Page 77 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Maybe what I'm working towards. The future's a blank stage, and I'm not sure what dance I'm supposed to be performing.

But I'm here. I'm breathing. And sometimes, that's all you can do when everything's turned upside down.

I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the warmth and the quiet of the morning. It's a moment of peace in the chaos of my life, and I'm determined to hold onto it for as long as I can.

Cerberus lets out a soft growl, pulling me from my thoughts. His ears perk up, his body tensing beside me. "What is it, boy? Sensing trouble?"

As if on cue, I hear footsteps approaching. Soft, but deliberate, like someone trying to be noticed. I turn, already knowing who I'll see.

"He's going to leave you, you know."

Paola. Perfect. She's been keeping a low profile lately, but now she's here, walking towards me like she's got all the answers.

"You've been saying that for a while now," I reply, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. It's too early for this game of jealousy and spite.

"If you leave, he'll need someone to take care of Elena. He'll need someone in his bed." Her words are sharp, aimed to hurt. "He's never been one to stay alone for long."

I wait for the jealousy to hit, that familiar twist in my gut. But there's nothing. Just a calm certainty settling over me. Because I know Antonio, perhaps better than I'd like to admit. He won't let anyone near Elena unless they pass his impossibly high standards. And Paola? She's not even in the running.

I look at her, really look at her. What I see is a woman who's been playing by someone else's rules for too long. Someone whogave her heart to a man who couldn't - or wouldn't - love her back.

I know better than thinking in another life we could have been friends, but who knows? In a world where we would both be happy?

"I don't think you really know him," I tell her. My voice isn't cruel, but it's not gentle either. It's the voice of someone who's survived cancer, betrayal, and a mafia auction. Petty games don't even register anymore.

“I know how he likes to take over, to bind your wrists to the bed. To push you against a wall and lift your skirt to bury himself deep inside of you,” Paola says, her words dripping with suggestion. "How he can make you arch your back and beg with just his tongue."

I shake my head, but the images flash through my mind unbidden. The heat of Antonio's mouth, the strength of his hands, the way he can unravel me with a single touch.

She gives me a smile filled with power and passion. “I know how he pounds into you and how his calloused fingers feel when they tighten around your nipple. I know the sounds he makes when he comes, when he lets go, and brings you over the edge.” She keeps stepping forward until Cerberus plants himself in front of me like a furry shield. She inches back, but her words don't stop.

I stay silent. We're not comparing notes here. This isn't some sleepover game of 'I Never'.

"I know he doesn't like to be touched," she murmurs, and that's when our eyes meet.

And there it is. The thing that tells me she doesn't know Antonio at all. Because with me, he craves touch. My touch. He seeks it out like a man starved. I’ve traced his scars with my lips, my fingers... I would trace them with the heart he shattered ifI could. Despite the reservations, despite the pain still lingering deep inside of me, I know him.

But I don't say this. I don't tell her about the way he rasps my name out when my hand roam his chest, or how he buries his face in my neck, breathing me in like I'm his air.

I don't owe her any explanations. Instead, I just look at her, really look at her, and I see someone desperate to prove she matters. It's almost sad, in a way.

"Paola," I say, my voice steady, “whatever you think you know about Antonio, about us... it's not the whole picture. And it's not your picture to paint anymore."

Cerberus suddenly perks up, his tail wagging furiously. My body tenses before I even realize why, a primal awareness that sends goosebumps racing across my skin. Great, I'm turning into the human version of a radar for the Beast. What's next, growing fur?

"Just so we're clear," Antonio's voice rumbles from behind me, low and dangerous.

I turn to see him approaching, each step deliberate and powerful. He moves like a predator, all coiled strength and barely restrained fury. The air around us seems to crackle with tension, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

He stops just short of us, his eyes locked on Paola. When he speaks, his words are clipped, each one a thinly veiled threat. "The only reason you're still here, Paola, is because of our past. Because you helped me once."

He pauses, letting the words sink in. I can almost feel the weight of them, heavy and oppressive in the air between us. Paola's face pales, her earlier bravado crumbling under Antonio's intense gaze.

"And," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "because you're easier to keep an eye on inside than outside." His jawclenches, a muscle ticking visibly. "I no longer trust you. That's the only reason you're still on this compound."

Paola opens her mouth, but Antonio cuts her off with a look that could freeze hell itself. "Now leave," he growls, the command brooking no argument. "I need to talk to my wife.

As she scurries away, tail between her legs (and now I'm thinking in dog metaphors, fantastic), I turn to face Antonio.

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