Page 12 of Cruel Deception
I wrench free, my skin crawling. “Miss you?” I scoff, stepping back. “You’re delusional. Don’t touch me again.”
He laughs, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Deep down, you know we’re meant to be. When you ditch that ego and come crawling back, I’ll be waiting.”
I don’t bother responding. Nico’s a walking delusion, thinking I’d ever want him after his betrayal—texts with another woman, nudes swapped like cheap cards, his “work trips” that reeked of lies. And now, after mocking my surgery, he thinks I’d pine for him? Pathetic.
We pull up to my father’s mansion, its opulence a slap after Grandfather’s humble decay.
I spot my father heading to his car, flanked by his goons in tailored suits, their faces hard as stone. I jog to catch him. “The bike at Grandfather’s house—do you know where it is? It’s gone.”
“No,” he says, not breaking stride, his voice cold as ice. His men close ranks, one shoving me back with a meaty hand.
I stumble, fury flaring. “How dare you touch me?” I bark, my voice echoing in the courtyard.
“Charlotte, go inside,” my father says, not even glancing back. “I’ll be home tonight.”
His dismissal burns, and I watch, seething, as he slides into his car, his entourage trailing like shadows.
He calls me his daughter but lets his men treat me like garbage? Sometimes I wonder if he sold my mother himself, traded her to some Chicago syndicate for power. If he did, I swear I’ll carve his throat out with my own hands.
Inside, I collapse onto a velvet sofa, the mansion’s grandeur—marble floors, gold-trimmed walls—mocking my turmoil.
Vincent was supposed to be back today, wasn’t he? I pull out my burner phone, dialing his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
My chest tightens. Where is he? I slam my fist into the cushion, frustration boiling over.
My mother’s missing, my brother’s gone, the bike’s vanished, and Cassian’s threat looms like a guillotine.
Am I cursed? Why does everything I touch slip away?
My phone chirps, jolting me. A text from an unknown number:Found my bike?
My heart slams against my ribs, my hands trembling so hard I nearly drop the phone.Cassian.
How the hell did he get my number? My breath catches, fear and shock twisting in my gut.
I stare at the screen, his words a noose tightening around me.
Tomorrow at 7 p.m, I’m supposed to face him, empty-handed, with nothing but questions about my mother and a heart full of dread.
What will he do when he learns his bike is gone?
Chapter 4
CHARLOTTE
My heart slams against my ribs.
Fear coils in my gut, but I shove it down. I’m not some fragile thing he’ll break. I need to show him I’m stronger than his threats.
I sit up, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Not yet,” I type, bold and defiant.
But my thumb freezes, refusing to send.
Cassian is my only link to my mother, trapped in Chicago’s underworld. I can’t antagonize him—not yet. I delete it, my pulse racing, and try again: “No need to harass me, Cassian. You said 7 p.m. tomorrow. Wait.”
I stare at the words, my breath shallow.
