Page 78 of Beautiful Villain
He didn’t take me to his bedroom.
That alone was enough to cut through the fog for a second.
Instead, he led me down a quiet corridor and opened the door to a room that looked like it had been waiting for me.It didn’t look like a temporary room.It had been prepared in neutral colours, spread with fresh sheets pulled tight enough to bounce a coin off.
I frowned before I could stop myself.
He noticed.Because of course with Archie, there was no getting anything past him.
A soft chuckle slipped out of him, like I’d amused him without meaning to.
“I’m a devout Russian Orthodox man,” he said lightly.“No sex before marriage.”
I shot him a sideways look sharp enough to slice him down to size, but didn’t say what was really on my mind:that Archie Popovich didn’t have a religious bone in his body.
I crossed the room and set my backpack by the bed, like I was claiming territory I never intended to keep.
“I thought you’d be happier to be home,” Archie added.
I turned and looked at him properly.Met his eyes.Held them.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I said.“This will never be my home.You may as well kill me now and save us both the trouble.”
He sighed, like I’d failed to laugh at a joke he was proud of making.
“So dramatic, Mikayla,” he said.“I won’t be doing that—at least not until after the wedding.Everyone understands you got cold feet the first time.Happens to the best of brides.But you won’t get a second chance to make a fool of this handsome villain.”
He smoothed a hand down the front of his vest, admiring himself like the room might agree with him if he tried hard enough.
I stared.
Then I balked, the sound tearing out of me before I could stop it.
“Whatever,” I muttered.
He smiled like that was close enough to consent.
I kicked my shoes off without bothering to aim.One of them skidded across the floor and hit the wall with a dull thud.I didn’t watch where the other landed.I just threw myself face-first onto the bed, like a petulant child.
The mattress dipped under me, soft and deep, like it was trying to swallow me whole.I stared at the wall, arms folded beneath my chest, sulking in the most undignified way possible—because dignity had already been stripped from me, and this was all I had left.
“My, Mikayla,” Archie said behind me.“You’ve come back a little sulky.Did Cavalho not feed you properly?”
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, rolling my eyes so hard it actually hurt.The stone was rough and old and utterly beautiful—exactly the kind of thing you focused on when you didn’t want to look at the man standing behind you.
“Please,” I said flatly.“One villain I can tolerate.Don’t make me relive the other.”
The room changed.
Not in any way you could point to, not a sound or a movement—but the air shifted, thickened, like it had decided to pay attention.His amusement didn’t vanish.That would’ve been easier.It sharpened instead, honed down to something precise and dangerous.
I felt him step closer without needing to look.His presence pressed in, too close, too certain of itself, like he already owned the space around my body and was just waiting for me to catch up.
“But there’s only one villain you belong to, Mikayla,” he said softly.
Pleasant.Almost gentle.
“And that’s me.”
