Page 91 of Beautiful Villain
He gave me a flicker.A tiny tightening around his eyes.Recognition, whether he liked it or not.
“The difference,” I continued, “is that you figured out when to let her go.”
He scoffed.Soft.Almost offended.
“I didn’t let her go,” he said flatly.“She left.”
I smiled despite myself.Blood loss did strange things to your sense of humour.
“See?”I murmured.“Turns out women hate being treated like hostile takeovers.”
The gun shifted slightly.Not away.Just… adjusted.
“So if you kill me,” I went on, breath hitching despite my best efforts, “you prove her right.You become exactly what she’s afraid of.”
Gianni went still.
“And if you don’t,” I added, softer now, “you give her something neither of us ever had.”
His jaw tightened.
“A choice,” I said.
The word sat between us, heavy and thick and full of possibility.
The gun hovered there, suspended, like even it wasn’t sure which way it wanted to go.
I laughed quietly—more air than sound.“You know what the truly tragic part is?”
Gianni didn’t answer.
“I think she could’ve loved me,” I said.“Not the version of me I insisted on being.But the one I never let her see.”I glanced up at him.“You ever wonder how different things would’ve been if we’d both just stopped trying to win?”
He stared down at me, eyes cold, searching.
“I don’t do ‘what ifs,’” he said.
“Pity,” I replied.“You’d be brilliant at them.”
The silence stretched again.The night seemed to lean in, curious.
“Do me a favour,” I murmured at last.“Tell her I’m sorry.”
The gun lifted a fraction higher.
This was it.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t wait for control.Or power.Or one last clever move.I waited for mercy.
And then?—
Gianni’s phone rang.
Sharp.Invasive.Obnoxiously cheerful in the middle of a near-execution.
He froze.
I stared at the glowing screen like it was a miracle.
