Page 28 of Pretty Poison

A soft laugh falls from her lips as she rounds my desk and perches herself on one of the chairs opposite me. “Your sperm donor was the same—he wasn’t built for love and he made my life hell, stringing me along for the sole purpose of children. Vincent was then left to pick up the pieces of my broken heart, something that wasn’t his job but he did it anyway. Right now, with the whispers floating around about her father, I guarantee you her heart is already splitting apart. Don’t be the one to shatter it completely. Instead, fix it before it’s beyond repair.”

How does one fix a heart they didn’t break? To me, that sounds like an impossible and treacherous task. One wrong move and everything goes to shit.

“All you have to do is be there when she needs you,” she continues, leaning forward. “I’m not saying you should go all in, but if you choose to do so, you can’t back out when things get difficult. Love—and I mean true love—is a strange thing. I thought I’d never feel it. But seeing how my relationship with Vincent was so different from the relationship I had with Antonio, made me understand that not all men born into this world are as cruel as they were raised to be. Be that anomaly, Dario. Be a part of the small percentage of strong, powerful and feared men who know the difference between a selfish marriage and a cooperative one.”

∞∞∞

I’ve had hours to think over my mother’s words, but I can’t see a scenario where I make it out of this predicament unscathed. Maybe that makes me a part of the selfish men in this world, but if that’s what I have to be to save myself, so be it.

As I roam through the halls of my home, doing whatever I can to take my mind off Liana, I come face to face with her door for what feels like the hundredth time. Each time I face it, I’m unable to knock, unsure of what to say. It’s like a never-ending cycle that I can’t break, because I don’t have the experience or expertise in heart-to-heart conversations. I try my best to steer away from deep conversations, unless I’m ambushed—like my mother did.

Retracing my steps, I find my way to the end of the hall, conflicted once more. I stop, differing from my previous actions, and stare down the hall at the large window that rests on the dead-end wall at the end. I watch as the black clouds drift by in the sky.

Upon instinct, I walk towards it, flick the latch and climb out. I steady myself on the wraparound balcony. The cold air startles me and makes me regret not wearing a jacket, but I man-up and push aside the chilly feeling that causes goosebumps to surface on my skin.

Moving towards the left side, I climb the ladder to the top and over the rusted railing, sitting myself down on the roof.

I love it up here. It’s my safe place, outside of my office and bedroom. Up here, I can see everything: the moon illuminating the sky, the clouds that shift in front of it, the skyscrapers in thedistance that have long been doused in darkness, mere shadows replacing their rightful spots along the skyline, and the ground beneath me. There’s not a soul in sight. It’s a peaceful place, one where I can be alone with my thoughts, free from interruptions for as long as I want.

Living this life has never been easy, but it’s what I chose. I chose to step up and take over from Maze when he relinquished his position. While I wouldn’t change a single choice I’ve made and the decisions that have brought me to this exact place in life, there’s a part of me that feels free when I’m up here. That’s the part that asks the question: who would I be without this job?

I’m an anomaly in my family—an heir that actuallywantsto lead our family to greatness. I don’t know if I can be another one, one that wants more from this marriage than what was agreed upon. That might make me a horrible person, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. The list of names I’ve been called goes back to when I was a child and has since grown. The names have gotten craftier but no longer affect me. ‘Husband,’ however, has never been one of those names. Even with Natalia, she refused to acknowledge me as such a person, knowing exactly the kind of man I am—unable to feel anything remotely close to the word ‘love’.

What makes Liana Moretti so different? Is it the way she holds herself? That’s a unique form of protection for herself, her heart and her future, almost like if she were to let her concrete walls fall, she’d crumble with them. Is it how she bites back? Her mouth is a weapon no one, not even me, could stop. Is it the feeling that courses through me when she’s around? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, like an effective poison that seeps within me. It’s corrupting me and who I am as a person, slowly working its magic to destroy me, starting with my heart and mind.

Lifting myself from the roof, I climb over the railing and down the ladder, pulling myself through the window again, and locking it behind me.

As I tread down the hall, the murmurs from inside Liana’s room stop me, my attention piquing, begging to open her door.

My hand darts out to her door knob and I slowly twist until her door pops away from the doorframe. The words falling from her mouth become clearer.

Pushing the door open further, I peer into her room, her actions stopping me in my tracks.

Through the darkness, I watch as her quilt moves slowly, her hand working wonders beneath it. Her head is flat against the bed, the decorative cushions sprawled across the floor, while her actual pillows are beside her, giving her the comfort she needs while she pleasures herself.

Her soft whispers are replaced by breathy whimpers as she works towards her goal. Every few seconds, her voice rises slightly, but not enough to make her actions known to everyone else on this floor.

My jaw clenches as my cock hardens at the sight; the urge to lunge forward, to take over weighing heavy on my mind.

As if reading my mind, she kicks off the comforter and my first instinct is to close my eyes to give her the privacy she desires, but I don’t. Instead, I slip further into her room, leaving the door ajar, not wanting to disturb the moment.

I feel like a creep—a dirty, disgusting creep—as I watch her from across the room, but it sends a thrill of excitement through me and my cock throbs.

Her head presses deep into the mattress, her chin pointing to the ceiling, revealing her bare throat. Her chest rises and falls, she’s getting close to her desired destination. The need to see all of her draws me closer.

She pauses, her head returning to its rightful place, and her body shoots upright. “H-hello?” she asks, her voice shaky. “Is anyone there?”

Positioning myself back near the door, I open it further to give the illusion that I’m only now entering. “Don’t stop on my account, little one.”

She audibly gulps, scrambling to switch on the lamp on her nightstand. “Dario? What—what are you—”

“You’re not as quiet as you think, Liana, but don’t let me interrupt you.” My eyes instinctively fall to her chest, her top discarded on her floor amongst the cushions. Her bra fits loosely, almost as if she’s unsecured the back, but never had the chance to fully take it off. “The show was eye-opening. A one-woman show is something I’ve never had the pleasure of witnessing, so by all means…” I stretch out my hand, urging her to continue.

“Get out,” she scoffs, grabbing a pillow from beside her, and throwing it in my direction. Just like the day I found her crying in her room, she misses me, and scoffs at her miserable attempt.

“But you were so close,” I taunt, inching closer through the dim light. “Don’t you want to feel that thrill, Liana? I can help you if you’d like?” She stares at me, her eyes widening further in horror.

Grabbing the other pillow, she covers her face and groans into it. Letting it fall to her lap, she sighs. “God, you couldn’t have just walked away? This is so… embarrassing, Dario.”

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