“Thank you,” I said with a smile, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
He went on talking. Gossip. His travel schedule. A potential investor from Monaco who’d gifted him a bunch of Cuban cigars in the hopes of luring him to build a hotel there. All things that didn’t matter.
All things meant to make me forget what he did.
There was no mention of last night.
No flicker of apology.
No indication anything had happened at all.
If it weren’t for the marks forming along my neck and the fresh scar carved into my stomach, I might have convinced myself I imagined it.
Victor was an expert at making me doubt my own reality. This was all part of his game. He wanted to unbalance me. Make me question what was real.
And it worked. Time and again, it worked.
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, frowning slightly, before returning his attention to me.
“I have to fly out today. Something came up. Business I can’t delegate.”
Relief bloomed in my chest before I could stop it. Victor going away meant I had a break from him. It didn’t matter that whenever he returned from these trips, he would inevitably be more cruel. I’d take any reprieve I could get right now, especially after last night.
“Will I still be able to see my mother?” I asked somewhat timidly, fearing his response.
“Why wouldn’t you?” His smile stayed fixed. “You don’t need my permission.”
Right.
Of course not.
Except I did. Not because he said so, but because the cost of disapproval wasn’t worth the risk.
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to stay home,” I said carefully.
“You can do whatever makes you happy, my darling.” Victor rose from his chair, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I should only be gone a few days. You should go shopping tomorrow.” Hiseyes darkened as they raked down my body like they once did. “Get something sexy to surprise me with when I get home.”
“Of course.” I gritted a smile, fully aware this was yet another test.
If I picked out something that wasn’t sexy enough, he’d accuse me of not being attracted to him. Get something that wastoosexy and he’d accuse me of being a whore.
There was no winning with him.
But I wasn’t going to worry about it. Not when I was about to have several days without having to answer to him.
“I love you,” he murmured as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
I closed my eyes and fought the instinct to flinch.
There was a time I believed he loved me. I was nobody back then. Just a girl who liked flowers and sunshine and dreaming about things that felt out of reach. I never thought a man like him — a man who transformed his father’s shipping company into a luxury yacht and hotel brand — would look at me twice.
But he did.
And I believed in fairy tales for a while.
My mother warned me about him. And not because I was only nineteen and he was thirty-four. She claimed she saw a shadow on him. I accused her of being dramatic.
I should have listened.
