One week.
That's how long it took for the "hero" of the docks to disappear and the tyrant to return. Kyle's wound had healed into an angry scar on his ribs—a permanent souvenir of the night I chose him over my freedom. But while his body was mending, his heart was turning back into a block of Milanese marble.
He hadn't spoken ten words to me since we returned to the penthouse. He moved through the halls like I was part of the furniture, a ghost in a diamond collar.
I was sitting in the main lounge, nursing a glass of wine and staring at the rain blurring the lights of the city, when the private elevator chimed.
I expected Kyle. I didn't expect the sound of a woman's high-pitched, melodic laughter echoing through the marble foyer.
I stood up, my pulse spiking, as Kyle walked in. He wasn't leaning on a cane, and he didn't look like a man who had been shot seven days ago. He looked flawless in a black silk shirt, the top three buttons undone. And draped over his arm—the arm that had held me while he bled—was a woman I'd never seen before.
She was a redhead, tall and lithe, wearing a dress that was essentially a few scraps of black lace held together by a prayer.
"Kyle, darling, your home is absolutely divine," she cooed, her hand sliding up his chest, her fingers fluttering over the spot where the bullet had entered. "Though I heard it was recently... contaminated."
She flicked her eyes toward me, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her red-painted lips.
"Val," Kyle said. His voice was like a bucket of ice water. No greeting. No warmth. "This is Elena. She'll be staying for the night. Go to your room."
My "loud mouth" didn't just spark; it exploded. "Excuse me? Stay in my room? I'm not a maid you can dismiss because you brought home a new plaything to distract you from the fact that you're a coward."
Kyle's eyes snapped to mine. The arrogance in them was suffocating. He didn't let go of Elena; in fact, he pulled her closer, his hand sliding down to the small of her back in a way that made my stomach turn.
"You're a guest here by my mercy alone, Valentina," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous silk. "Don't forget that your 'heroism' at the docks was just a desperate attempt to stay in my good graces. It worked. You're still here. But don't mistake my tolerance for an invitation to speak."
"Tolerance?" I let out a mocking dry laugh, stepping toward them. "I pulled you out of a fire! I watched you bleed! And now you bring this... this cliché into the house to rub it in my face?"
Elena giggled, leaning her head on Kyle's shoulder. "She's quite feisty, isn't she? Like a little street cat. Does she always scratch like this, Kyle?"
Kyle looked at me, and for a second, I saw a flash of that dark, obsessive hunger in his eyes—the one that told me he hated how much he wanted to touch me. Then, he killed it. He leaned down and kissed Elena right in front of me. It wasn't a quick peck; it was slow, deliberate, and filthy. His hand moved to her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw just like he had done to me.
"She's just an asset, Elena," Kyle murmured against the woman's lips, loud enough for every word to pierce my chest. "A debt I'm collecting. She doesn't matter. Now, let's go to the bedroom. I've had a very long week."
He started to lead her toward the hallway, his back to me.
"You're pathetic, Kyle!" I screamed at his retreating figure. "You're so scared that you actually felt something for me that you have to hire a distraction to prove you're still the big, bad Vanguard! You're a liar and a fake!"
Kyle stopped. He didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders stiffen.
"Val," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "If you're not behind your bedroom door in ten seconds, I'll have the guards lock you in the basement. I'm tired of your voice. And tonight, I have much better things to listen to."
He walked away, Elena's laughter trailing behind him like a poisonous perfume.
I stood in the center of the vast, empty room, my hands shaking and my throat tight. The diamond collar felt like it was shrinking, cutting off my air. He had won. He had reminded me exactly where I stood: outside his heart, outside his life, and firmly under his thumb.
I went to my room, but I didn't sleep. I sat with my back against the locked door, listening to the muffled sounds of the penthouse, hating him, hating her, and most of all, hating the fact that I had stayed.