Page 47 of His Dark Cravings

It seems like he asked the wrong doll.

* * *

Later, as we step out of the café, Lila pats her stomach contentedly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"That was exactly what I needed," she says, her voice light and cheerful.

I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of ease I hadn't realized I needed. The warmth of the sun on my skin and the gentle breeze in my hair contribute to my relaxed mood. Grateful for this moment with Lila, I glance around for Karl, expecting his familiar figure to be waiting by the car.

That's when I see her—a woman hastening toward us with purpose. Her face is a map of sharp angles, her eyes blazing with a fury that makes me take a step back. Lila, sensing my unease, stiffens beside me, her expression tightening as recognition dawns.

The woman halts abruptly in front of us, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her appearance is disheveled, her clothes worn, and her hair a mess of tangled strands. But it's her eyes that catch my attention—they burn with a bitter resentment.

"Well, well, if it isn't another one," she spits, her voice venomous as she looks me up and down. "Fresh meat, how quaint."

Lila steps forward, her posture defensive. "Liane, leave her alone," she warns.

But Liane is undeterred, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "You think you're special, don't you? Just like the rest. But he'll tire of you, just like he did with all of us. You're nothing but a toy to him, a plaything to be used and discarded."

I feel a surge of fear mixed with confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Liane laughs, a harsh, grating sound. "Don't play dumb. I see it in your eyes. You're already under his spell. But mark my words, you'll end up like me, scorned and forgotten."

Lila intervenes, her voice sharp. "That's not true, Liane. You know it wasn't like that—"

"Don't lie for him, Lila!" Liane cuts her off, her voice rising. "You know as well as I do how he operates. He takes what he wants and throws you away when he's done."

I feel a hand on my elbow, Lila urging me toward the car. "Let's go, Everly. She's not worth your time."

As we move away, Liane's parting shot reaches us. "You'll see! He'll ruin you, just like he ruined me!"

Once we're safely inside the car, I let out a breath. Lila's expression is somber, her usual vibrancy muted.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," she says quietly.

I turn to her, seeking answers. "What happened with her?"

Lila hesitates before responding, "Some people... they can't let go. They get fixated on Xavier, thinking he's the sole cure to all their ailments. He's not going to keep someone if it's not right for her or him. But sometimes, people don't see that. They blame him for their own unhappiness."

I don't know what to say to that. So I sit in silence, processing the encounter and Lila's explanation. The image of Liane's bitter face haunts me. It was like a picture of the complexities and potential dangers in Xavier's world. I wonder how many more Lianes there are out there and whether I'll end up like them.

How would I know if Xavier wasn't right for me? How did he know he wasn't right for Liane?

The car ride is quiet, each of us lost in our thoughts. I can't help but reflect on Lila's words—some women develop unhealthy fixations on Xavier, and he won't keep someone to their detriment.

Lila said Xavier's been watching me. So what does he see?

And will I like the answer to that question?

Chapter 15

Everly

A few days pass, and the routine settles back in. I don't mention Liane, and she slips into the back of my mind as I focus on work at the Ember. Xavier keeps his distance, and I don't seek him out. I take the time to try to figure out where this is all going. Because it seems like it's going somewhere, fast.

Just not anywhere I can imagine.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, the steam curling upward in the quiet morning air. The kitchen has the usual energy—soft chatter, the clink of silverware against plates. Lila’s chair is empty, but I don’t think much of it. She’s always been unpredictable, coming and going as she pleases. Maybe she had an early morning, or maybe she’s still asleep. I push the thought aside and focus on my toast, buttering it with a steady hand.

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