Page 27 of Twisted Devotion

I lie on my back, close my eyes, and slow my breathing, making each inhale and exhale steady and deliberate. The room is silent except for the soft rustle of sheets as Aria shifts on her side of the bed. She doesn’t turn to face me—not yet.

Behind my closed eyes, I see Ken. The memory gnaws at me, but I push it aside, forcing myself to stay still. I need to give her time to believe I’m asleep. If that’s what it takes for her to relax enough to rest, I’ll endure it.

Finally, she turns.

“How could he sleep so peacefully after…” her voice trails off, followed by a muttered, “Asshole.

I almost smile at the insult but hold my expression perfectly still. She shifts again, the faint creak of the mattress betraying her movements. I can’t tell if she’s facing away from me now or just readjusting.

Her movements come a few more times, restless and uncertain, until they slow. Complete stillness settles over the room, broken only by the sound of her breathing—deep, steady, hesitant at first but gradually evening out.

Then I hear it: a soft, delicate hum, almost like a sigh. She’s finally given in to exhaustion.

Carefully, I turn onto my side, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. My eyes find her in the faint, silvery light spilling through the curtains.

She looks different like this—peaceful, almost unrecognizable from the fiery, defiant woman who spits venom with every word—and sometimes literally, too.

The anger she wears like armor when she’s awake has melted away, revealing a face that looks almost… angelic.

I thought she looked like an angel earlier, too. She was poised and striking when she stepped into the church, even amidst the chaos.

Her long, dark lashes rest softly against her cheeks, and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes, her soft snores breaking the silence.

I don’t know how she does it.

Keep up with a man like Marco. Agree to marry someone like me. It takes courage—or maybe it’s desperation. Either way, it’s not something most people would do.

Marco doesn’t deserve her. He’s too blind to see how lucky he is to have a sister like her—someone willing to step into this mess for him without fully understanding the weight of shat she’s sacrificing.

“Brave and stupid,” I mutter to myself. “Naive and reckless.”

Without thinking, I reach out, brushing a hand over her cheek. Her skin is as smooth as these sheets and warm under my touch. She didn’t even take off her wedding dress, which makes me feel a pang of disappointment.

I wish I could see some more of her beautiful skin.

For a moment, I let myself linger, watching her. Then reality crashes down.

This is exactly what Marco wants, isn’t it? For me to fall for her, to let her get under my skin. He’d probably be thrilled to know I’m thinking about her like this.

I pull my hand back, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I pick up my phone from the bedside table, and the time reads 4:30 a.m.

I didn’t realize I was ‘pretending’ to sleep for so long.

Carefully, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The ache in my shoulder reminds me of the stitches, but it’s a dull pain compared to the ache in my chest—the kind that has nothing to do with physical wounds.

I grab a pair of sweatpants and a vest from the chair and slip them on.

This room was suffocating enough with my nightmares. Now that I have to share it with someone, I need to move, to clear my head.

I head downstairs and out the front door. The guard on duty straightens up when he sees me. At first, there’s a flicker of surprise in his expression, but he quickly regains his composure.

“Boss,” he says, adjusting the gun in his holster, “going… for a run?”

“Yes.”

“Should I come with you?”

He’s young, barely out of his teens, with a lean build and wide, eager eyes. He doesn’t belong here. Not yet.

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