Page 52 of Scent Of Obsession
But Melissa smirked. She was enjoying this.
She liked my wickedness.
She liked that I was rough.
She wanted all the evilness inside of me.
She fed on my darkness.
She liked that I was just likehim.
“Come back to me, Radcliff,” she whispered, approaching with her lips, hoping I’d close the few inches between us. “Lily won’t accept you for who you truly are.”
She wasn’t a quarter of who Lily was.
She was not even near a small percent of the desire Lily evoked in me.
She didn’t deserve my wrath.
I pulled away from her, my heart pulsating in my throat. Seeing Melissa’s arousal glimmering in her eyes, I knew what she deserved.
My indifference.
I exited my office, done with this shitshow. Now, I had to deal with two things on my mind.
One, the quintessence of good.
Two, the epitome of my own Tartarus.
Opposites, but both equally destructive.
Lily and my father.
“Sometimes I feel like you have a soul, with feelings and stories to tell. That you understand me.” I examined the Devil’s Corpse closely, stroking one of her crimson petals. People said flowers don’t have brains nor feelings. I never agreed. “Maybe because I don’t have many friends.”
I took a step back from her, waiting for a sign that my nightmare hadn’t been an illusion. I got around the flower, but she didn’t move.
“I must be crazy.” I snorted and smiled at the thought that perhaps the only reason I connected with Radcliff was because we were both owned by madness.
Peeking through the greenhouse window, I saw Patrick Delange’s car entering the gates of Ravencliff Manor. Impatient like a child on Christmas Day to receive the delivery of the oils, I shot a last glance at the flower. “He’s here. I need to go.”
She didn’t respond.
I tied up my hair with the brooch Radcliff gave me and headed in the direction of the lab.
“Okay, Lily, you got this,” I encouraged myself. After all, I was the witch in a cherry-blossom-colored blouse—because white was overrated.
The past encounter with Patrick was still on my mind, but it couldn’t tarnish my joyful infatuation. I set up the lab and intertwined my fingers together, tapping my foot on the ground, eager to start. I counted the seconds, my heart beating fast.
A creepy feeling rolled down my back as Patrick arrived through the door. He was a totally different man, diffident and weak. His skin was as white as a ghost, like he already had one foot inside the grave. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, showing he hadn’t slept for days.
“Good morning, Mr. Delange,” I said, but he didn’t move nor lift his eyes to meet my gaze.
His head bowed to the floor, and I felt like Medusa, whose glance would transform him to stone. His assistant dropped the batch of oils on the arranged space I’d made by the shelf before exiting the room immediately after.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“This—this is your requested list and all the items you demanded,” Patrick stammered, ignoring my question. He handed me a list with a trembling hand. “I should apologize, Miss Bellerose, for the way I treated you last time. I was rude and jealous. I hope you can forgive me.”
