and hard one from last night.

“Yeah.” Her reply is thrown out without a care as her eyes track his movements, searching his face, his eyes, seeking the calm she used to see in them…if it’s truly still there. Because last night, it wasn’t.

“I brought you breakfast.” His voice is quiet, his movements hesitant as he sets the food on her lap, refusing to meet her gaze. “I figured you would be hungry.”

Her eyes drop to the food. Four slices of toast. Bacon and a steaming cup of tea. Simple.

“Did you make this?” she asks, picking a toast and taking a large bite.

When she looks up from her food, she finds him watching her. His brilliant eyes flicker with something fragile—fear, uncertainty.

He is afraid? Of what?

If he remembers anything—if there’s not a lapse in memory like she has read about in books—then he must have some idea of what happened last night.

If that’s the case, he is probably afraid of confrontation. Afraid of the answers he might have to give, or not have at all.

“Veronica,” he calls, lowering himself next to her on the bed. “I don’t—” he starts and pauses, his hand diving into his hair, skimming over the silky waves.

“What?” she mumbles, then swallows.

“I don’t remember half of what happened last night,” he confesses. “Or anything at all. And I know there are a million questions going through your head, too. You’re probably thinking of leaving if you don’t get a convincing answer, but I—I can’t.”

“Do you have a personality problem, Snow white?” she asks, putting the toast aside out of sudden lack of interest. “That’s like the most logical explanation to whatever it is that’s happening around here.”

His hand rests on his lap, the left one trembling.

“That’s why I said I couldn’t be your boyfriend.” He lifts his eyes to her. “It means taking care of you, putting your needs before mine, being selfless. And I’m not emotionally available or capable of that, Veronica. Well, I could try, if I read a lot of books on how. But…” he trails off, then releases a shaky exhale.

“I figured that out.” She shrugs, like she is indifferent about this, even though she is so freaked out she wants to run. “What’s he?” she asks, her voice clinical, like a therapist.

“More like who he is.” He takes in a sharp breath, his free hand clutching the trembling one.

“Tell me about him,” she says.

He takes in a sharp breath, his gaze dropping to the floor, then the space between them, like he’s searching for an exit that doesn’t exist. “You’re not gonna like it.”

She tilts her head, studying him, waiting.

After a moment, he drags a hand down his face. “I had a twin once. A brother.” His voice is quieter now, like he’s peeling back something raw. “Kael.”

Veronica frowns. “Had?”

He lets out a breathy, humorless, and quiet chuckle. “I ate him.”

The silence that follows is deafening. The world outside the window blurs into nothing, the noises made by the soldiers training outside just a ghost of a sound. Veronica doesn’t breathe.

Raidon swallows, looking away. “It happens sometimes. In the womb. One twin absorbs the other.” He pauses, jaw tight. “Except he didn’t just disappear. He stayed. He grew inside me, like a shadow that never left.”

Veronica shifts in her seat. “You mean—”

“I mean, he’s real,” Raidon interrupts, his voice sharper now, like he’s forcing himself to say it all before he loses his nerve. “He thinks. He feels. He has a life… through me.” He looks down at his hands. The left one is still shaking, his fingers twitching like they belong to someone else. “And sometimes, I let him have it.”

Veronica’s stomach twists. “What do you mean, you let him have it?”

He flexes his hand like he can force the tremors away. “I give him time in my body. Let him take over.”

She blinks. “You let him?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I owe him that much, don’t I?” His voice is rough, almost bitter. “I stole his life before he even had a chance to live it. The least I can do is share mine. Although, sometimes, he can get greedy. I have held him bound for weeks, because I never wanted you to meet him. But yesterday, I just couldn’t keep on. I gave him control, only temporarily. But I fear he’s getting more powerful. I felt it yesterday. He’s getting stronger. I’m afraid soon he’ll be the dominant one in this body.”

Veronica stares at him, her mind a storm of questions. What’s going on? How is this real and how is it her life right now? Why can’t she have something really simple and normal in life? Why must every turn be so complicated? How did she end up at this crossroad?

And most importantly, how does she handle this? She has read books about personality disorder. But those were fictions. None ever truly prepared her for when she becomes a main character in a real life one.

“How do you know he’s real?” she asks. Maybe that isn’t the most important question. But she can’t think of anything else. Well, there are things to think about, but those require answers, and she has no answers, neither does he.

Raidon lifts his eyes to hers, and for a second, something flickers behind them—something not entirely his.

“Because sometimes,” he says, his voice lower, almost eerie. “he talks back. We sit in the quiet of the moment and have a conversation...like brothers do.”

Veronica exhales through her nose, confusion creating discord in her head, her mind warring with what’s a truth and what’s a lie. To run or to stay.

She has never heard of a twin eating the other in the womb, or the dead twin deciding to live through one. Is there a medical explanation for this? She feels like she’s living in a horror movie all of a sudden.

“Did he force himself on you-”

“I don’t—” she takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” She truly doesn’t know. It wasn’t like Josh. She really didn’t want Josh to touch her, talk to her, let alone have sex with her. But last night, she was really scared, never been so scared of a man in her life. But every touch awoke something in her, something unfamiliar. She said no, not because she didn’t want it. But because she thinks it wasn’t right to want it.

And she enjoyed it. Every single moment of it. She’s not sure what that is. Not asking for consent usually meant sexual assault. But she wanted it so badly she asked for more.

Maybe something is wrong with her as well. Maybe Raidon isn’t the only one crazy.

“I—I did put up a fight.” She finally looks at him. “But maybe not enough. I stopped trying pretty quickly. Because.” Her voice drops to a whisper, barely audible as she bites her lip nervously. “Because I-I l-liked it.”

Something flashes in Raidon’s eyes, and though feeting, his jaw tics. And when she glances down, his fingers are curled into a fist, pressing into his thigh.

“Are you…” He trails off hesitantly, his gaze on his clenched fist.

“Am I what?”

“You are going to leave, aren’t you?”

The broken way the question is asked causes a shiver to ripple through her, leaving behind a trail of tiny raised bumps on her skin.

Her heart skips, her stomach lurching.

When she finally leaves this room, she plans to have Shiro quickly find a way to switch their return ticket to today. She was going to disappear quietly; he wouldn’t even have realized she was gone until she was already on the flight back home.

But now, the desperation and sincerity in his voice, like he can’t bear to lose her—even though this might be him manipulating her—she shakes her head. “No.”

And as soon as she utters that one word, a memory from last night plays like a movie in her head.

“Now that I know what you taste like, I will not be letting you go anytime soon, ” he had murmured against her searing skin as he pounded into her. “You will never belong to another man,” he added as he sank his teeth into her neck, breaking open a skin like a vampire from her silly novels. “ You are mine now, ladybird.’

And as she replays the memory in her head, she wonders; if she does want to truly leave, with the way the promise had rippled from his chest, the darkness lacing every word, will she even be successful with escaping him?

He will find her. He will definitely haunt her down. There’s no other way to put it. She has walked into a wicked web. Her tentacles have been entangled and bound. Escaping won’t be a walk in the park.