Page 73 of Beautiful Villain
I paced the length of my office, back and forth, back and forth, blood roaring in my ears like a storm I couldn’t outrun.My hands kept clenching, opening, clenching again—looking for something to destroy.Every step felt wrong.Too forced.Too jagged.Like the house itself was daring me to keep my composure.
It didn’t feel like mine anymore.
The walls were too clean.The air too still.Everything she’d touched was gone, and yet the space she’d left behind was everywhere.The house felt hollow without her—empty in a way that scraped at the inside of my skull.
The lamp went first.
I ripped it off the desk and hurled it at the wall.It shattered on impact, glass bursting outward in a sharp, vicious crash that hit the wall with a dull thump.It wasn’t enough.I swept my arm across the desk, sending papers and folders flying, the cigar box smashing against the floor.The chair followed.Then the monitor.Then the solid wood paperweight—some meaningless gift from an associate whose name I couldn’t remember and no longer cared to.
I overturned the desk with a roar that tore out of me, raw and uncontrolled.The crash thundered through the room, through the house, through every careful structure I’d built my life around.The sound of order collapsing.Of control slipping.
My chest burned.My vision tunneled.
I punched the wall.
Once.Twice.
Pain flared hot and immediate, skin splitting, knuckles screaming—but it did nothing to dull the fury tearing through me.I hit it again, harder this time, because pain was easier than the truth.
She was gone.
And for the first time in years, I couldn’t fix something.
I stood there, breathing hard, blood dripping down my hand, rage curling in my chest like something feral and starving—because I knew exactly what this was.
It wasn’t anger.It was fear.And it was going to burn the world down before it let me sit with it.
This was Archie’s doing.
Not with a gun.Not with a threat whispered in the dark.He hadn’t needed to be here at all.He just existed—long enough, close enough—to destroy everything he touched.He’d reached into my house without crossing the threshold and taken the thing that mattered most.
Quietly.Softly.Without lifting a finger.
I dragged a hand through my hair and paced the destruction, boots crunching over glass and splintered wood.My chest heaved, breath coming hard and uneven, fury tearing through me in violent waves.For a moment—just a moment—I let it consume me.
Then my mind shifted.
Because men like me don’t get to fall apart.
She was out there.Alone.Exposed.And Archie would feel it soon enough.Information always found its way to him—leaked through whispers, favors, debts.He didn’t need confirmation.He’d smell her freedom like blood in the water and move on instinct.
I pressed my palms flat against what remained of the desk and bowed my head, teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
I had let her go.
Not because I didn’t want her.
Because I wouldn’t cage her just to keep her.
That choice didn’t absolve me of responsibility.It didn’t end my role in this.It just changed the rules.
I straightened, the rage inside me sharpening—reforging itself into something colder.Controlled.Lethal.
Dunn was waiting in the hall when I stepped out, his posture already braced, eyes sharp.He took one look at my face and knew.
“Get the men ready,” I said.“We’re heading back to the city.”
“Full rotation?”he asked.
