Page 21 of Corrupting Lily

The pale color of her face as she stares at the screen makes me angry. Angrier. Not at her, but at the man powerful enough to have that effect on her. Not for long, though.

I wait for her to speak, but her eyes stay fixed on the screen as her arms rise and cross over her chest, a comforting gesture that envelops her upper body.

“You know this man,” I prompt, her eyes drifting away from the screen to meet mine. I dislike the vacant look in their depths and resent the strength a mere photo holds over her emotions.

She nods, then opens her mouth as if to say something, only to close it again.

“Do you know he is looking for you? Even has a large bounty out on your head. If I hadn’t taken you from that shithole Basilio had you living in, you would probably be back with him. Or worse, dead.”

“Dead is not worse,” she says quietly, her statement boiling my blood.

“I would prefer that over returning. If you're going to send me back to him, then you might as well send me back in a body bag.”

The resolute way she says it makes me angry—not at her, but at the man who has made her this way. A man who has instilled such fear in her that she wouldn’t even fight against the cessation of her existence if that situation arose. I fucking hated it.

She is breathing quickly, jaggedly, as if just sitting here is an effort. I temper my fury, and I only speak again once I have it under control.

“Why is he looking for you?” This question carried significant weight.

When I returned from the hospital last night, I reviewed everything my IT team could find regarding Lily Valentine, and my blood was boiling. So much so that after I was finished, I spenttwo hours in the boxing ring at one of our underground fighting clubs. I eventually had to pay significant sums just for contenders to enter the ring with me, as most were dragged out unconscious and bloody. Such was my wrath.

Even now, reminiscing about the footage etched in my memory stirs my anger. There were hours of it, predominantly of the penthouse, some of the building's corridors, and then the basement. Her abuse occurred so frequently that I am surprised the neighbors didn't complain. But this is how the wealthy operate—covering each other's secrets. They all knew who he was and thus would never speak out. Dirty fuckers. At least my sins were out in the open. Wealthy individuals like these portrayed themselves as virtuous, yet beneath the surface, they reeked of decay. Decay I would unearth and use against every last one of them.

My little flower, however, is good. Just looking at her now, she radiates it.

“Lily,” I urge as the silence lingers.

“We were supposed to get married. The newspapers were filled with it. He is probably embarrassed and wants me back to teach me a lesson.” She shrugs, and I can sense her almost folding in on herself, her voice as small as she tries to appear.

“For ten million? A bruised ego hardly seems worth such a price.” Her eyes widen to saucers as she gasps.

“Ten million." Her voice rises several octaves as she suddenly stands up, her fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.

"Oh my god. He is never going to stop.”

Then her brown eyes meet mine, panic etched across her anxious expression.

“Are you going to hand me over to him?” I, too, stand and move slowly around the table while she sidesteps the chair and inches away from me.

“Stop. Do I look like I need ten million? Don’t insult me, Lily.” The relief my words bring is short-lived.

“But then, why are you keeping me here? Why not just get rid of me? You must have some motive for keeping me safe. No one gives up ten million without a good reason. You are not the kind of man who keeps someone without an agenda.” Her eyes have begun to water again, and I can almost feel her utter loneliness and helplessness pouring out. She has no one to trust, no one on her side.

Before I can say anything, the door to my office suddenly swings open.

Lucille. Of course. She would pick now to make an entrance.

Green eyes dart around the room, shifting from Lily to me.

“Dom, I'm sorry to disturb you.” The sincerity usually accompanying an apology is nowhere to be found.

“Alison is ready for her,” she says, her gaze drifting to Lily, who stares back with an expression I have never seen on her face before: dislike. Their first interaction, when I asked her to check on Lily yesterday, must not have gone well.

“And,” Lucille says, her eyes and hand gesturing from the top of Lily down to the bottom, “we definitely need all the time we can get before we have to leave.” The insult is clear. Lily blushes as she looks down, her hand smoothing her plain blue summer dress.

“Matteo,” I call, knowing he is standing outside the door. The fact that he did not stop Lucille from interrupting us shows how habitual the occurrence has become. Previously, I had let it slide, and she had been careful not to interrupt something important. However, today’s little intrusion rubbed me the wrong way. Not to mention the insult she had thrown with such ease at a woman I clearly deemed important enough to take with me to tonight's event.

She was overly comfortable—something I wouldneed to address.

---