Page 106 of Beautiful Villain
Gianni stood a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the weight of him in the room, far enough that I still had my space.It felt as though he didn’t trust himself with proximity.Like he was afraid one wrong move would undo whatever fragile honesty he’d finally decided to offer.
The house was quiet in that heavy, post-storm way—after words had already been said, after truths had scraped too close to the heart.I could still feel the echo of the anger between us, our grief, the sharp edges of a relationship that died before it had a chance to live.And he… he was a man who had just inherited too much and lost even more.
This wasn’t the Gianni who commanded rooms.This was the one stripped down to his very soul.
His jaw worked once, tension pulling tight across his face, and when he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t cruel or controlled.It was raw.
“I need you to know you were never on the table, Mikayla.Not for a second.Not even when I was stupid enough to pretend you were.”
Something tight and painful twisted in my chest.
I hated how much it mattered.
The world had taught me not to trust men who said beautiful things.But he was not beautiful in this moment.He was wrecked and honest and standing there with nothing left to bargain with.
I knew now that after everything that had happened, Provence was his.The estate, the land, the legacy—every inch of it was now owned by Gianni.
And yet… he was here.
In my home.
In my space.
Looking at me like I mattered more than any deed or signature ever could.
He’d been watching me.Tracking me.Slipping through my life like a shadow I couldn’t shake.That should have terrified me.Maybe it did, a little.But now he was standing in front of me, fighting for me instead of for the property everyone said he wanted.
A man driven only by greed wouldn’t do this.
Wouldn’t be here, trying to protect a woman who had nothing left to offer but her bruised heart and her wrecked past.
Gianni was here because whatever this was between us had weight.It had history and heat and something dangerously special.
And for the first time in my life, I let myself believe that maybe I wasn’t just another asset to be won.
Maybe we weren’t past saving.
Maybe this wreckage could still be turned into something that didn’t hurt so much to look at.
So I did the only thing that made sense.
I reached for him.
Something in me unclenched so fast it almost hurt, like a knot finally giving way after being pulled too tight for too long.
I kissed him.
It was my choice.With the kind of certainty that said this was mine to give and no one else’s to take.It felt like claiming my life back with my own mouth.
He made a low sound in his throat and his hands came to my waist, pulling me in at last—like a man who had been starving but refused to reach for food until he knew it was being offered.There was restraint in the way he kissed me back, a tight, controlled intensity that felt almost violent in how much it held back.His mouth moved against mine, slow with concentration, as if he were relearning every line of me all over again.
I tugged at his shirt.“Off.”
He stilled for a heartbeat.“Mikayla?—”
“I want this,” I said, breath coming quick.“Will you deny me?”
His eyes flashed.“I’m trying not to take too much.”
