Chapter 55 The Start
Daxton
Verena said ‘yes’, to be tied to me, to every maddening and sickening love that she was about to drown in, to being consumed by me, to the darkest part of me.
She didn’t know what she had signed up for. I mean, how could she when I would never let her see the things I would do to keep the people that I love? But, if this was what being a girlfriend meant, then she said ‘yes’ to me.
The kiss with Verena had done nothing but fuel the angry jealousy that unfurled in my chest. And that was when it hit me that as much as I could still stand other men talking to her—just a little bit—I couldn’t stand her being touched by other men.
The only reason Kian was spared last night was that he was drunk. If he wasn’t, I could have dragged him back to my club’s basement and no one would have stopped me.
So, I thought of a lighter punishment, something to curb my insanity before it could spiral into a mess. That was by ruining the car.
And more fascinatingly, watching Verena drive the truck into the car.
I couldn’t explain the darkness that lifted from my chest when she crushed the car. Even though she was scared, she didn’t run or cry. She did everything I asked no matter how damning it was and that was when it hit me that she was meant to be mine from the start.
She was my soulmate and that was why I was fixated on her from the very moment I laid eyes on her.
Darkness came, went and now, every part of me buzzed with extreme happiness as I made her breakfast. Bacon, pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs, and steaming brown coffee—Just my perfect idea of a Sunday breakfast.
The housekeeper slowly pushed the drawer in, her voice cutting through the song that I hummed. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you cook, sir”
I glanced up at her with a smile on my face. “Really? I used to cook for my mum and—”
The smile on my face slowly faltered and before bad memories that could ruin my day resurfaced, I forced out a smile.
“I learned how to cook by the age of seven,” I dripped small syrup on Verena’s pancake.
“Wow, your mum taught you how to cook from an early age?”
I froze mid-action, resisting the urge to glare daggers at her. But, I wouldn’t fault her. I was the one who made mention of my mum first.
“It’s about time you bought a new set of dishes—” I changed the subject of the topic. She nodded. “Sure, I’ll change them tomorrow”
“No, I want it done today. Now”
This was the problem with me. I always had the punishment for every misstep even though it was unintentional. It was a coping mechanism, an ugly instinctive response to stop me from doing the things I really wanted to do.
I shoved all the thoughts about my past to the back of my mind, carrying the breakfast all the way upstairs. In that last minute, it suddenly hit me that I could have added a red rose to the tray.
I imagined Verena raising the rose to her nose, inhaling it sharply before her eyes wandered back to me. “So, do I eat this as well?”
I chuckled softly from the imagination, pushing the door inside. “Verena?” She wasn’t on the bed anymore.
I dropped the tray on the dresser, knocking and slightly opening the door to the bathroom but she wasn’t there as well. Could she have returned to her own room?
I was about to turn when I heard the sharp sound of something crashing. And it came from my walk-in closet.
I stalked over to the door, pushing the slightly open door until my eyes landed on Verena who quickly shoved the pictures back into the box as soon as our eyes clashed.
She bit her lower lip, pushing her hair back. “I was just taking a walk in your room and exploring the places I haven’t been in. Then I saw this pretty box, wanted to run my fingers through the design when it tumbled from my hands,”
The tension in my body eased. She hasn’t seen them.
“Did you fall,” I crossed to her in a stride as she now carefully arranged the pictures without looking at them.
But, fate turned on me and she took a glance at one. “Is she your mum? Is this you and who is this?”
I snatched the picture from her, shoving it into my pocket while dropping one knee, placing the lid over the box, and putting it back on top of the shelf. “Your breakfast would turn cold and I know you hate cold pancakes,”
Slowly it dawned on me that she couldn’t have reached the top shelf without climbing on something and with the knocked stool on the floor—
Oh, God.
I crouched, pushing her dress up until it revealed her knee which was bruised and with a dark streak of small pooling blood across the tender skin. “Verena!” I hissed, eyes sliding to her face.
She slipped a hand into her hair, trying to avoid my gaze. “I was startled when you opened the door, so I fell. The situation is comical but who is the woman in the picture?”
Just when I thought that she had dropped it!
“You never talk about your mum or—”
Unease curled within me and this time, my voice came out harsher than I intended. “Verena!”
I sucked in a deep breath in a bid to calm my nerves. “Talking too much would strain the wound on your knee”
“Why do I think that you are trying to shut me up,”
“Good! Now shut up,” I straightened, whisking her off her feet before she even realized it. She sucked in a gasp, eyes flickering to mine and the way she pushed her lips forward almost made me want to kiss her again.
“I can walk,”
“Yet, your hands are around my neck”
She blinked and then laughed and my stomach dipped. Why did she have to be so cute? Why couldn’t I get mad at Verena?
“Because I like it when you carry me”
My heart pounded in my chest and having to keep an angry face around her was fucking hard. With her in my arms, I carried her all the way to the bed, lowering her carefully on it as she muttered. “Thank you,”
I simply smiled, reaching for the first-aid kit in my drawer before sitting next to her, her leg on my lap.
The sight of the blood made my jaw clench hard. I hated that she fell, that she bled and worse, that I wasn’t there to catch her.
It could have ended really badly.
I tore open an alcohol wipe while she shrieked without it even making contact with her skin yet. “Would it sting a little”
I stared at her amusingly, a smile curling at the corner of my lips. “A little? It would sting a lot and leave a scar!”
She scowled. “My first day being your girlfriend and this is what you do to me?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
I chuckled. “Verena?”
She winked at me and then stared at the ceiling while I watched her carefully. “I have been meaning to ask, when did you start liking me. How long have you known me?”
A heartbeat of silence stretched between us because how do I even start? That I had liked her since the moment I saw her in that black dress, holding an umbrella over Kian’s head whose body trembled as he cried in front of my stepmother’s grave.
I wasn’t interested in Kian’s life and hadn’t attended his wedding because getting married at such an early age made no lick of sense to me. I never supported him, his parents and because of my refusal, he cut contact with me.
That was when the relationship between us went awry.
I actually never cared about Kian or whatever he did with his life anymore until I saw her. I remembered the irritation in her eyes from the rain beating her, the glint of sadness in her eyes because of Kian, and then the anger that followed.
It was amazing how someone could show many emotions at once.
Since that time, Verena has become a project I worked on. I tried to stop myself so many times, reminding myself of Kian, of boundaries—but I couldn’t. I did a lot of research on her, even ordering Josh to dig dirt on Kian so that I could ruin his marriage and have her to myself.
But Kian remained faithful to her and I was about to give up on Verena when Zita came into the picture.
Like the good uncle he believed me to be, I should have reached out, warned him, and stopped everything he had with Zita. But the truth was, I wasn’t good.
I was very selfish, flawed, and would watch people walk into hell as long as it meant me achieving my goals.
If cheating on Verena with Zita was going to make me have her, then what was the need to stop him?
If I had stopped him, I was sure that she would have still been with him. So, no! I was glad I never did.
“That’s a long pause…are you ready to tell me when it all started?” she asked again.
I smiled, swiped through her knee with the alcohol wipe and she let out a wince. “No, I don’t remember when it all started.”