Page 69 of Beautiful Villain
Back and forth across my room.
Window to door.Door to window.
Every step felt like a countdown.
Morning was coming whether I wanted it to or not, and with it the moment Mikayla would walk out of this house believing I was just another man who’d decided her worth behind closed doors.
I could stop her.
The thought came uninvited and stayed longer than I liked.
I had enough men.Enough control.Enough authority in this house to make it impossible for her to leave.I could justify it easily—safety, intelligence, timing.I could tell myself it was temporary.Necessary.
I didn’t.
Because forcing her to stay would only prove her right.
I’d already betrayed her trust once.I wouldn’t do it again.Even if every instinct I had screamed at me to lock the doors and keep her where I could see her breathe.
I dragged a hand down my face and leaned against the wall, head tipping back.
How had she found out?
The question surfaced briefly, automatically.A tactical reflex.Loose mouths.Poor timing.One of the men talking when they shouldn’t have been.
It didn’t matter.
It changed nothing.
She was always going to find out.If not tonight, then tomorrow.Or next week.Or the moment Archie decided to remind her exactly how valuable she was to him.
And when she did, it was always going to hurt.
That part was on me.
I’d used her.Not cruelly.Not carelessly.But deliberately.I’d justified it every step of the way by telling myself I was protecting her, keeping her close, making sure she was safe while I handled the problem she represented.
What I hadn’t done was tell her the truth.
Not all of it.
She knew Archie and I had history.She knew there was bad blood, unfinished business.I could have told her everything.The deal.The territory.The fact that Provence wasn’t just land—it was leverage, balance, the end of a war that had been bleeding outward for too long.
I hadn’t.
Because somewhere, deep down, I’d known that the moment she understood what was at stake, she’d understand something else too.
That she was the single most valuable bargaining tool I had.
And I hadn’t wanted to see the look on her face when she realized it.
I pushed away from the wall and crossed the room again, restless energy coiling tighter with every step.Regret was useless.Self-flagellation even more so.There were no clean hands in this world, and I’d never pretended mine were any different.
I could kick myself for the miscalculation.For thinking I could keep the lines separate.For believing I could fight a war and fall for a woman without the two colliding.
I didn’t.
Because this wasn’t over.
