Page 37

Veronica

A ll Veronica takes is a glance to realize which version is sitting next to her. And even though disappointment is suddenly a living thing stirring at the pit of her stomach, she can’t help it when her heart stutters. They might seem like they’re two different people but they look the same. She misses Raidon so much, she doesn’t even care if it’s the malicious version of him she gets.

Two weeks is too much time to stay without the person your heart craves so much, it feels like you would die without them.

She wants a conversation. She wants to hear him speak, no matter how cold or detached his voice. But Kael hasn’t uttered a word since she stepped into the car. But his jaw is sharper than usual, his eyes dark. It seems like he is angry. But he doesn’t confront her so maybe she isn’t the source of his anger.

She tears her gaze away from him to look at the window. And although she isn’t exactly surprised that Kael is doing something without her consent, her eyebrows furrow. The driver has taken the opposite direction to her house. And as much as there has never been a day she is thrilled to go home, she has to. Carla Mendes didn’t get breakfast because she had to escape from her questioning. She needs lunch at least. Old people shouldn’t stay without food for long.

“I—I need to go home,” she whispers, her voice slithering through the tense air, breaking the silence.

As expected, Veronica doesn’t get any answer.

She takes a deep breath as if about to make a speech, “I have someone waiting for me at home. I need to go.”

“No, you can’t.” His reply is curt, sharp like the edges of a blade.

That spikes something bitter at the pit of her stomach, the taste crawling up only to settle on her tongue—a tangy, sharp thing.

“Are you for real right now?” Her fingers clench on her thigh. “I said, I need to go home. Is my request going over your head or something?”

She doesn’t know why she suddenly got so irritated, angry, and frustrated. Why didn’t Raidon come? Why is he hiding for so long? Was Kael telling the truth? Did he smother his brother? Is Raidon gone for good? If yes, what’s the point? Why is she sitting here? She doesn’t want to be with this one. She wants Raidon. Not Kael.

“Hey!” Her burning eyes cut sharply to the driver, tapping the back of his seat. “I don’t care what instruction has been given but turn the fucking car around, now!”

The soldier, whose face Veronica has barely registered, glances at her through the mirror, hard cobalt eyes lacking the littlest of emotion, sending chills down her spine. But that doesn’t make her cave or waver.

Perhaps her next move is what truly makes her appear like a kid throwing a tantrum, because she leaps out of her seat, slithering through the crack between the driver and passenger seat, her fingers curling around the wheel, forcing it to stir in the opposite direction.

The tire skids, scraping the asphalt, a sharp sound hissing through the air.

Then suddenly, a yelp tears from the back of her throat when a cold hand wraps around her neck from behind, the force so cathartic it rips her fingers off the wheel, swinging her backward until her back hits the leather of her seat.

Before she can dare to recover from the whiplash of the fleeting force, Kael’s hand has moved from her neck, her jaws being crushed beneath the weight of his fingers, sharp nails digging into her soft flesh. He is hurting her…and smearing her fucking concealer.

His eyes are the darkest she has seen them, a storm that promises nothing but destruction roaring in their depths.

“Maybe we haven’t really met…” His breath is harsh against her lips. “But let me tell you, I won’t give a damn about how hard you scream or how loud you beg. I will break your pretty little neck if you try this stunt you just pulled now ever again. Do you get it?”

Veronica’s lips part but her voice doesn’t come to her rescue, so all she does is nod frantically.

“Put that pretty mouth to use.” His nails dig deeper into her flesh. “Do you hear me?!” His voice is a guttural roar that shatters every ounce of confidence and bravery left in her.

“Yes.” So timid is the whisper, she doubts he heard it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his finger loosening from her jaw, his palm patting her cheek gently.

Without another word, he settles back on his seat, his hand lifting to loosen his tie.

Kael isn’t staying in a hotel like Veronica assumed. For some reason, he is lodging in some sort of rental apartment, or maybe it’s his vacation home.

She would have let the beauty of the scenery whisk her away if she is here willingly, and if time hasn’t gone. So, she sulks, blocking out the world around her as she reluctantly follows him into the building.

The phone in her hand vibrates with an incoming call. She glances at Kael, but he is way ahead of her, lost in his own world, so she decides to answer the call before heading in.

But detangling her arms that she folds across her chest, she checks the caller’s details.

Ian.

An onslaught of emotion overwhelms her. This has to be the third time Ian is calling her today. He called while she was on her way to school. He called during lunch, and now he is calling to make sure she has closed from school for the day.

Actually, he has been calling for a very long time now when she never replied to any of his texts. Then, yesterday, she spontaneously picked up the call. She had no idea why she did that. She just did.

They talked for a while. He said he wanted them to meet, to talk properly. And frankly speaking, she felt that was a good idea too. They needed to talk. That seems to be the only way both of them can move on.

He asked when they could meet again. And Veronica vaguely promised to meet him at Fitz’s Lit and Brew at 3 pm today. She didn’t know then that Marlene would come and she would need to go home to keep her company. And frankly speaking, she also didn’t know Kael was going to come out of the blue to kidnap her.

It’s currently 3:05. This means he is already there, waiting for her. But she obviously can’t see him now. Because here she is, with another man who is nothing like the prince charming Ian Petrakis could have been to her.

The phone continues to ring away, and she can almost see Ian’s desperation in every vibration.

She sneaks a peek at Raidon again. He is by the little bar in the living room, pouring whiskey into a glass. She’s still got time.

Combing her fingers through curls, she makes a beeline for the door.

“Hey,” she whispers hesitantly into the speaker when she is successfully out of earshot, hating herself for the news she is about to break to him.

“Oh, hey.” The excitement in his voice crushes her. Her eyes snap shut as guilt ridicules her conscience.

“You are at the shop, aren’t you?” she asks, biting her lower lip nervously.

“Yeah.” His reply deflates her. “Been here for about fifteen minutes.”

“Shit,” she curses under her breath.

“Is there a problem?” he inquires, disappointment already registering in his voice.

“Yeah…” she trails off, her gaze staring into the distance. “Ian, look, I don’t think I can make it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her apology can definitely not expel what he is feeling, but that is the most logical thing to do. “My grandma came over and you know, Marlene is away. I can’t just—”

“You have a grandma?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. It has never been a conversation worth having. Carla wasn’t really present, so there was never a point in talking about someone who wasn’t even there.

“Marlene’s mom.”

“Oh.” His calm voice echoes through the speaker. “It’s just, you never talked about her.”

“She really wasn’t in the picture much.”

“I see.”

“Maybe tomorrow, same time?” she offers. She actually does want to see him. She really needs to clear the air at this point. Tell him to move on or something. Actually, she isn’t sure what she wants. If investing her emotions in Raidon and his psycho brother, who has clearly taken hold of his body now, is a bad bargain. Or if she should just settle for the gentle love Ian gave her in the past and is clearly still willing to give.

“Tomorrow sounds fine,” Ian murmurs.

“Cool.”

“So, see you tomorrow then?” He sounds really hopeful.

“Yes, definitely.”

“Okay, bye,” he says, and she awaits his signature line. “Love you.”

She shouldn’t reply, but it’s some sort of instinct at that moment, she was teleported to the past, a phone conversation between them about to end.

“Yeah, love you too—”

But she can’t even finish the legendary line as her cell phone is ripped from her ear by a hand whose fingers leave a scathing scratch on her temple.

Veronica doesn’t even have to turn to look at the person to know who it is. The invisible dark smoke that swirls around his existence already wraps around her.

And when she does turn to acknowledge him, his eyes are glaring daggers into the screen of her phone, his jaws hard and literally twitching.

“Give it back,” she says softly, stretching her hand for the phone.

His gaze shifts from the phone, his jaw working, and without glancing at her, he drops the phone on the tiled floor.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Anger roars loudly in her tone, her eyes probably spitting fire and brimstone as she glares at him. And what makes her blood sizzle in her veins is his lack of remorse as he walks away like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just throw her phone on the floor, like he hasn’t possibly damaged it.

Why are they doing this to her? First Marlene destroyed her desktop and her tablet. And now her phone is probably broken.

Shifting her gaze from his retreating form, Veronica rushes for her phone, something she has been afraid to do, too scared to see the damage.

Evidently, the phone’s screen is all cracked up pretty badly. But when she swipes her finger across the said screen, it still works well. A screen replacement should work.

Still, this damage isn’t something she bargained for. She didn’t wake up today making plans to spend money on phone repairs. The thought reignites her rage so she trudges after him.

She wants to do something bad to him. She wants to make him howl in agony. But compared to his strength, she is just dust beneath his feet, a pesky fly he just has to wave his hand to swat away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she spits the moment she reaches him by the mini bar, throwing a punch that lands like a feather striking a stone.

Fisting her hand again, she propels her arm forward, about to land another punch on his chest, but his hand swats hers away before she can even finish her mission. And in a split second, a cold hand wraps around her throat, his thumb pressing against her windpipe. She is so weightless, floating like a leaf in a storm as he drags her across the room.

Her back slams into something hard, the impact rattling through her bones. But even that pain is nothing compared to the look in his eyes. Dark. Deadly. A haunting void that traps her in place.

He says nothing. He doesn’t have to. The rapid rise and fall in his chest. The panting breath that ghosts over her skin, the tight sneer that pulls at his lips—everything about him breathes violence.

He is going to kill her.

Her hands claw at his grip, nails digging into his skin. “S-stop,” she chokes out, gasping as her lungs begin to burn, her vision flickering at the edges. Pressure builds in her skull, heartbeat thudding in her ears like a knell.

“P-please.” Dots begin to gather around her lenses, but she still summons every atom of strength in her to beg, pride and arrogance tossed off the window.

She doesn’t want to die. Certainly not like this.

Who is he?” he finally demands in a low growl.

She shakes her head in reply, definitely not what he is expecting to hear. So his finger flexes around her throat as if giving her a chance, or maybe a warning to remember her life is literally pulsing beneath the weight of his fingers, and her answer determines if she lives or dies.

“Answer me!” he roars, the sound rumbling through her like a strike of thunder, raw and unforgiving.

“No-nobody.” She forces the words out of her constricted throat. The act of speaking is agony, her voice strangled.

“He—”

Before she can finish, his hand vanishes. She collapses, doubling over, hacking and gasping, lungs dragging in air like they might never get enough. Tears spill down her cheek, hot and unbidden.

She hears the cacophony of his footsteps echo away, but not too far. When she lifts her head to catch his shadow at least, he is by the mini wine bar, grabbing another wine glass. Fingers twitching, a vein at the side of his neck flexing, he pours himself another glass of whiskey, angrily downing the content.

When the glass is empty, he slams it on the counter and leans over it, his shoulders rising and falling. The minutes of pure silence are an echo of suspense as if there is a time bomb somewhere in the corner waiting to explode.

After what feels like hours, he leans off the table, and Veronica, in turn, presses her body instantly against the wall, as if it would suddenly grow a pair of strong arms to protect her. He cranes his neck slowly, and when his predatory and hungry-looking eyes fall on her, the first and only thought is to bolt for the door.

But instead of charging at her and finishing what he started, he grabs the wine glass again and pours enough whiskey into it. When he turns around to face her, her pulse jumps, every instinct screaming at her to run. His eyes are dark and unreadable.

“Get out.”

The command is quiet, yet it shakes through her like an earthquake.

Shocked that he is setting her free after all, Veronica looks around just to be sure. It feels a lot like a trap or something. But before she can even take a step to honor the command, the soldier that’s been standing like a statue at the corner of the room all along, unfreezes and steps out through the sliding glass door.

Veronica’s brows furrow, her eyes bouncing between the space the soldier disappeared through and the man whose dark gaze is still pinned on her.

“Take off your clothes.” The words hit her like a gunshot, devoid of hesitation. A command that leaves no room for hesitation.

Veronica glances at the soldier who is now standing behind the transparent glass door, hoping the command is for him, waiting for him to take action even though she would rather not see some soldier’s naked ass.

“Take off your fucking clothes, Veronica!” A shiver goes down her spine, the way his tongue wraps around her name sending heat between her legs. And she has no idea what that makes her.

But wait, he wants her to strip? Right now? Right here? Is he insane?

She nervously glances around the large room, taking in her surroundings, and her eyes fall on the soldier again.

Glass makes up literally sixty percent of the living room they are standing in. Is she about to risk getting naked and giving some soldier a free view?

“I-” She shakes her head, forgetting when it comes to him, she is of little choice. “I can’t.”

“It wasn’t a request,” he says simply.

“B-but.”

“-Now!” The word hit her like a physical blow. Her fingers tremble as they reach for the button on her shirt, each pop of button sending her heart into a frantic, erratic rhythm.

Heat rises to her cheeks and her ears, rushing through her bloodstream in a dizzy wave. And the whole time, his eyes never leave her.

What passes between them in that moment isn’t just fear. It’s something else. Something raw. Something electric.

She fights him. She tells herself it’s because she abhors everything he stands for—his ruthless methods, his cold detachment, the very essence of who he is. But deep down, beneath the layers of defiance she clings to so desperately, there’s a truth she is too afraid to name.

She doesn’t fight because she wants to escape him. She fights because she craves the battle, the raw electricity of his dominance clashing with her resistance. It’s not him she wants. It’s the chaos he ignites in her—the intoxicating thrill of being overpowered, stripped of control, and forced to bend when every nerve in her body begs to resist. It’s a darkness she can’t admit to, a hunger she shouldn’t feel, yet it simmers beneath her skin, begging to be unleashed.

She loves the fear he instills in her and thrives in the danger his presence whispers. Her body lights up at the touch of his cruel hands, and in the depth of his darkness, all she sees are bursts of colors.

She is insane, you see. And perhaps, he is possibly right.