Page 12 of Beautiful Villain
That alone almost earned her a drink.
“You understand,” I said slowly, carefully, “that I could send you back.”
The color drained from her face so fast it was almost impressive.“Please?—”
I lifted a hand, stopping her mid-implosion.“I could,” I repeated.“And it would buy me a quiet week and a very violent favor.”
She swallowed before she nodded once, telling me in no uncertain terms that she understood.She didn’t beg again.
Which was good.Because begging bored me.
“But I won’t,” I said.
Her head snapped up.Hope flared in her eyes—bright, reckless, and completely premature.
I extinguished it immediately.
Rule four:If you break a rule, make sure the payoff outweighs the body count.Stealing Archie Popovich’s almost-wife was an unfortunate mistake.But I would turn that to my advantage.In the form of leverage.
Her breathing was shallow, chest rising too fast.Fear, yes—but also anger.The good kind.The kind that meant she was still fighting.
Rule five:Protect what’s under your roof—or kill it yourself.Once someone crossed my threshold, they were my responsibility.Temporarily, at least.Letting harm come to her now would make me look weak.And I didn’t survive by looking weak.
“I’m keeping you,” I said.
Her jaw tightened.A flash of heat crossed her expression—defiance, fury, pride.But she didn’t argue.
Smart girl.I straightened and turned to Enzo.
“Get her a room.”
He hesitated.“The basement?”
I looked at him.Slowly.
“Other than the basement.”
His brows shot up.“You’re sure?”
I tilted my head.“Are you questioning me?”
He vanished immediately.Also smart.
Rule six:If you’re going to be the villain in someone else’s story, make sure you win.Archie would call this kidnapping.I called it positioning.Archie would come looking.Loudly.Carelessly.Convinced rage and ownership were the same thing.
And when he did, I’d be holding the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world.I hoped.
Rules were meant to keep men alive.
Breaking them—carefully—was how empires were built.
5
Mikayla
Relief didn’t feel the way I thought it would.
I’d imagined it crashing over me—violent and desperate, like air after drowning.Instead, it arrived quietly and settled in my chest, warm and uneasy, like something borrowed I’d eventually be asked to return.
