Page 51 of Conflicted Lies

He had the cheek to send them back to me, convinced with the absolute certainty that I created them. Not only that, but he’s daring enough to send them to my home. Is this guy for fucking real? Does he not fear me even in the slightest?

Does he not appreciate the time I put into creating these? Granted, initially, they weren’t for him. But as of late, I’ve kept him in mind as I methodically create each and every piece. I fucking sweated for hours to make these, and he thinks they’re worth so little that he can just ship them in a box with fucking bubble wrap?!

Fucking bubble wrap?!

I want to grind them into dust. Then, it occurs to me that he might be baiting. I sit at the edge of my bed, biting the edge of my nail. If I were Braxton Hero, what would I be thinking? Why would I be doing this?

A lethal hum rises under my skin.

I hate him so fucking much.

Then, an idea sparks in my mind. It’s risky. It could backfire.

But Braxton and I are far from playing a child’s game.

I grab my phone and send a message to Hawke to schedule another shooting practice.

I tape up the box, fucking furious.

The sooner I put a bullet in his head, the better.

“Miss Ivanov, your dress for this evening is ready. Where are you going?” our butler asks as I hurry out, carrying the box that’s most likely half my fucking weight, with the determination of a woman on a warpath.

“I’ll be back soon. I’m just making a quick delivery to a friend. I won’t be late,” I call out to him.

I can tell he’s nervous. Most likely because my agent, Candice, allegedly lost her mind at him once when I was late for an event. I don’t intend on getting anyone in trouble today.

Except a certain asshole who needs a taste of his own medicine.

CHAPTER27

Hope

“Motherfucker thinks he’s funny,” I grumble as I glance over at the passenger seat where I’ve placed the box. “He just assumes it’s me. Just assumes I’m the one with the twisted and fucked-up mind.”

My hands grip the steering wheel tightly. I don’t know why this feels like a rejection, but it does, and I can’t fucking stand it. Not only does he have the balls to have this delivered to my home, but he also sent every fucking piece back. They can’t all be shit!

When I drive by his apartment building, I notice his car isn’t where it’s usually parked. I could dump it at his door, cameras be damned. I want him to know I returned them. But even better, I decide to go to the next place I think I can find him.

He wants to come to my safe place, then I’ll fucking go to his.

The police station is only a ten-minute drive from his apartment—naturally, he wants to be close to work. I’m smiling when I spot his car, barely hitting the brakes as I drive straight into the back of his car.

I brace myself at the impact. My head hits my forearms, as I anticipated, and I breathe out, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through me. Someone screams from the sidewalk, but I ignore them as I get out of my car, open the passenger door, and grab the box. I must look like a fucking mess after traveling all day and then coming straight here, but I don’t care.

There’s damage to my car, but I’m certain it’ll still get me home. A police officer gapes as he rushes out of the precinct doors. “It was an accident,” I say sweetly as I carry the box inside and straight to the reception desk.

The woman at the desk is gawking with her mouth open. She looks at me and then at a side door, which I expect Braxton to come out of at any moment.

“I’d like to see Braxton Hero. I’m under the firm impression he’s working today since Iaccidentallyjust rammed my Ferrari into his car. I have a gift for him.”

“And an apology?” the woman asks, flabbergasted.

My eyebrows furrow. “No. The box contains statues.”

Suddenly, I’m wondering if he works with a bunch of morons because she doesn’t seem to be moving.

An officer slowly approaches me. “Ma’am, you’ve just damaged a police?—”

---