Chapter 75 Not My Type, She's More
KIERAN
"Kieran, how can you do this to me? Just because of that girl. You've known me longer than you've known her," Veronica said, her face pale, lips chapped and peeling.
I leaned against the wall, watching her as I took a slow drag from the cigarette between my fingers. I should've known better. Trusted my instincts. I wasn't stupid. Veronica wanted me. Not because she loved me. She didn't love anyone, not in that way. She believed marrying into the Blackwood family would throw her into the spotlight, give her more fame.
But she should've known better. I never gave her reason to think anything would happen between us. I never once slept with her or felt the urge to fuck her brains out. She was always stuck in the friend zone. Still, I saw it—her jealousy, the hunger in her eyes for something she thought she deserved. But she was wrong.
"You didn't just cross a line, Veronica," I said quietly, blowing a stream of smoke toward the window. "You dragged that line, stomped on it, then spat on it."
Her eyes flickered—guilt wrestling with indignation. "I didn't know you liked her that way! I was upset because you were giving her too much attention. I just wanted to rough her up a little. I wasn't really going to hurt her. I thought…" She trailed off, but I knew she was lying. After all these years, she should've known I knew. Veronica was ruthless—she did things without looking back or feeling remorse. And I liked that about her, because she was like me. Birds of a feather. But this bird needed her wings clipped.
"You thought wrong," I cut her off, my voice cold now. "You don't get to play with her like that. She's not one of your props."
Veronica blinked rapidly, lips trembling. "Why are you defending her like this? She doesn't even talk, Kieran! She's… she's not even your type!"
I pushed off the wall and stepped closer. She shrank back, but she couldn't escape—still tied to the chair.
"You're right," I said, flicking ash off my cigarette. "She's not my type. She's better. Even in silence."
Her confident mask cracked completely. "You're throwing me away… for someone who can't even say your name?"
I dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and closed the distance until I was inches from her face. "I'd throw away the whole damn world for her if I had to."
She stared at me, stunned.
I didn't wait for a response. "I want you to leave the country for—"
Her mouth dropped open. "L-leave the country? What do you mean?"
I bent down, flicking her hair behind her ear. "What I mean, Vera, is you leave the States for a month. Actually, make it two. I don't want to see your face. You should be grateful that's all your punishment, because I can't bring myself to hurt you." As I spoke, tears rolled down her cheeks. I looked away.
Then I added, "And if you ever try something like this again—if you come near her—I'll make sure whatever little fame you have left turns to dust. And that time, I'll just be getting started."
She gasped, but no words came out.
As I turned toward the basement door, ready to leave, her voice stopped me cold. "Will you ever forgive me?"
I stared at the iron door. "I loved you, Veronica. I still do—as a friend. Our relationship won't just go down the drain. But I will never forgive or forget what you've done."
With that, I walked out of the basement, Damon following behind.
"Make sure she's untied and taken home. And make sure she leaves the country tomorrow. No later than that."
"Yes, boss. But what about Killian, Darion, and the four young girls from the shoot?"
I paused.
"Make sure the men are punished. Do not kill them. And as for the young girls…" I trailed off. Those girls were the 'models' forced into that illegal adult content Veronica was running—not exactly at gunpoint, but manipulated through their vulnerabilities.
I turned around. "You can get them into the Red Academy—well, those who have nowhere else to go. Tell them what it entails, the training involved. If they're not interested, write them a check and send them away."
Damon nodded.
"What about the man?"
My lips twitched. The motherfucker who laid a hand on my wife.
"I'll handle him myself. I'll be there soon."
With that, Damon turned and disappeared back into the basement.
I headed back into the building.
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When I got to our bedroom, my eyes immediately went to the bed—but she wasn't there. My heart lurched, and my eyes darted around until I heard the shower running in the bathroom.
I moved quickly, pulled open the door, then turned the corner and pushed open the door leading into the large shower room.
I stopped at the door and found her bent under the multiple shower heads, water pouring down on her naked body, her head pressed between her knees.
I closed the door softly behind me and strode toward her. When I stopped just inches away, she lifted her head and stared up at me. Even with water streaming down her face and body, I could see she was crying.
I knelt in front of her, not caring that my clothes were getting soaked. The water poured between us, but all I could see was her—my girl, my wife, my obsession.
She tried to wipe her face, b
ut I caught her wrist mid-air. "Don't," I murmured. "Don't hide from me."