Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Bel's gaze shifts away from me, and her lips part like she wants to say something, but I don’t want to hear it right now. I need her to understand, to fully grasp the concept that there is no us. Elyse and I do not exist, nor will we ever. “No. Let me finish, please. I need you to understand so you stop pushing the matter. Elyse means nothing to me. She's my employee, and that's it.” Bel looks back at me, her eyes hard, and I get the feeling she doesn’t believe me.
Fuck. “She's the fucking maid, for God’s sake. You don't think I might aim a little higher?”
That hits the nail on the head. Bel's mouth snaps shut, her eyes glaring. “And I think I’ve had enough of your asshole attitude for the day.”
I grit my teeth, pressing my lips together. Why do I keep fucking things up? Bel shoves out of her chair and gestures to something, or maybe even someone over my shoulder.
Shifting in my chair, I notice Elyse standing there, her delicate features pinched tight like someone slapped her. There’s no guessing whether she heard what I said. All I can do is shake my head in disappointment, at myself, at this entire fucking situation.
I open my mouth to speak. To say what, I don’t know. Not that it matters since Elyse whirls around on her worn sneakers and disappears in the flurry of bodies. As soon as she’s out of sight, the guilt trickles in. My stomach twists into a knot of despair that I can’t untangle. I look back at the table, wondering how I can fix this.
Bel throws some cash down even though she knows I always pay, and when I spot the disappointment shining in her eyes, I find it hard to breathe. “When you're done being a dick, come find me so we can actually talk. But not until after you apologize to Elyse.”
I sit in silence, watching as she walks out of the restaurant.
Fuck. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I’m even more careless than usual, and now it’s fucking up my relationship with Bel. The only person I really give two shits about. I have to fix this, even if it’s only to make Bel happy.
It doesn’t matter if what I said was or wasn’t true. The further I can push Elyse away, the easier this will all be. If anything, I made things easier for myself. But easier for me doesn’t change the fact that by saying those things, I’ve hurt Bel because Elyse is her friend.
I don’t want to do it, but I know I have no other option if I expect Bel to talk to me ever again. As much as I need Elyse to hate me so that I don’t lose control and claim her like I’ve wanted to every night since London, I can't lose my sister.
So even if it pains me, I know she’s right. I have to apologize to Elyse. I just hope she doesn’t look too deeply into things because I don’t know if I can continue to fight against my impulse to claim her. I want her so badly that some days it physically hurts me.
All of this would be easier if I could play my part as the evil monster in her story, but I can’t. Not when I want to be the predator who hunts down all those who have hurt her, forcing her to be at my side and trapping her in a cage of gold that she’ll never escape.
19
Elyse
She’s the fucking maid. Just the fucking maid.
I shake my head as I cross the street, walking back toward campus. There’s a shorter route, but I could use the walking time to clear my head right now.
I can’t let what Sebastian said bother me. Even if it really fucking does.
Not when I know deep down what I felt couldn’t possibly have been fake. Yeah, he might see me as “just the maid,” but he definitely feels something for me. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. A shiver skates down my spine, courtesy of my constant paranoia, and I turn to look over my shoulder, reminding myself to stay vigilant. Yanov is still out there, and I don’t intend to fall into his hands again.
I sip my iced coffee, but I’ve lost my appetite after Sebastian's words. It's not the part about calling me a maid or even the part where he said I meant nothing that really hurt. It's the coldness in his tone when he spoke about me. Completely devoid of warmth, of the heat he had in his voice that night at the club as I stared up at him.
I shake the memory away and take another sip of the coffee.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I spin, slapping the hold away.