Page 25 of The Forbidden Villain
They crave illusions.
I guess it’s my turn to shatter Lavender’s.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Our illusions are sacred to us.
Because they are born in our traumas and transform into protective mechanisms that keep our psyche sane.
The funny thing about insanity, though?
It gives you the freedom to be who you truly are.
Except it comes with a cost.
And that cost is usually never worth it.”
Lavender
Lavender
“Miss Wright. We’ve arrived home,” Gordon announces once he parks the car, and I sit up straight, rubbing my forehead as an intense headache hits me with full force.
“Home sweet home,” I whisper without much enthusiasm, unfastening my seat belt and grabbing my purse along with two books I loaned from the library. “I’m not going anywhere tonight, so you can rest, Gordon.”
“Rough day, Miss Wright?”
“Lavender,” I remind him, and he chuckles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening when he smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “Tomorrow, I only have one class at noon.”
“I’ll be here.”
Right.
When we first moved to New York, I dreamed about using public transportation and exploring the town on my own. That’s another privilege no one wishes to grant me because, due to my psychological issues, I’m high risk. No one can predict how I’ll behave among the crowds.
Looking out the window of the car, I study the huge, modern building, located in the most luxurious part of the city. Most of the people passing by wear expensive clothes and carry designer bags, while their jewelry shines under the streetlights, drawing attention to the aura of sophistication and wealth they exude.
They also love their morning runs and coffee breaks, walking their dogs, and chatting endlessly with their neighbors when they aren’t busy on their phones.
Our neighborhood was the only place my brothers allowed me to roam freely, so I had to engage in small talk, and honestly, I only enjoyed the ones that involved their dogs.
Most of them are my age, and to see them all achieve so much while my life stood still… It’s the kind of pain I try to avoid, so I didn’t really form any friendships here either.
I should just writeloneron my forehead and be done with it.
A man wearing a black uniform rushes out of the building through the revolving doors, nods at Gordon in greeting, and opens my door. “Miss Wright.” The doorman beams at me, holding up an umbrella to shield me from the drizzle falling from the sky and tapping soundly on the wet asphalt. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Rob.” I wave at Gordon. “Good night.”
In ten short strides, we enter the building, and the spectacular interior design once again inspires awe in me, because the idea of living in such a gorgeous setting still surprises me after years spent in just a single room with white walls.
Jazz music plays softly, blending with the light hum from the reception desk and a TV in the lounging area, where there are two couches, snacks on the table, and a small bar to the side with all kinds of drinks. The flowery scents waft into my nostrils, creating a rather inviting atmosphere, while the streetlights streaming through various windows cast a dim glow on the golden marble around us.
One of the receptionists standing by the front desk waves and greets me. “Miss Wright. We have mail for you.” Marissa comes closer and gives me a sealed golden envelope with just my name on it. She must read my silent question because she elaborates. “It was delivered here earlier by a courier. We scanned it for electronics. It’s safe.”
Rafael owns this entire building. My brothers are billionaires for a reason, and after what happened here with his wife, I’m not surprised they are extra cautious about checking every delivery.
“Thank you.” I take it, put it inside one of the books, and go to the elevator in the right corner, away from all the others.
