Page 64 of Beautiful Villain
My room.
Her fingers tightened around mine, pulse warm and alive.
When I shut the door behind us, she stood there, looking at me, coat still on, hair slightly mussed from the drive.There was no fear in her expression.Just anticipation.Awareness.
I reached up and brushed my thumb along her jaw, slow, deliberate.
“Stay with me tonight,” I said.
Her breath caught.That was all the permission I needed.
I kissed her—hungry and honest and unhurried.Her hands slid into my jacket, gripping the fabric like she needed the contact as much as I did.
When we broke apart, her forehead rested against my chest.
“Haven’t you had enough?”she murmured.
I huffed a quiet laugh.“You have no idea.”
I guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, knelt in front of her, and pressed a kiss to her knee through the fabric of her dress.The move was reverent more than it was sexual.
She threaded her fingers through my hair, grounding me.
For a moment, we stayed like that—breathing, touching, existing in the quiet certainty of what we were choosing.
I didn’t know how this would end.I didn’t know what it would cost me.
But I knew this much: I hadn’t caught her that day by accident.
And I wasn’t about to let her fall again.
27
Mikayla
Adry, restless feeling dragged me out of sleep and wouldn’t let go.It wasn’t painful—just uncomfortable enough to keep my eyes open.I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts slow and foggy as I tried to remember where I was.
Gianni’s bed.
The realization settled in quietly.The house was silent in that deep, late-night way that made every sound feel louder than it should have.Somewhere in the distance, something hummed—low and steady, like a machine doing its job without care for who was awake to hear it.The sheets were cool against my skin, the space beside me warm.His warmth.Proof that he was there, sleeping peacefully, unaware that I was wide awake.
I moved slowly when I sat up, careful not to disturb him.My heart thudded louder than my footsteps ever could.I slid out of the bed and stood there for a second, barefoot on the floor.The cold crept up through my soles, sharp and grounding, reminding me that this was real.That I was really here.
I headed for the kitchen, moving quietly, placing each step with care.I rounded the corner, the darkness opening up ahead of me—and stopped.
Voices drifted from the adjoining corridor.Low.Male.Familiar.Gianni’s men.
I froze, instinct kicking in before logic had a chance to catch up.I wasn’t meant to hear this.That much was obvious from the tone alone—casual, unguarded, the kind of conversation people only had when they thought no one else was around.
“…can’t keep her forever,” one of them said.
My stomach tightened.
“Doesn’t matter,” another replied.“Provence is the endgame.Always has been.”
I pressed myself back against the wall, heart pounding now, water forgotten entirely.
“He’ll give her back,” the first voice continued.“Sooner or later.Popovich won’t agree to anything without getting her back.”
