Page 68 of Beautiful Villain
“Don’t touch me.”
“Mikayla—”
“Don’t.”
I stopped dead.
That single word landed harder than the accusation.Harder than the look in her eyes.It felt like she’d drawn a line and dared me to cross it.
She sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, like she was barely keeping her head above water.“I’m leaving in the morning.”
“No,” I said at once.Too fast.Too honest.“You’re not.”
Her eyes lit up, all fire and fury.“I’m not your prisoner.”
“It’s not safe,” I snapped back.“The second you step outside, Archie will know.He’ll come for you.”
“Then you’ll let me go,” she shot back.“Because if you don’t, that makes you the same kind of monster he is.”
The words slammed into me.
“You think I’m like him,” I said quietly.
She didn’t deny it.That silence was louder than anything she could’ve said.
I dragged a hand through my hair, anger winding tight in my chest—not at her, but at the trap we were standing in.At the timing.At the way everything I’d done to protect her had twisted into proof against me.
“You walk out of here,” I said low, dangerous, “and you won’t last a day.”
She straightened, wiping at her face like she hated the tears.“Then that’s on me.”
I stared at her, really looked.The set of her jaw.The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes now, like if she did, she might break.
“I don’t want you to go, Mikayla,” I said, my voice rough.My heart stuttered hard in my chest.I could stop her.God help me, I could.Lock the doors.Keep her here.Tell myself it was for her own good.I would do anything to protect her—anything except turn into the thing she already feared.
“I don’t care what you want, Gianni,” she said flatly.“This is about me.And I don’t trust you anymore.So I can’t stay.”
“Fine,” I said.
Her head snapped up.
“If you’re set on leaving,” I went on, cold settling where panic had been, “I won’t stop you.”
Her shoulders dropped—just a little.
“But you’re wrong about one thing,” I added.“I wasn’t planning to give you back.Not anymore.”
She shook her head.“It’s too late.”
I turned for the door before I said something I couldn’t undo.
As I left, the anger burned hot and useless in my chest—not because she didn’t trust me, but because I understood exactly why she couldn’t.
And because I had no idea how to keep her alive once she walked out of my house in the morning.
I didn’t sleep.
Not for lack of trying.Not for lack of exhaustion.I lay down, stared at the ceiling, closed my eyes, opened them again.Over and over.When that failed, I got up.When standing still made it worse, I paced.
