Page 85 of Cruel Deception
Between my thighs, I still felt sore. Raw. Branded by the night before.
And my heart... God, it wouldn’t stop leaping.
I didn’t expect that. Not the pleasure. Not the afterglow. And definitely not the way my chest tightened with the memory of him tying a blindfold around his own eyes just to make me feel safe. To make me feel seen—even when I couldn’t bear to be.
He made me feel good. Insanely, indescribably good.
I sat up slowly, groaning a little, my limbs still heavy with exhaustion. I was about to head to the bathroom when something vibrated on the table.
I turned instinctively—and stopped.
It was his iPad.
Still on. Still unlocked. A message alert had flickered and disappeared, leaving the screen glowing.
I hesitated.
I shouldn’t.
But the temptation dug its claws in. The same man who knew every detail about my past, my traumas, my scars—even the location of my missing mother—had just left a piece of himself open in front of me.
I couldn’t resist.
I padded toward it, praying there was no password.
There wasn’t.
The screen opened right to the home page. I didn’t even think—just tapped on the gallery icon. And my breath caught.
Only five photos.
But what I saw gutted me.
Two were of my mother—older, frailer, ashen-skinned, her once-beautiful face now worn and hollow. She looked sick. No, not just sick—imprisoned. Grieving.
The other two seemed older—maybe ten years ago, maybe more. In them, she looked younger. Softer. She was smiling at the camera like the woman I used to see in dreams. The woman I used to pray was still out there somewhere.
The final image was different.
It was old. Dusty in quality. A mafia table, crowded with men in suits and cigars, and there, right in the middle of it—
A baby.
Placed on the polished oak, like an offering or a legacy.
Was that me?
And beside the baby—my grandfather. Sharper. Younger. Alive. I recognized him instantly.
But what was my mother doing bringing me into a mafia room as an infant?
And how the hell did Cassian have this?
My stomach twisted.
I fumbled to airdrop the pictures to my phone. I needed them. I needed proof. I needed answers.
Just as the progress bar appeared, I heard footsteps.
