Page 151 of I'm sorry, Princess
I hate that I have no proof. That all I have are pictures and papers and the hollow sound of her voice saying I love you with tears streaming down her cheeks.
I hate that she denied it, because it makes me want to believe her.
I hate that no matter how hard I try to convince myself she’s a liar, she’s still everything.
She’s become my whole fucking world. And I didn’t even notice it happening until it was too late. Until the knife was already in my back.
I smashed every computer in the surveillance room just so I wouldn’t see her face on the monitors, wouldn’t watch her leave, wouldn’t see the pain written all over her like a brand she carved into me instead.
I hate her for that too.
I hate her for making me care. For getting under my skin, into my blood, down to my fucking bones.
I hate her because my chest aches so much I can barely breathe, because all I want right now is to go to her. To hold her. To console her.
Console her.
The woman who just betrayed me.
Pathetic. I’m so fucking pathetic.
“FUCK!” I roar, the sound ripping out of my chest like an animal breaking free. My hand lashes out, sending everything on the table crashing to the floor in a storm of glass and wood. The table follows, overturned in one violent shove, the crack echoing like a gunshot through the room.
It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
I’ve already destroyed Lev’s computers, ripped them apart with my bare hands until sparks flew and wires hung like veins torn from a body. But the rage doesn’t leave me. It’s crawling through my skin, eating me alive, demanding more, more, more, until there’s nothing left but destruction.
She destroyed me. So I’ll destroy the fucking world.
The door bursts open and Andres is there, panting, eyes scanning the wreckage. “What the fuck, man?” he grunts, stepping over broken pieces.
“Bring him to me.” My voice is calm now, deadly calm, the kind that makes men run. “Bring me Ian Archibald.”
Because I’ll end him. I’ll fucking end him. There’s no way in hell that wedding will ever happen. If she’s not mine, she’s no one else’s. She cannot get married if he’s dead. Problem solved.
Andres glares at me, his jaw tight. “Calm the fuck down, Lorenzo. You know there’s a ninety percent chance this is an arranged marriage she’s being forced into, right? Why are you being such a dick to her?”
The words sting like gasoline thrown on fire. My fists clench, the skin splitting further, blood dripping onto the floor. If I hear him defending her one more time, I’ll put a bullet through his skull myself.
“Why didn’t she fucking tell me, huh?” My voice cracks with fury, my head spinning, the walls closing in. “She had more than three months to tell me this. To ask me for help. To give me one fucking chance to protect her. If she was being forced into this marriage, why the fuck didn’t she come to me?”
“Who the fuck knows?” Andres snaps back, his tone sharp, annoyed. “Maybe she was scared. Maybe she didn’t know how you’d react. And by the looks of it, you reacted like a fucking animal.” He shakes his head, disgust in his eyes. “Christ. It’s bad enough we’ve got Lev tearing through this city like a rabid dog. Now you’re doing the same shit? Have some fucking self-control, man.”
Self-control.
The word tastes like poison.
I step closer, my eyes drilling into him until he stiffens. My voice drops, cold and lethal. “Bring him to me. I want him in the basement.”
Andres exhales sharply, trying to keep calm, trying not to break under my stare. “Don’t do something you’ll regret, Lorenzo.”
I lean in, so close he can smell the iron tang of blood on my hands. My lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl.
“The only thing I regret,” I whisper, voice like a blade pressed to his throat, “is that I can’t fucking kill him.”
I snap the door open and stride toward the basement, the weight of my rage anchoring every step. I need to prepare for Ian’s arrival, need somewhere to pour the storm tearing me apart before it consumes me whole.
But as I pass through the doorway, I freeze. Clara’s there, her hand gripping tightly onto Sienna’s arm, her expression pale and frantic. And Sienna, her face is pure fire, eyes blazing, teeth clenched, shoves Clara off and storms straight toward me.
