Page 9 of Beautiful Villain
I looked back at her.She was watching the exchange with something like disbelief flickering across her face, as if she hadn’t expected banter to be part of the kidnapping experience.Understandable.I ran a tight operation, but I wasn’t a monster.Not all the time, anyway.
“Well?”I prompted.“This is the part where you decide how cooperative you want to be.”
Her lips parted.Closed again.She was weighing her options.I could practically see the math happening behind her eyes—risk versus reward, silence versus surrender.It was admirable, really.Futile, but admirable.
“I’m not asking again,” I said calmly.“I will find out who you are.I’m offering you the courtesy of choice.”
She laughed then.A short, brittle sound that surprised both of us.
“And if I don’t?”she asked hoarsely.
I considered that.“That would make today even more annoying.”
I stood and crossed the room, stopping just far enough away to avoid looming.Fear was more effective when it was restrained.“You’ve disrupted my day,” I continued.“My schedule.My furniture.And you’re doing it all without even the decency of an introduction.”
Her jaw tightened.
“And yet,” I added lightly, “here you are.Alive.Warm.On my sofa.So clearly, I’m exercising a remarkable amount of patience.”
Silence stretched again, but this time it felt different.She let out a deep, trembling sigh.
“Mikayla,” she said finally.
There it was.
I nodded once, committing it to memory.“See?That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
She looked up at me then, eyes dark and furious and afraid all at once.“Now what?”
I smiled, and it was anything but kind.
“Now,” I said, “we figure out why you’re worth this much trouble.”
And whether you’re about to become a problem.Or an asset.
“And who,” I asked mildly, because I’m generous like that, “is the man unfortunate enough to have misplaced a bride?”
She dropped her gaze before answering, suddenly very interested in the wreckage of her dress.She tugged at the torn fabric, tried to arrange it into something resembling dignity with about as much success as you’d expect.It was almost charming.Almost.
I watched her fumble, veil crooked, blood still drying on her skin, looking like a cautionary tale no one would ever admit to learning from.
“Come on, Mikayla,” I coaxed, voice soft, friendly.“Do me a solid and tell me who the blushing groom is.”
She inhaled.Exhaled.Then finally lifted her eyes to mine, almost afraid to say the words.
“Archie Popovich,” she said.
She spat the name out like it might bite her back if she held onto it too long, like saying it at full volume might summon him out of thin air.
Ah.That explainedeverything.
I straightened, unhurried, giving the moment the respect it deserved.Some names changed the temperature of a room.That was one of them.
“Where’s the doctor?”I called, to no-one in particular.
“You didn’t ask for one,” Enzo said, like he’d followed instructions perfectly.
I stared at him.“And you assumed I was fine with a woman dying on my imported sofa?”
