15

15
Arabella

Heat flooded my cheeks, burning like wildfire as my hands flew instinctively to cover my chest. Shame and something else; something I refused to name, coiled in my stomach.

Six stared at me, his eyes dancing with undisguised amusement, lips curled into that infuriating smirk that made my pulse quicken against my will.

“You are a crass man, Six,” I said, trying to inject venom into my voice, but hearing the breathless quality instead.

He shrugged with an easy confidence that both infuriated and captivated me. “You did seem to like my crassness that night...” His voice dropped lower, the words wrapping around me like velvet.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting the metallic hint of blood as I fought the blush threatening to consume me.

I averted my gaze, unable to bear the knowing look in his eyes; the look that said he could see right through my pretenses.

“How long are you going to stay in the water?” he asked.

The truth was, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The water was my sanctuary, the only barrier between his touch and my treacherous body. “As long as I have to!”

His laugh, deep and rich, sent unwelcome shivers down my spine. He flashed that perfect set of teeth, the kind of smile that promised both pleasure and pain. “You have a sharp mouth, don’t you?”

Before I could retreat, his hand shot out, gripping my jaw with a strength that should have frightened me but instead left me dizzy. He pulled me closer until I was drowning in his gaze.

I sucked in a breath, my heart racing in my chest, but not from fear. It was nothing like the incident with Marco. This felt a lot different, it felt… “I…”

“Shh...” His whisper caressed my skin, intimate as a lover’s touch. His finger traced my lower lip with exquisite gentleness, barely grazing the tender bruise.

In that moment, his mask slipped, just for a heartbeat, and I glimpsed something I never expected: guilt. It flickered in his eyes like a dying flame, gone almost before I recognized it.

Why would he, of all people, feel guilty? The question lodged in my throat as he continued, “No one ever warned you to keep quiet when there’s a need for it, especially for your self-preservation.”

“How could I…”

He pulled me closer, his hand still firmly around my jaw. “Yesterday could have been a lot worse…”

I dryly chuckled. “Nothing could be worse than being betrothed to Marco. I can think of many worse things he could do to me…”

The thought sent chills down my spine. Yesterday had been humiliating. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

I also knew it could have been much worse. I was trapped in a nightmare with the devil, and there were worse things he could do to me.

“Is that why you wanted to kill him?” he asked.

Time stopped. My blood turned to ice water in my veins.

His face was a perfect blank canvas, impossible to read. My mind raced frantically, searching for an escape, an explanation, a lie.

But what was the point? He had heard everything. My foolish, desperate plan laid bare at that cursed party.

I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged. The truth sat heavy between us, unspoken but acknowledged.

“So what are you going to…”

“Sir, Master…”

I pulled away instantly and swam further from him.

He slowly rose to his feet, unfazed that someone had walked in on us.

Maria paused only for a brief moment before regaining her composure. “Master Marco is here. He would like to see you.”

I padded into the house, my wet feet leaving faint prints against the polished marble floors.

The towel wrapped around me was barely enough to keep away the evening chill, and my bikini clung to my skin, still damp from the pool.

My hands trembled slightly, but I kept them clenched at my sides, willing myself to stay composed.

Marco was waiting. Six knew my murderous plans. Marco was waiting.

He sat in the dimly lit living room, his broad frame relaxed against the leather couch, but his eyes, those dark, calculating eyes, were anything but.

They dragged over me, slow and lewd, as if peeling away the fabric of my towel with his gaze alone. I saw him lick his lips, and I almost puked in my mouth.

“How was your day?” His voice was deceptively soft, coaxing.

I swallowed hard against the nausea, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. “It was okay,” I whispered, the words hollow.

His silence stretched for a moment before he spoke again.

“Were you comfortable? Was everything to your liking?”

Still avoiding his gaze, I replied, “It was boring, nothing like what I’m used to. There isn’t much to do in a big house all by myself.”

The air shifted suddenly. I could feel it.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he barked.

I flinched as his voice thundered across the room. My breath hitched, my fingers curling tighter into my palms.

Slowly, I lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his stare. Those dead eyes.

His expression flickered, the anger in his face melting into something else. Something worse.

A slow, manic smile spread across his lips.

He reached for me, his fingers rough but almost gentle as they cupped my face.

“You look beautiful, bambolina mia (My little doll),” he murmured, the endearment making my skin crawl.

My chest tightened. My heart pounded so hard I thought he could hear it. Stay quiet for your own self-preservation, Six’s words echoed in my head.

I clenched my jaw to keep my lips from trembling, but the weight of everything, Six revealing that he knew my plans, Maria walking in on us, the sickening tension in this room, was all too much.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

Marco’s thumb brushed it away, his head tilting slightly. “Why are you crying?” His tone was light, almost amused, like my distress was something sweet.

I wanted to snap at him. Because I don’t want to be here. Because I want my life back. Because you disgust me.

There were many cruel things I wanted to say to the deranged man in front of me.

But I swallowed it all down. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, keeping my voice steady. “I’m just… sad. Terrified. I don’t know how to explain it.”

His gaze dipped lower, his expression shifting.

His fingers traced the faint bruise on my lower lip, his brows pulling together. “Did I do this?”

I hesitated. Then, slowly, I nodded.

He exhaled, as if in shock, then shook his head. “Tsk.” His hand slipped from my face, and for a brief moment, I saw something that almost looked like regret in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice oddly tender. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll take you out tomorrow. Anywhere you want. We could go shopping, whatever it is you ladies like.”

My stomach twisted. I knew better than to believe in kindness from men like him. He was incapable of it.

Still, I nodded. “Okay.”

His smile widened. “Good. But first, come eat dinner with me.”

I glanced down at myself, at my damp skin and the barely-there swimsuit beneath the towel. “I should change first.”

Marco’s eyes darkened, his head tilting. “No,” he declared. “You’re perfect as you are.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile and followed him. Not because I wanted to. Not because I had any choice. But because survival meant playing the game until I found a way to end it, permanently.