Page 79 of Beautiful Villain
I closed my eyes.
Not because I was afraid.
Because if I didn’t—if I let my mind drift even an inch in the wrong direction—I would think about Gianni.About the weight of his hands, steady and careful.About the sound of his voice when he said my name.The way he looked at me, not like an object or a problem to solve, but like a person who mattered.
And I would break.
Archie didn’t deserve to see me at my worst.Eventhat,in my opnion,was too intimate an act to share with him.
I lay there, breathing slow, counting the seconds between heartbeats like it was something I could control.The bed creaked softly as he shifted closer, close enough that I could smell him—clean, expensive, familiar in a way that made my skin crawl.
“You know,” he said lightly, as if we were sharing a private joke, “most women would be relieved to hear that.Reassured, even.”
I kept my eyes shut.“Most women haven’t met you.”
He laughed at that.A real laugh.Warm.Amused.It was the laugh he used when he wanted people to let their guard down and feel safe - right before they realized they shouldn’t.
“You always did have a mouth on you,” he said.“It’s one of the things I’ve missed.”
I said nothing.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded.I could feel him watching me, waiting for something—tears, anger, a crack.Anything he could slide his fingers into and widen.
Instead, I stayed still.
Finally, he sighed—long and patient—like a man indulging a child who refused to learn her place.
“Get used to being here, Mikayla,” he said calmly.“You’re not going anywhere.And you will be my wife—by the end of the week.”
33
Gianni
Dunn sat across from me at the kitchen island, his coffee untouched, his phone lighting up every few minutes with updates he wasn’t reading aloud.Men checking routes.Eyes on ports.Names moving through coded half-sentences.The whole machine was running.
I wasn’t.
I’d been reduced to a useless, pacing wreck the second Mikayla walked out of my gates.I was no longer the king of my game, but just a man standing in the ruins of a choice he couldn’t take back.I needed time—time to think, to breathe, to get the sound of her footsteps out of my head.
Mikayla had walked away from me and straight into Archie Popovich’s orbit.Whether she did it to punish me, to save herself, or because she was trying to pull off something reckless and heroic, I didn’t know.All I knew was that Archie didn’t get to keep what was mine.
I’d lost Mikayla.
I was not losing Provence.
With any luck, I’d have both back in my hands before the day was over.
I stared at the far wall, jaw locked, the plan already assembling in my head.
“Get me Laurent,” I said.“Now.”
Dunn looked up.“The broker?”
“The one holding Provence,” I replied.“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He didn’t.He pulled his phone up and made the call, his voice low, firm.
Five minutes later, I was on a secure line, listening to a man who could smell weakness like blood in the water and thought he’d finally found mine.
