NOVA POV
I’ve been praying and hoping that tonight would go wrong.
It might sound weird, but I wanted Grant to catch red-handed with Luca so this sham of an inconvenient relationship could be over as quickly as possible, and Luca would finally give details on who killed my parents once I held up my end of the bargain.
"Hang. Up. Now."
Grant’s voice sounded low and dangerous. Deadly, even. But I can’t just give in. I’ve got a role to play, and I’m under scrutiny, so I have no option but to channel my inner actress.
"Why?"
My voice sounded unrecognizably flat and cold.
"Yes. Why, Granny?" Luca, who was enjoying this a little too much, smirked on my screen.
I didn’t know how he knew Grant was around, but when he ssaged that it was ti to test my acting skills on a video call, I couldn’t ignore the order.
"Because soone is going to die tonight."
Grant’s voice was lifeless and bloodthirsty. My heart rate spiked, and I couldn’t ignore the shiver of fear that ran down my spine. If Grant killed now, like he did Tyler, I don’t think Luca would care to fight for or save .
This was just him proving a point, like a testosterone-driven teenager, and I hated being the one at a disadvantage.
"Perhaps Lena."
Oh. Luca was definitely looking for trouble.
"Or perhaps your latest toy here."
Grant’s voice remained deathly calm as he reached my side of the room in two strides, pressing cold steel, a knife, no doubt against my neck.
The idiot on my screen only smiled wider, like this was all a ploy to amuse him.
"Cut the bluff, Granny. Not like you can actually kill her like you killed her boyfriend."
I swallowed slowly against the knife just as Grant’s leg kicked out, sending my phone tumbling from where I’d placed it. The call went dead.
Perfect.
"You must think you’re smart."
His voice trickled into my ear, the brush of his firm lips against my skin giving ideas I dared not voice. With the way my body was reacting, I might actually have a blood kink or a knife fetish, because why the hell was heat pooling between my legs?
"All I want right now is your blood pooling at the edge of my knife. Watching you cry out in pain, fear, and pleasure."
Each word was punctuated with his hips grinding against my ass, and shafully, my body moved in sync with his thrusts.
"But unfortunately for you... you are a whore."
His growl rumbled deep in his chest before he shoved away, sending crashing into the bedfra before I slid dramatically back to the floor.
"You don’t understand," I squeaked.
"I don’t understand what, bitch? How much of a slut you are? How your pussy is public rchandise for the highest bidder? Answer , bitch!"
Tears trickled down my cheeks. I couldn’t even explain myself not if I wanted answers from Luca.
"It’s not like that."
"It’s not like what, bitch? It’s not like this room fucking reeks of his flowers? Not like you were kissing him on the lips today, in front of my house, in his car? With the sa mouth you used to scream ’daddy’? The sa mouth you used to suck my dick? I should’ve known there’s nothing more to you than being a bitch."
"Grant—"
"Shut the fuck up! Is it money you want? Flowers? Shoes? Bags? You could’ve just asked, bitch! I would’ve given you that and more. But you chose to be a cumhole for a motherfucker that doesn’t even rate you. Disappointnt is a beautiful word compared to this stunt you pulled."
"Grant—"
"It’s Mr. Calloway to you. Slut. Whore."
I swallowed my heartbreak, my tears, my pride, and tried one last tactic.
"Daddy, for real."
"Never Daddy. You fatherless bitch."
I couldn’t hold back the whimper as I broke down on the floor. He t my gaze head-on, his eyes colder and more lifeless than I’d ever seen them.
"You deserve nothing good in this life or the next. Nothing. You are worth nothing, you backstabber."
"I swear if—"
"Nothing to say. You have nothing to say. You have until daybreak to get the fuck out of my life. The office, the house, everything. Go back to hell where you belong."
I watched him move to the door through my tear-blurred eyes. He didn’t even allow to explain.
"If only—"
"Slut!" he roared before slamming the door shut.
I lay there on the floor for I don’t know how long, crying my eyes out. My mind was so scrambled I couldn’t even think of what to do next.
My phone beeped where it had fallen, not far from .
(Luca): Pick up my call.
Like hell I would.
••••The trip back to my hostel was uneventful and quiet in a way that mocked , the silence broken only by the sound of my sniffles and the rough drag of my cardigan sleeve against my cheeks as I brushed away the tears that refused to stop coming.
The city looked the sa with cars honking, people rushing, life moving forward but inside it felt like the entire world had tilted off balance and refused to set itself right again.
If I had to put a word to the silent shattering of my heart, the aching tug that pulled at my chest with every step, it would be heartbreak.
Unfortunately, it’s not the kind people write poems about or heal from with tubs of ice cream. No, this feels like heartbreak laced with poison, like I willingly swallowed sothing fatal because I knew it was going to hurt, because deep down I knew I was the cause of my own ruin.
The words Grant spat at last night won’t stop replaying in my head. They circle endlessly, looping like a broken record with a needle that refuses to lift. Every insult, every sneer, every syllable is carved into my skin like scripture I can’t erase.
And the worst part was that one word that cuts deeper than the "fatherless bitch" slur; It’s the fact that he truly believes I’m doing this for money.
That, Grant looks at and sees nothing but a body for sale. A pussy to be bought. Like everything between us; every kiss, every touch, every stolen glance was cheap enough to be pawned off to the highest bidder. That hurts more than anything else he said. And he said plenty.
But the tragedy of it all was that Beneath the anger, beneath the insults and the violence, I feel sorry for him. Because the truth is obvious, at least to : if Grant didn’t care, if I was just another girl in his life, he wouldn’t be this furious.
He wouldn’t care who I kissed, who I let close. He wouldn’t be tearing apart piece by piece. His rage is proof of the very thing he refuses to admit.
And Luca knew. He fucking knew this would burn. He knew this would split open. That smug bastard played like a violin, tugging at strings he knew were already frayed, because he thrives on chaos. He set up for humiliation, for ruin, just so I’d keep crawling back to him for answers about my parents.
That’s all this is, a humiliation ritual dressed up as strategy. And I let myself get dragged into it because the ache of not knowing who murdered my parents is louder than the ache of my breaking heart.
If I could trust Grant with the truth, I would’ve told him. I would’ve dropped to my knees, begged him to help dig into the shadows, begged him to stand beside in this fight. But how can I, when I don’t even know if I an anything to him?
What if he brushed off with that cold detachnt he wears so well, the one that makes feel like I’m invisible, disposable? I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk exposing everything when Luca only asked for sothing that looked simple in exchange, just pretend to be his.
The irony of all this is that Luca doesn’t even want that way. He never did. To him, I’m a pawn, a bargaining chip, a weapon to use against Grant. Nothing more. But how do I explain that without sounding like a fool? Without sounding selfish and cruel and manipulative?
I’m fucked.
Completely and irreversibly fucked. And I can’t tell anyone. Not even Lena. Especially not Lena. How could I sit her down and confess that I’ve been tangled in sothing twisted with her father?
That sowhere along the line, feelings crept in where they shouldn’t have? She’d hate . She’d never forgive .
So I keep it inside.
I’ve been scrambling for a reasonable excuse to give the girls for why I ca back to the dorm two weeks earlier than my internship was supposed to end, but every lie I co up with feels flimsy, paper-thin.
Maybe my friends won’t question it. Maybe they’ll be too distracted by the surprise of my return to notice my puffy, swollen face. The face of a girl who cried through the night until her eyes begged for rcy.
My phone buzzed again where it lay on the floor, Luca’s na flashing across the cracked screen. And despite every bone in my body screaming no, I knew I was going to answer.
Reviews
All reviews (0)