Page 60 of His Hell Girl

Did he think that because we had one civil conversation he's already forgiven? Or that he doesn't have to make an effort anymore? If that is the case, then he is in for a surprise.

I might be softening toward himjusta little, but that doesn't mean that all is forgiven. In fact, if he ever wants me to believe aword he says again, then he better put in the work to prove that he is trustworthy.

Granted, there's a special place in my soul just for him, and I can't deny the way he keeps on making my heart skip a beat just by being closer. Couple that with his sweet gestures and he'd managed to impress me.

I certainly would not have pegged him as the romantic type, but he's gone above and beyond to show me that hecanbe.

But the issue is not whether he can impress me with out-of-this-world gestures—though the heart had been a nice touch—but whether I can really trust his actions.

And seeing how quickly he's given up, I don't know if that is the case.

I've had enough time to ponder his behavior and his Jekyll and Hyde personality, and I've only come up with more questions.

Why now?

Was it his pride that took a hit at the thought of me marrying another man? Since we've long established that he cannot feel anything, then what is his motivation?

And that's my entire issue. If he could feel even a glimmer of the love I have for him, then I would not hesitate in giving him a second chance. But because I know him incapable ofanytype of feeling, I cannot risk my heart again. Not when his fickle mind might tell him to drop me again at any moment.

A couple of days of his bipolar behavior and I'm already sick of it. And so I find myself marching for his room, ready to demand an answer from him.

"Vlad," I call him when I see him exit his room in a hurry. He looks at me for a second before blinking and shaking his head.

"I'll see you later." Is all he says as he flies past me.

What?

And just like that he's gone, leaving me alone once again.

I'm speechless for a full minute as I stare at the space he's just vacated, unable to come up with an explanation for his confusing behavior.

"Damn you," I mutter, ready to turn back and waste even more time in my room by myself. By chance, though, I notice that he didn't lock his door, and the curiosity is already killing me as I catch a few glimpses of it.

I'd seen it before, but it had been rather bare. Now, in comparison, I can see it's teeming with stuff.

I don't even think twice as I enter the room, my gaze quickly appraising its contents.

There's his bed, and I avoid looking more than necessary lest I start imagining him sleeping there at night… no clothes… the sheets sliding over…

Damn!

I force myself to ignore the way my heart pounds in my chest at the thought.

Why is it that only he can make me feel like this?

In the last three months I'd had more freedom, thanks to Marcello's perpetual absence from home and Raf's companionship. We'd gone out a number of times, and I saw plenty of conventionally attractive men on the streets or at restaurants. Not once did I feel anything but boredom.

I'm convinced that there's something not quite ordinary about Vlad that calls to me like this—it's simply unnatural, the way my body simplysingsin his presence, my entire being soaring, bathed in an unprecedented type of lightness. For all the heartache he's caused me, he shouldnotmake me feel like this—like I'm only whole when he is around.

It's like I was made for him, and him alone.

Shaking myself from my musings, I peruse the other contents of his room. There's a desk with a computer, a few black bags filled to the brim with things, and then there's his closet.

So many options.

Of course, knowing him, my first inclination is to go look at his computer, even while doubting it would be unlocked.

I pull the chair, making myself comfortable at the desk and I move my finger a little on the touchpad, bringing the screen back to life.

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