Page 21 of Beautifully Deranged

He doesn’t think I’m good enough. He’s convinced Mikhail will toss me aside the second he’s done with me. Andthat scares him; because Volkov Development is too valuable to lose. So, he tries to earn Mikhail’s trust the only way he knows how: by tearing me down. Pointing out my flaws like he’s doing him a favor.

In his mind, he’s the hero. The one saving Mikhail from the unstable woman. From me. What he doesn’t realize is that Mikhail has already seen it all. He’s experienced my obsessive tendencies firsthand. Lived through them. And if I’m not mistaken, he liked them.Really liked them.

So, I give my father the opportunity, because a small part of me wants to see if, for once in my life, someone won’t believe I’m a monster, even if he does. I push back from the table and stretch my arms overhead. “Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.”

I walk down the hall and plant myself just outside the doorway. And I listen. For a moment, there’s only the sound of silverware. My father exhales slowly. “She’s a beautiful girl, my daughter.”

Mikhail doesn’t answer.

“Charming, too,” my father continues. “I don’t blame you for being drawn to her. Men usually are. But…” A pause. Then, quieter now, careful so I won’t overhear. “You should watch yourself, son.”

“That so?”

“Since she was a child, she’s had… obsessive tendencies. When she wants something, she will stop at nothing to have it.”

“She fixates,” he murmurs. “She latches onto whatever she wants. She consumes, in a way that—” He hesitates. “—in a way that can be... dangerous.”

Still, Mikhail says nothing.

“And she believes in justice. Her own kind of warped version of it.” There’s fear now, creeping into his voice. If he keeps going, I might have to step in.

“Just be careful,” he finally concludes. “Some things are better left alone.”

I expect Mikhail to question him, to ask what the hell he means. But what I don’t expect, what sends my pulse skittering against my ribs, is the low, furious sound that comes from him instead.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Mikhail, I—” My father sputters.

“I said get the fuck out,” Mikhail growls.

“Now hold on—”

“Now.”

“Listen, son, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not your son,” Mikhail hisses. “And if you ever come here with that kind of bullshit again, you won’t like how I respond.”

I walk back into the kitchen. Mikhail towers over my father, arms crossed, jaw tight. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Mikhail says smoothly, turning toward me. “Your father just remembered he had somewhere to be.”

I narrow my eyes. “That right?”

My father clears his throat. “Yes, I—” He swallows hard. “Something came up.”

Liar. Mikhail doesn’t tell me the real reason because he’s shielding me. It’s sweet.

“Well, aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” Father grumbles, his thumb already flying across his phone screen, no doubt texting his driver.

I let out a sharp laugh. “Kissing goodbye was never our thing, Father.”

Mikhail smirks. And just to make a point, he grips my waist and kisses me. Hard.

?Chapter Eleven?

Mikhail

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