Page 125 of Twisted Devotion

Teresa shakes her head. “You left him, child.”

The wordchildrubs me the wrong way, but I don’t argue. There’s no condescension in her tone—just quiet understanding.

She glances around, taking in the mismatched furniture, the dishes in the sink, the half-empty coffee mug on the counter. My jaw tightens.She’s assessing my life now, comparing it to the one I had with Nicolas.

Images of him in that dark room flash through my mind—his hands steady, his expression unreadable as he inflicted pain, as he ended a life without hesitation.

“He tortures and kills,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ve seen him do it.”

Teresa lifts her chin slightly. “Sometimes it takes evil to clear out worse evil.”

The words hit me harder than I expect. I flinch. “That’s what you call it?”

She exhales slowly. “Yes. I’ve seen men who take pleasure in hurting the innocent. Men who kill for no reason but their own twisted joy. Nicolas isn’t one of them.”

I shake my head, not wanting to believe it, but the doubt creeps in.

“He doesn’t kill for fun,” she continues. “He does it to keep order. To protect what’s his.”

A shiver runs through me.He once told me I belonged to him. I hated those words. Or at least, I thought I did.

Now I’m unsure if I hated the idea of being his—or if I hated how safe it made me feel.

She steps closer, her voice steady. “He saved me once.”

I frown, caught off guard.

“My father was a monster,” she continues. “I was too young to run, too weak to fight. He would beat me, starve me… worse.” Her expression doesn’t change, but the weight of her words settles heavy in the air.

“Nicolas found out when my father tried to extort him. One night, he came to our house, and…” Her eyes darken with something old, something buried but never forgotten. “He put a bullet in my father’s skull.”

I swallow, my mind painting the scene—Nicolas, calm and deliberate, stepping in when no one else would.It sounds exactly like him.

Teresa’s voice softens. “I saw it happen. I watched my father drop. One second, he was alive. The next, gone. Nicolas didn’t hesitate.”

A shiver runs through me. “And you… you’re okay with that?”

She nods once. “I mourned what could have been—maybe a father who could change. But the truth is, he never would have. That man was evil.” She lifts her hands, the scars across her knuckles visible even in the dim light.

“Nicolas is the reason I’m standing here. People may call him a murderer. But to me? He’s a hero.”

Silence lingers between us. Teresa's gaze flickers to my bruises once more. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I know.”

She exhales, her expression unreadable. “He wants you safe. I want you safe too.” With that, she turns toward the door, leaving behind the faint scent of soap and herbs.

I sit there for a long moment, staring at the empty space she left behind. My mind drifts back—to the night I saw Nicolas pull the trigger without hesitation. The cold, lethal precision. The way he told me, without remorse, that the man had been a rapist. I remember how steady his hands were, how certain he was that justice had been served.

Now, after hearing Teresa’s story, I understand a little more.Evil doesn’t bargain. It doesn’t change.Nicolas believes there’s only one way to deal with it.

And the worst part?

I’m starting to wonder if he’s right.

I close the door softly and rest my forehead against the cool wood, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

My world feels more uncertain than ever. The feelings I have for Nicolas haven’t faded. They’ve only deepened, tangled with regret, longing, and confusion.

---