Page 66 of Cruel Deception
My heart jerked. The offer was quiet, unexpected. I shook my head. I’d just watched something brutal and soul-shattering—I wasn’t ready to step outside.
“Next time,” I managed.
He nodded once. Just as his hand touched the knob, I said, “Will you come back soon?”
He paused. Didn’t turn around. Just let the silence stretch, then gave the smallest nod.
“You still hate me?” I asked softly, the question slipping out.
After today, I couldn’t tell anymore. He’d hunted down my rapists. Tortured them. Bled them like cattle. Then placed my hand on his chest and told me,
“Your pain is not yours anymore. It’s mine. Like the rest of you.”
What did that mean?
Did he want me to suffer... or did he want to be the only one allowed to suffer with me?
He didn’t answer immediately. Just stood there, his back to me, silent. Then—slowly—he turned, not all the way, just enough for the light to catch his scar.
“When I put that ring on your finger,” he said, voice like ice and fire, “you didn’t just become my wife. You became mine. All of you. Your breath, your rage. Your joy... and your grief.”
A pause.
“You don’t get to carry it alone anymore.” He said, Then walked out without looking back—as if he hadn’t just shattered men for me.
He broke them. For me. And now I couldn’t tell where my hatred ended and his obsession began.
Chapter 12
CHARLOTTE
The rest of the day passed in silence. I was curled on the bed, mind a mess, clutching a half-eaten bag of spicy cheese puffs and a can of soda—comfort food from a world that felt far away now.
My phone began to buzz. I stared at the screen. Unknown number.
I hesitated... then picked up.
“You blocked my line, Miss Charlotte,” came the voice—smooth, cocky, and unmistakably familiar.
I sat upright. “Hey... Luca.”
There was a short pause, then his voice darkened slightly. “Found your mother yet?”
My heart began to race at the mention of her.
“Not yet,” I breathed. “But... can you help?”
I rushed to add, “I got some leads. She might be in Chicago. I can send them to you—maybe it’ll help.”
But Luca’s tone was calm and condescending. “How do you think I found Cassian’s bike?” he asked. “And for what purpose?”
I swallowed, scrambling for a reply, but he didn’t wait.
“To show you I can find anyone. Or anything. Not even Cassian could track that bike down—but I did.”
Then, in a voice that made my stomach turn: “I’ve done my own digging into your mother. She’s being held by a mafia gang in Chicago.”
My chest tightened like it was being clamped.
