Page 82 of Once A Villain

I shake my head, the whiskey fog creeping in. “Fuck this.” I drain the bottle in one pull. Whiskey won’t fix this, but it’s a start.

My eyes snap open.Heart pounding. Sweat-soaked sheets stick to my skin. The nightmare rips at me, dragging me back to a horror I thought I’d buried. No, not a nightmare—a memory.

I glance at the clock—just three hours gone. I’m still fully dressed, the room dark except for moonlight bleeding through the window.

I shove the sheets off and stagger to the bathroom, the weight of the past dragging me down. Cold water slams against my face, shocking, but it doesn’t erase the reflection staring back. Haunted. Empty.

Fuck.

I haven’t thought about that day in years. My father’s twisted lessons, his sadistic cruelty—they don’t compare to that day. The day everything changed.

My fingers trace the jagged scar on my neck, his final gift.

He’s rotting in the ground now, and good fucking riddance. But his legacy festers. It lives in me. In the rage. In the pain. In the predator he made me.

I take a breath. Deep. Controlled. There’s no room for weakness here. No room for sentiment. This is my life—the only life I’ve ever known. A killer. A Sovereign.

I step into the shower, scalding water hammering against my skin, stripping away the grime, the ache, the past. None of it matters. Only one thing does now: finding Rory and dragging her back where she belongs.

She means nothing to me.

So why the hell can’t I shake her?

This is a transaction. She’s a Bond. A tool. A pawn in my game to destroy Conrad. She’s not a real wife.

She’s payment. And she’s mine.

The chill in the night air slices through me, and Kane’s whining down the hallway gnaws at my nerves. I open the bedroom door, call him, but he doesn’t budge.

I follow his incessant whines to Rory’s room. “Come here,” I snap. He just scratches at her door, his whines turning more pitiful. “Seriously?” I swing the door open, and he bolts inside, leaping onto her bed and curling up with a satisfied grunt.

“Unbelievable.” I turn to leave but freeze when I see it—the knife. The one I gave her as the masked stranger. She kept it.Of course, she did.

A twisted thought crawls into my mind. Maybe I can use this. I pull out my phone, open the app that hides my number, and fire off a message from the masked stranger—her savior.The man who made her attempted rapist disappear and held her while she cried for thirty-five fucking minutes.

Unknown: I want to see you again. Tell me when.

I wait, staring at the screen. The seconds feel like hours. Minutes tick by. An hour. Two.

Finally, after two hours, her reply comes.

Rory: I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

Unknown: Why?

Rory: It’s complicated.

Unknown: It doesn’t have to be. Just say yes.

I can practically picture her biting her lip, debating her answer.Come on, Rory. Be dumb and stupid. Say yes.

Rory: Okay, fine. Yes.

A sick thrill burns through me. Too fucking easy. She gives me the address to her gilded cage—the Hamptons. Precise instructions: come at night, use a specific window.

Now the question is, do I show up as myself or the masked man?

Fuck, this is irrational. I should end this fucked-up game and go as me. She’ll never choose me overhim.She hates me. Dodged my calls and texts all night, but it only took her two hours to agree to meet the masked man.

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