Page 52 of Wicked Villain

Mama’s going to be so worried about me. I hope the stress doesn’t affect her illness. How can it not, though?

I pull my legs closer to my chest.

I’m still being controlled. It doesn’t matter what Lev has given me, he’s not that much different from Papa. It also hasn’t escaped me that effort has been made to keep certain things from me. Basic things.

I know more about the history of the manor and the surrounding woodlands than I know about my husband. I think it’s going to stay that way for as long as we’re together.

That’s probably for the best, given the fact that he must never know I’m not who I say I am. Still, living in the unknown is unsettling.

It’s uncertainty. The thing I hate most.

Lev doesn’t have to worry about that. He has Zoya watching me and reporting back everything she sees. The guards do the rest. They always seem to appear wherever I am.

The one who’s been tasked with watching me today is standing on the terrace, eyes fixed on me from all the way over there.

I hate it.

Swallowing hard, I take a few deep breaths and look back at my sketch pad. I pick up my pencil and continue drawing.

Art is the one constant thing in my life.

Like the Room of Requirement in Harry Potter, art has always been whatever I need it to be—my companion, my escape, or a balm for my weary soul.

I focus on the section I was working on earlier. The dark-haired girl walking through the countryside.

It’s Gabrielle.

This is how I keep her alive. Though she’s still dead in my sketches.

I don’t know why I do that, but drawing her alive when she’s not is too painful.

Somehow, my mind just decided on creating these images of her spirit enjoying the things she used to love. I’d like to believe she’s really doing them now.

Walking through the Tuscan countryside outside Florence or along the Tiber in Rome at night. Watching the sunset over Verona. Or touching the silver sparks that live in the moonlight.

The new sketch is another moonlight one. This time, she’s walking a dusty path with her hands reaching upward toward the moon.

I can never see her face, even though sometimes she looks back at me.

Mama told me I always held on to Gabrielle even in the womb, so there’s no wonder I can’t let go now that she’s no longer with us.

But Mama thinks I’m also holding on because Gabrielle’s actual killer was never caught.

My father rescued me a week after she was killed. I was being prepped for sale when his men stormed into the compound and burned the place to the ground.

Papa claims to have killed all the men responsible. Except I saw that man slipping down a hole while I was being carried away by Papa’s guards.

No one except Mama believed me. Papa’s men claimed they left no one alive that night. Papa also claims to have investigated to try and find the man, but to no avail.

But I know what I saw.

I push the memory from my mind. No point thinking about that now. That man is long gone. And though he may be the architect of my nightmares, he’s the least of my worries now.

I shade the areas around Gabrielle, giving the trees more texture.

“My God, that is amazing,” an excited voice bubbles from behind me.

I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin. Turning, I find myself staring at a stylish blonde girl about the same age as me or possibly younger.