Page 70 of Beautiful Villain
Archie Popovich was still out there.Provence was still on the table.And Mikayla—whether she believed it or not—was still in danger the moment she stepped beyond my gates.
I had a war to win.
And I had a woman to save.
Even if she never forgave me for it.
Especially if that was the price.
29
Mikayla
Gianni came to my room just after dawn, when the house was caught in that thin, grey space between night and morning.I hadn’t slept—not properly.At some point, I must’ve dragged myself from the couch back to the bed, but I didn’t remember doing it.My body ached in that hollow, bruised way it did after you cried until there was nothing left to give.My eyes burned like sand had been rubbed into them.My head pulsed dully.I felt emptied out and sharp all at once, too tired to think and too awake to rest.
I heard him before I saw him.
His footsteps moved down the hall, slower than usual.Measured.Careful.Like he was approaching something unpredictable.Like he wasn’t sure he was welcome anymore.
The sound tightened something in my chest.
He knocked once.Soft.Controlled.Almost polite.
I didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
I pushed myself upright against the headboard, folding my arms tight across my chest, bracing for what was to come.For whatever version of Gianni had decided to show up this morning.The strategist.The protector.The man who spoke in half-truths and called it safety.I didn’t know which one I was about to face—and worse, I didn’t care enough to hope.
He stopped just inside the room, the early light spilling in behind him, casting long shadows across the floor.
And the quiet between us stretched, heavy and loaded, waiting for one of us to break.
“You’re awake,” he said.
His voice stayed even, measured, as if he were testing the space—like he’d stepped into unfamiliar territory, unsure whether he had the right to be there at all.
“I didn’t plan on sleeping through my own disposal,” I shot back.
The words landed the way they were meant to.I saw his jaw tighten, muscle jumping once as he absorbed it.He didn’t argue.Didn’t defend himself.Just took the blow and stood there with it.
“Where will you go?”he asked.
The question was calm.Reasonable.Almost kind.That was what made it unbearable.
“That’s not your concern anymore,” I said.
He nodded once, slow, like he’d already known that would be my answer.“I can arrange something for you.A new name.A clean slate.Somewhere quiet and safe.”
“No.”
The word came out sharp and final.I didn’t hesitate.I didn’t have to think.
“Mikayla—”
“No,” I said again, louder now.Firmer.“I don’t want anything from you.”
He took a step into the room, then stopped, leaving space between us like he was afraid to cross an invisible line.“This isn’t about what you want,” he said evenly.“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
