by Rina Kent
But even if I got the chance, would I really leave Arthur? Could I?
I turn the page in search of the answer but there’s only another entry a few days after, talking about her pretentious mother-in-law.
Dammit. Was Aaron the only reason his mother stayed with his tyrant father? If no, then what type of love would allow such extremes? It’s both confusing and fascinating.
Based on other entries, Aaron’s mother knew all about her husband’s horrible deeds, but ignored them. She said it helped her cope with her reality, yet from her heavily-scarred emotions, they seem to weigh on her more than she likes to admit. She says she loves her son, but she’s happier when he’s with his uncle rather than with her.
A horrible thought comes to mind. What if she hated Aaron for being the reason behind her enclosure in this place?
I close the journal with a loud whack. Reading bits and pieces about Aaron’s miserable childhood always leaves me with a foul taste. The more I read, the tighter my stomach twists at his mother’s dark sense of sacrifice and her odd relationship with her husband.
I should’ve not retrieved the journal. Yet, when Aaron took me to the room I occupied to get my clothes, I couldn’t help but slip it under my baggy pullover.
Despite having Aaron with me, I wanted out of that room as soon as possible. Being there triggered the rotten memories of that man.
After our first horse ride a week ago, Aaron was kind enough to move me to my current room. Although smaller than the other one, it’s similarly decorated with beige and brown patterns like a vintage hotel room I couldn’t afford. I stand beside the window, immediately lost in the foreshadowed forest in the distance. The thought of a person— or a family— owning such a large, seemingly endless property is mesmerising. Dad told me about his colleagues from old and new money, but this is beyond anything I’ve imagined.
I retrieve my sketchbook and charcoal pencil and allow my muse to shape the trees in the distance. The gloom adds a mystical, yet a shadowy hue to the shapes of trees.
It’s useless to fight whatever darkness my muse unleashes. Even the portraits I drew for Silver and Jet turned into phantom horses. I let my hands sketch whatever they like. Except for the faceless man who keeps demanding features. I have a few theories about the man’s identity, but I’m not admitting it— even to myself.
The door clicks open. I jolt up, but I’m quick enough to hide the sketchbook under the pillow and smile at Aaron. He’s in a dashing grey suit. Not the right outfit.
My smile drops. “Where are your horse riding clothes?” I open the wardrobe for my jacket.
His face remains impassive. “We’re not going today, kitten. It will rain.”
“Oh.” I don’t hide my disappointment. “I can ride in the rain.”
“That is out of the question. Pneumonia is a nasty disease to catch.”
“But...”
He shakes his head once, an unbending refusal in his eyes. No matter how much I protest, he won’t be swayed.
“Ugh!” I slam the wardrobe’s door shut, its loud crack reverberating in the room. “Way to take my favourite pleasure!”
He flashes me his diabolical almost-smile. I clench my fists, sucking a deep breath, barely resisting the urge to punch him in the face.
“You can come with me.” He walks out, leaving me no choice but to follow him.
Actually, I have the choice to slam the door after him. But me being me, I walk by his side. “Where to?”
He doesn’t answer— as expected. He continues striding the length of the dimly lit hallway. It’s sombre outside. Coupled with the thunder and Aaron’s vampire-like nature, it’s like I’m thrown into a gothic tale.
Since I’m allowed out of the room when we go horse-riding, the long lifeless hallway is more familiar. The doors are always closed. I peek at where I remember Aaron’s room to be. I should’ve snooped around while I had the chance. Beside the fact that he likes grim decor, owns Jet and King, I know little to nothing about this man. Well, there’s also his obvious noble lineage and the serial killer side hobby.
Dammit. I often forget the killer part. No, not forget. It’s more of a disregard. I chose to neglect the killer side because he murdered an evil man.
Still. Does that give him the liberty to kill? Do I have the right to find him excuses? Or am I finding those excuses for myself? For enjoying his company more than I’m supposed to?
The click of a door pulls me out of my turbulent thoughts. Aaron strolls through a usually closed door. I don’t think twice before following him inside.
The room is vast enough to host a party, but not large compared to the majestic hall downstairs. The imposing wooden table, the black leather chairs and sofa, and the rows and rows of books don’t suggest this hosts parties in the first place. It’s an office. At least three times the size of my dad’s.
Aaron stands by one of the dark wooden shelves. The yellow light of the room casts a soft shadow over his features, humanising him a bit. “Pick some books.”
Is he doing this because I said I was bored?
No, no, no. Don’t go there, Mae. He’s not being kind. He must have a hidden agenda.
“Unless you dislike reading?” He arches an eyebrow. Goddammit. He has to stop doing that. It tingles my chest every single time.
Clearing my throat, I take quick steps to his side. My fingertips run along the endless titles of English, French, and Russian literature. Many of them aren’t translated to English. I check the covers and the careful way they’re wrapped. Holy... These are the first editions.
“You can’t choose?”
I whirl towards Aaron’s calm voice. The gentleman kind of calm. He’s standing not so far from me, half-leaning on a shelf. One of his hands in his pocket, a tiny gleam in his eyes. This is the first time he seems to have let his guard down.
“There are many.” I smile. “Which one is your favourite?”
“I don’t have favourites.”
I run my finger over one of Balzac’s books. “In nothing?”
“In nothing.”
“That’s a lie.” I smirk, finally getting the power. “I can cite many of your favourites.”
He raises both of his eyebrows. “Enlighten me.”
“Humph.” I tuck my hair back in a dramatic gesture. “For one, black is obviously your favourite...” I trail when his almost-smile greets me, amusement tugging on the corners of his eyes.
“Go ahead. My favourite what? Colour? Is an artist supposed to call black a colour?”
The bastard. He almost got me. I gulp. “Your favourite animals are cats. Although it’s a bigger cat, a jaguar is still a cat nonetheless.” I bump my chest out. “How about that?”
“I have Dobermans and hunting hounds too.” He leans close, the smirk still animating his face. “I also ride Jet. Never occurred to you that horses are also animals?”
“You...” I scratch my mind at something— anything. I refuse to lose. I inspect him up and down, then smile. “You prefer formal wear. You can’t deny that!”
“I wear sports’ clothes when I’m boxing.”
Oh, he boxes? Makes sense. His body is honed to perfection.
“I assume that’s all you got, mouse.” He turns before I’m given any chance to retort.
My neck stretches, glancing at the neat pile of paper atop his desk. “Do you work in the business field?”
He sits behind the table, both elbows on the wooden surface, his fingers forming a steeple near his chin. His face is inert, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that compel me to continue talking. “Dad is also in stocks’ trading. He’s a firs
t generation millionaire. All his assets were built by his own effort. He’s my role model and the most successful person I know.”
“Why didn’t you follow in his steps?” His voice is modulated, but it isn’t emotionless. At the matter of fact, it gives a clear hint of curiosity.
“No offence, but business lacks passion. I want to express that through my art. Besides, Dad encourages me to do whatever I want. Not once did he force me to do anything I dislike, or even suggested it. Mum supports me too, only she bleeds my ears with nagging before doing so.” I pause, letting silence cascade between us for a minute. Talking about Mum and Dad hurts. I don’t think it’ll ever stop being this painful. Refusing to stumble to tears, I gauge his expression. “What about your parents?”
There are no almost-smiles anymore. His face goes back to its usual blankness, shutting me out completely. His voice comes out in all lordliness. “Either pick a book or leave.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he closes off at the mention of Arthur and Eva. I’m quite sure they, and his psychotic aunt, had everything to do with his decimation into a psycho. I read that it always stems from childhood. Aaron is another victim.
With a sigh, I reach out for the nearest book and snuggle in the black-leathered sofa across from him.
The book turns out to be about mathematics and the theory of God-knows-what. A few pages later, and my eyelids are fighting sleep.
Instead of changing the book, I peek over it at Aaron. His brows are knit together as he reads a chunk of papers. The polished arrangement of things in his office, his room, and this whole place is almost OCD. He pulls a pen from a sleek pile of similar-looking pens to scribble something. Once he’s done, he places the pen back precisely from where he took it— without looking up.
This man is definitely a neat freak.
Yet, I can’t help admiring his firm posture and elegant effortless movements. As if he’s been like this his entire life. He probably was.
Why does he refuse to divulge anything about his life? I hope Eva’s journal answers some questions because her son is a blank board. Even when I think I’m beginning to see or observe something, he seals himself immediately. Like a damn programmed robot.
Ugh. I need to stop psychoanalysing him. He used to be simple at the beginning; a stalker turned into a kidnapper. Now that I’m reading about his depressive past and witnessing snippets of his kindness, I’m driven into a chaotic mess.
There’s also my despicable loneliness that makes me want to be with him the entire time. After all, he’s the only form of company I can get in this place.
“Do you need something?” Aaron’s deep voice pulls me from my reverie.
I clear my throat. “No, why would I?”
“Because you have been staring at me for at least five minutes.”
“No, I wasn’t.” My voice’s a notch too loud. Too defensive. Too fake even to my own ears. “I was only thinking about some theory I’m reading.”
The sides of his eyes ease as he smiles. My stomach gives a large flip as if planning to puke butterflies. “The fact that you used ‘some’ before theory means you could not care less about the theory you’re reading.” His unearthly smile morphs into a mocking smirk. God, I want to slap him. “I thought we already established that you’re a terrible liar, kitten.”
I release an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You win.”
He gives a cruel devilish almost-smile. The one that says ‘I always win.’
Egotistical bastard.
He goes back to his papers as my fingers twitch to throw the heavy mathematics’ book straight at his head.
My insane thought is halted when his brows furrow at the document in front of him. The more he flips the pages, the deeper his scowl sets in. Whatever he’s reading doesn’t seem to delight him in the least. I would hate to be the one who wrote it. With a jerky movement, he picks a marker and highlights the hell out of the papers.
I twist my neck to the side, trying to get a glimpse. What type of document got him into such a sullen mood?
My lips open to ask him, but I’m wise enough to clasp them shut. If there’s anything I’ve learnt during my stay here is that I should avoid Aaron’s fury.
Yet, I abandon the dull book and stand. He doesn’t look up. I take the chance. With a snail’s speed, I walk towards him.
I smile when I’m at an arm’s length and Aaron continues highlighting the document. I’m actually good at this sneaking game.
Instead of stopping in front of him, I tiptoe behind him. I keep about a metre’s distance for safety and look over his shoulder. The writing is too small.
I inch closer until his cedar scent envelops me like warmth in winter. Oh. God. He smells so good it’s unfair.
My eyes are involuntarily drawn to his back muscles. He discarded his jacket and he’s only in a dark blue shirt. It flatters his wide shoulders to perfection. The memory of being thrown over one of them sends heat through my body. A forbidden fire courses me at his nearness.
And his hair. His damn jet-black thick hair begs me to run my fingers through it.
Oh. My. God.
What the hell are these thoughts? Why am I so hot and tingly and... drawn to him?
No. This is wrong. This is a million per cent wrong. Aaron is the last person I should be attracted to.
Stop! I told you to stop! I scream internally at my body. Yet, my feet keep approaching him. My hand extends to touch his hair.
Do I even want to stop?
I don’t get my answer. Before my fingers make contact with his hair, Aaron clutches my wrist. With a speedy tug and a twist, I end up sitting on something warm. I yelp, closing my eyes. When my eyelids flutter open, I’m greeted with a sardonic almost-smile. Oh no. The warmth is his lap. I’m sitting on his lap.
“Did you honestly think I failed to notice your obvious spying, kitten?” He’s close, so close that his amused words fan my face like an overwhelming breeze.
I twist my wrist in his relentless hold. “L-let me go.” My voice wavers, unconvincing. Do I want him to let go?
You’re well and truly going mad, Mae.
“You should have thought of that before you came up behind me. It’s a dangerous thing to do. Do not try it again.” He tightens his fingers around my wrist. It doesn’t hurt. Or maybe I don’t feel the pain due to the heated look in his black irises. I drown in the grey flecks, diving deeper and deeper until reality hushes in the background. Only Aaron and his low magnetic voice exist.
“You’re provoking me, Mae.” He releases my wrist and gathers a thick strand of my hair in his palm before he lifts it to his face. His eyes flutter close as he takes a deep inhale before whispering from between them. “More than I can possibly tolerate.”
I should push him. Run. Lock myself somewhere far away from his sinful features and intoxicating scent. More than anything, I should remember his psychopathic deeds and loathe him to shreds. Yet, my sane part completely abandons me since I plunge my fingers into the top of his hair. My body erupts in instant heat, begging to belong in his arms. Why do I have to keep denying this? Since when do I run away from myself?
With a soft tug, I raise his head and stare into his lost gaze. I don’t know if it’s something he sees in my face, but his eyes instantly gleam with fieriness. Probably the strongest emotion I’ve witnessed on him.
“Kiss me.” My voice’s above a murmur, strangled with my flushed emotions.
Aaron’s lips part before he thins then in a line. “Do you realise who you’re asking that from?” His voice is plummy, struggling to keep his cruel nobility in check. But his eyes. Damn his eyes. They look at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing
in the world.
“Yes.” My voice is steady and calm. “I want you to kiss me.”
His jaw ticks, but he says nothing. My pulse quickens at the silence.
I’m not one to take silence for an answer.
“Aaron—”
Both of his hands grab my cheeks and his lips crash against mine. My heart almost leaps out of my chest as his soft yet bruising lips devour me. His tongue tears past my teeth, stealing my air, injecting an earth-shattering sensation into my veins, and forcing my lungs to saturate with his breath. He gives me more than a kiss. It’s a claiming. An animalistic need I never dreamt of experiencing. It erases the last bit of sanity in my brain. It makes me wrap my arms around his neck and wish I could forsake oxygen and survive on his breaths.
Screw right. I want wrong.
Chapter Nineteen
Aaron
‘Kill her. It’s about time.’ Aunt Ariel’s voice is screechier than usual.
‘You’re only delaying the inevitable.’ Father hisses.
Turning my gaze from Mae’s sleeping form, I run a hand over my face.
Ever since I stumbled to tasting Mae’s luscious lips, I’ve been in this constant intense war with my demons. The type that even drawing blood wouldn’t soothe. The kind I’m doomed to lose.
I steal a glance at Mae’s peaceful face. Screw it. I would’ve done it all over again if I had the chance to replay. I held myself for so long. Even after the kiss, I had to keep containing the urge to take her whole. My dark desire would’ve scarred her for life. That’s why I closed off and avoided her for three whole days.
The crowded meetings and the business talks were a good idea to take my mind off her. But even those didn’t work. All I could do was think of her.