Chapter 86: Owner Of Her Favorite Scent

SICILY, ITALY

Sun spilled through the open curtains of a room.

A lady winced, groaning and turning sideways because of the pain in her lower abdomen and the sun blinding her vision.

God dammit!

She cursed under her breath, trying to block the sun rays from affecting her eyes. But she couldn't. They were relentless in making her begin her day miserably.

Groaning, she swung her feet from the bed, and the instant she stood, trying to take a step further, her hips twisted and she fell to the floor.

"Ahhh," she cried out, the pain in her stomach hadn't subsided and a ringing noise began around her head.

She muttered a series of expletives and crawled towards the ends of the curtains, grabbing the hem hard, she tugged it until the heavy curtains moved and the room drowned in darkness— well not too dark because it was a bright morning but dark enough because she hated the fucking sun and brightness.

Staying locked in the dungeon cell for over a month had impaired her vision, making her extremely sensitive to blind flashing lights.

She coughed, a thick clog constricting at her throat.

She bit her lips, held the edge of the bed and stood on her feet.

Then she began with little steps at a time, not trying to overdo anything.

She turned around the room. It was dark of course, little to minimalist decors.

The room had only taupe colours. Drawers, closet, doors and everything every inch of the room was drowned in taupe, using only white where necessary.

Who the fuck has such a boring and bland taste? So cold and no warmth.

Even the bed didn't leave any trace of warmth for her. The only reason why she loved the bed was because of the cinnamon scent.

She knew for certain that the scent belonged to the person she couldn't see properly last night.

Suddenly a smile spread on her face. Uninvited but stayed.

She wanted to meet the person again and obviously her saviour.

Holding an arm to her bruised stomach, she walked slowly towards the door and twisted it open.

She was welcomed by emptiness and quietness.

Outside the room were white walls, white ceilings with lights shining where necessary.

Everywhere looked like she was in a hospital because of all the whiteness but she knew she wasn't.

Despite all the whiteness, there were hints of luxury that proved she wasn't in a medical facility.

The white floor beneath her bare feet wasn't cold tile, but expensive, polished marble that felt smooth against the roughness of her feet.

The hall alone was screaming quiet classism. The kind where billionaires who had the money always lived in cold and empty places.

Exactly the place she was right now.

She began walking, dragging her feet slowly down the endless corridor.

One step at a time, she held onto the pristine white wall for support.

It was weird to her not to have caught a single soul. She had never liked silence in her life.

She was life. She was the party.

Her whole body ached. Like aching terribly bad. Each step she took, straining hard against her muscles.

And her vision began fading again slowly.

She kept walking, turning a sharp corner that opened into a massive staircase.

Looking down, she saw a grand foyer with a crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, sparkling like diamonds.

The place was completely empty, lacking any signs of life, but it screamed of bottomless money and power.

Whoever owned this... Mansion? Was rich, like insanely rich.

She slowly made her way down the steps, grabbing the heavy banister to keep her balance.

Just as she reached the last step of the staircase, a sudden sound from the far end of the hall made her freeze.

Someone was indeed inside the building.

A low pounding sound was coming from somewhere she didn't know but she followed the sound.

Almost at the verge of passing out again, she forced her aching legs to keep moving, tracking the heavy vibrations through the marble floor.

She walked down another long corridor, turning away from the main foyer.

The further she walked, the louder the noise became.

Then after a short while, she finally reached the far end of the corridor.

Ahead of her, a pair of massive frosted glass doors stood slightly ajar.

The heavy pounding sound was coming from inside.

Holding her breath, she pushed the glass door open a fraction more and peeked through the gap.

It was a gym.

But not a normal gym—it was a huge, luxury private fitness center filled with top-of-the-line black equipment that looked entirely brand new.

Her eyes instantly caught a man in the center of the room.

He was shirtless and sweating profusely. Black inks threading across his back into the shape of an animal. She couldn't see properly but damn!

She gasped, holding her breath in.

Who is that man? Came her immediate thought.

And God damn that smell. That fucking cinnamon smell that smelled so different to her last night was coming from this man.

He was the owner of the scent.

He was currently doing a handstand holding onto paralettes.

Then instantly she froze, her eyes had locked with piercing blue eyes.

They were cold, sharp and entirely unblinking.

He stopped his workout, lowering his feet back to his mat smoothly as if it took no effort at all.

She decided to stop hiding and walked into the gym.

Her heart pounding loudly against her ears. Goosebumps forming on her skin.

He was so handsome that she could literally die for him. Like so fucking handsome, handsome.

And when he took a black towel from a nearby bench, wiping his sweat from his neck, her knees weakened.

His muscles had flexed so hard that she wished to feel it, touch his rippled skin while tracing the lines of the black ink across her skin.

Yes! This was him. He's the owner of my favorite scent now.

She walked closer to him, while he stared at her curiously.

"You're awake."

Her skin burned, her eyes turning to lustful slits as his deep baritone voice mixed into her blood.

It sent her skin on literal fire, making her forget the pains on her body momentarily.

"Yes, I am."

"Good, you should start leaving. You made it through the night. You're alive. Leave my property now."

Huh?!

What the fuck did he mean by that?

Not happy, she began, "You didn't even ask for my name. I—"

"I don't need to know your name." He cut in, voice was so detached and cold. He was not even looking at her, he was looking straight ahead.

Annoyed, she stood on the tip of her toes, "Hey! I'm talking to you and your eyes are somewhere else," she paused then cleared her throat,

"Well... Thank you for saving me. Mr..." She slurred waiting for him to fill in the gap with his name.

He easily towered over her even as she stood on the tip of her toes.

He flicked his cold gaze on her again, he was entirely devoid of feelings for the girl. He was neither angry or agitated.

"Boris will see you out."

He said and crossed her but her brows furrowed slightly.

Her hand shot out and she held him by his wrist, feeling his sweat there.

"You're being very rude mister."

His gaze hardened.

Now he felt something for her.