by Celia Crown
If I had that much money to spend on wine, then I can spare a few thousands of dollars for a hairstyle to make me look that gorgeous in front of Kace who I think is a god amongst mortals.
“Um,” I start out weakly, “Please, excuse me.”
I can’t be in the same room as these two anymore; they are honestly making me very uncomfortable with the way the silent message of telling me to get out is coming at me. The office has a connecting room that I can escape to, but I figure that I should be at the other side of the manor in case I run into them when they’re leaving.
“Are you alright, my love?” Kace asks, his French accent is thick, and I have always been fond of his accent.
It’s deeply rooted in his style, and his attractiveness goes through the roof when I hear him. I thought I find French accent a decent thing; it’s not too arousing like people think of British accent and not too obscured to understand in some very remote village.
“Yeah,” I answer back as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m okay. Just need some air.”
There is no use trying to hide anything from him as his beautiful green eyes are narrowing on me. He’s suspicious for two reasons: it’s a blatant lie, and I have actually lied to him even though I promised that I wouldn’t keep things from him.
Well, a girl has to have a few secrets to keep the relationship interesting.
Wait, we’re not dating.
I’m not going to do there and end up at a dead-end with heartbreak written all over it.
I keep reminding myself that he’s got a wife and I’m not a homewrecker.
As I’m closing the door behind me, I wonder where his wife is.
I haven’t seen any portrait of her around the manor, and everything about this place screams bachelor pad instead of a married man, and he doesn’t have his wedding ring on.
I tell myself to not go there, but I do; I think he has his wedding photos in his room, and he leaves his ring there too so he can play with my feelings.
He isn’t like that. Kace is a really nice man, and I think he’s just confused about his feelings towards his wife right now. He’s not stepping out; whatever he’s doing with me is passing the time until he gets his feelings straight and he’ll go back to her.
He probably sent her on a nice vacation with a gorgeous view to the ocean, clean sand with no seaweed in the waters, and an unlimited shopping spree.
This is bad; I’m thinking of him in a bad light, and I don’t like it.
One day I’m doing to have to bring up the topic of his wife because it’s a ginormous elephant in the room, and that is going to be the day that I’ll take the full brunt of the ten-million-dollar debt.
It’s going to be a mountain, and my shoulders will probably ache to my grave—oh god, what if his wife has passed away?
When he was talking about the wine and the anniversary gift, he was reminiscing the past and not talking about the future?
I destroyed a precious memory of his because I’m stupid klutz?
How can I ever repay him?
I can piece back together with the wine; it’s their memory and one of the happiest days in their lives to be celebrating their anniversary.
What kind of a horrible person am I?
The question becomes if I should bring it up and sincerely apologize to him. I broke his memory with his wife, who is deceased and will never be coming home to him while I casually throw around my problems being homeless because my home got demolished.
It’s not the end of the world; I can find apartments and sleep in the campus library for a day or two to pretend I’m studying and doing essays.
“Oh my god,” I pull at my hair, tugging the red strands in frustration as I become more and more angry with myself.
Again, how do I delete myself out of existence?
It’s about the best idea that I have right now in my mid-crisis mind. I need an intervention before I pull out everything I have got to beg for his forgiveness, and I’ll be glad to work as his slave until he can forgive me.
Manual labor will take some time to get used to, but I’m going to be fine as long as I don’t provoke the wrath of multibillionaire Kace Hawkins.
I won’t live to tell the tales of how considerate and kind he was before I decided to stupidly bring up the problem.
As my hand holds onto the railing to walk down the stairs, my lungs burst out a gasp of air before my vision tilts too strongly for me to find my balance as I go tumbling down the stairs with a faint ache on my back.
That’s soon forgotten when I roll down the flights of stairs and end up at the bottom with my head swirling through the images of what could be flowers on a table.
“Ma’am?!” a voice from behind me calls out; it’s feminine and high-pitched.
Everything from my soul to the end of my existence hurts; my bones are groaning in protest as I try to get up, but the edge of the stairs digs into my back and pain explodes at the bottom of my spine.
My pulse is in my throat; the ringing in my ear goes louder and louder until I can only hear the beat of my frantic heart. My head is throbbing, and I want to cry. The shaking in my arms, when I support myself on the ground, is getting more intense by the second.
I don’t know what happened, but from what I can gather, I fell down the stairs as my eyes follow the flight of innocent stairs that lead up to a pair of heels.
Not recognizing it, I follow the long cocktail dress that hugs an hourglass figure and a pair of gleeful eyes. My vision sways with the curving of the building structure, but a sharp movement makes my eyes focus again as I put a hand on one of the stairs to pull myself up.
“Malia!”
It’s Kace’s voice that reaches my ears when I look up from the smooth marble stairs. I’m up in his arms before I know it, and I am aware of his scent surrounding me to comfort my racing heart.
I’m disoriented and a bit scared of what just happened. I had accidentally fallen down the stairs, and I didn’t even know it until I landed on the bottom with an ache at the small of my back that is not the same as the aching all over my body.
This concentrated area is sharper and painful while the other ones are dull and pulsing in soreness.
My hand comes up to my head, and I wince when I feel a bump. I probably have more of them somewhere considering I just took a tumble down who knows how many steps of stairs that are made of the hardest marble I have ever felt.
“You’re hurt, my love,” Kace gasps; fury and a small hint of coldness linger in his voice.
His face is anything but cold when I turn my eyes up to him; his beard is soft against my forehead as I lean to his neck for a moment of relief that he’s here.
I can just probably walk it off, and everything would be fine, but being in his arms makes me feel like I can rely on him. I would say falling from stairs is traumatic, but I feel safe when I shift in his arms.
He makes his way up the stairs with me as my legs bounce in mid-air; I bury my face into his neck and sigh as the woman’s perfume is torturing my headache.
“What happened?” is what Kace demanded when he finds a stable foot on the top of the stairs.
I can’t look up even if I wanted to.
“I saw her falling, and I tried to grab her. I was too late,” The curt words from that woman’s voice sound logical.
I am not aware of what truly happened. I must have been too deep into my thoughts to not realize my leg was about to miss a step. This is all my fault, and now I’m causing even more trouble for Kace.
When will I ever learn?
Most likely never since this is in my genes.
I’m not a troublemaker; it’s just problems seem to be following me everywhere I go.
Kace’s shoulder turns, and my head goes deeper into the hot column of his throat; my forehead feels the thick pulse and the building muscles.
“Get me the security tapes of the stairs.”
“Yes, Mr. Hawkins.”
Oh, it seems that the butler ha
s also gathered to witness my absolute failing. If it’s possible, I would like to keep this under wraps without having every single person in the manor to know that I fell down the stairs.
“Do you feel that is necessary?” the woman asks, and I can hear the irritation in her voice.
Is that a hint of fear too?
No, that can’t be. I’m just imagining things.
“I will do what is necessary to find what had happened to my wife,” Kace growls, angry and fuming in tension.
Wife?
I’m positive that I’m not his wife; he’s thinking of his own wife and portrayed her on me. I’m starting to feel that she and I are similar in the way that he treats me with such tenderness.
“We must go,” the man’s voice says.
It’s the brother, and he is strangely impatient when he ushers the woman to go with a hushed tone.
“Stay,” it’s a command from Kace, and I can physically feel the hallway temperature drop.
“No, we must go. We have to return home for the afternoon.”
“I insist,” Kace is not letting this go, and the man’s voice trails off with a stammer.
“Escort our guests to the office,” Kace commands to his butler who responds with a respectful nod.
Kace has more than one office, and I have no idea which one he wants them to be in, but it seems like a common thing for the butler to understand what the meaning behind Kace’s tone is. The butler is most likely a descendant of the previous butler since this type of professionalism doesn’t come from training; it’s impossible to be this good with training unless the butler has seen the Hawkins’ family up close and personal.
It’s hard to predict what Kace is thinking. I have been trying to do it, and he humors me by saying that I have correctly guessed with he’s thinking, but I know that isn't true.
When I wake up in the morning, we were tangled in a web of limbs; my face was buried in his neck, and I thought I had given him another hickey, but I didn’t. However, I did panic again because we slept together in such close proximities.
I felt warm and safe in his arms, and never in my life have I felt more at home than with him.
Oh, Katerina is going to grill me alive for these couple of weeks.
I still don’t have the heart to call her, but we do text over the days to see what is happening. I can't tell her much about the time spent with Kace because those memories are mine and mine only; I have no desire to share Kace with anyone.
I am greedy.
Usually, Katerina and I share everything. This time is different, I also want Kace, and I’m such a horrible friend that I feel like I’m using an underhanded method to one-up Katerina.
I have to apologize to her.
“My love,” Kace breathes with pain etched on his face when he drops me on a bed.
I didn’t realize that we’re no longer in the hall, but we’re in a room that’s pure decadence. I don’t know where to start describing the extravagance of the massive room; every inch is covered with white, and there are a couple of paintings there.
I shouldn’t expect anything but the genuine articles; his money doesn’t allow fakes and duplicates of anything.
“Look at me,” he pleas.
I blink and watch his green eyes flicker down my body while his hands run through my hair to feel my skull. I’m not bleeding, or I would have felt it already, but that doesn’t rule out adrenaline mixing with my sweat.
I hope I don’t smell, and frankly, I don’t want his hands to touch my sweaty hair.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him.
I don’t feel any more pain in my spine; it’s just some aching here and there. The most noticeable soreness is on my side where I had taken the most impact, but I’m not going to tell him that. He’s already worrying too much with that furrowed brows and tight lips.
I smooth the crinkle between his brows, a stray black hair falls down to his eyes, and I run my hand down to his lips to stop from frowning. Rubbing his lips, I push down on the flesh, and I want to kiss him.
It’s smooth and soft; it’s perfect for kissing.
“I’m really okay,” I say again.
I just want him to stop frowning, he’s the best when he smiles, and I feel special when he does it to me.
“Are you lying to me, my love?”
I shake my head, sitting more comfortably on the bed with the masculine scent whiffing in my nose.
Looking around again, I take notes of the style, and I have come to the conclusion that it’s his room. I don’t want to make any assumptions because there are more rooms in this manor that I haven’t explored yet.
I’m sure there are hidden rooms, secret compartments, and hallways of treasure somewhere in this giant place.
“Is this your room?” I ask, tentative and apprehensive as I absentmindedly stroke the silk covers.
“Yes, and I want you to lay down and sleep,” Kace cradles my face with one hand and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“No, I don't want to sleep. I’m not tired,” I shake my head.
I put on my best puppy-dog eyes and a subtle pout. I didn’t expect him to give in so easily when he nods, and his kiss makes it down to my cheek where he lingers with a sigh.
“You have frightened me, my love,” the deep timber of his growl flares into a hiss.
The cold anger in his green eyes sends shivers down my spine, and I run a hand up to his cheeks.
“I’m sorry I made you worry,” I murmur softly, “Please don’t be mad.”
“I am not angry with you, but I do have a matter to be deal with,” Kace drops a hand and laces our fingers together.
“Okay, go,” I say with a smile, “I’ll be fine here.”
His room is enough to entertain me for hours if I put my mind to it. I can get a better understanding of what kind of a man he is and why no one seems to be able to penetrate the ice walls of this manor that he has built to keep people out.
Kace is friendly to a degree where people think he’s an approachable figure, but they soon realize that he keeps everyone at a distance and never discloses personal information.
It’s weird though; he has told me everything that I have asked. I don’t pry into his personal matters; he is going to tell me when he’s ready and when he wants to.
He isn’t obligated to tell me anything because he’s already doing so much already.
“May I kiss you, my love?” he asks, no pressure with a hint of love in his eyes.
I’m hallucinating.
“Yes,” I breathe; it comes out faster than I can think.
The green hues darken, and my heart nearly lunges itself out of my ribs at the dark swirls that are too sinister to be innocent.
His lips meet mine in a soft and gentle kiss that is more exploratory than demanding. Kace doesn’t push me to go further than a chaste kiss, and I don’t think I'm ready for anything more than this fairy tale dream.
It’s going to shatter soon, and I will hate myself to allowing this to get this far.
Chapter Eight
Kace
The video repeats in my memories as I have my guards force the pair of siblings to kneel before me. The brother hadn’t done anything to my beloved, but this woman pushed my Malia down the stairs.
How dare this wench put her hands on what’s mine?
She’s defiant and upset, but what right does she have to be upset? I am the one who should be feeling the anger swirling in my stomach; my chest heaves when I look at her face as the control the urge to wrap my hand around her throat to snap her life out of her body.
Useless imbecile, my mind sneers.
I keep a cool façade on and slowly open a suitcase that my butler had handed to me. The passcode to it is my precious Malia’s birthday, but it’s also combined with mine for security purposes.
As the clips unhook, I open it without looking at the pair of siblings.
I assemble the gun with a precision that my body’s memory comprises of. Doin
g this is a walk in the park; it is a simple puzzle that will ultimately be their end.
No one can harm a hair on Malia’s head and get away with it. Not on my watch, and I would not be Kace Hawkins if I do not have bodies destroyed.
I ignore the man’s useless sputter for mercy when I walk around the office that I rarely use; it’s a place for me to deal with people who are a waste of space on this Earth.
“N-no, please!” he begs with eyes full of tears.
They don’t bring me pleasure unlike Malia’s tears; she is absolutely stunning when she cries, and I cannot wait to combine that with the feeling of her pussy wrapped around my cock for the first time.
The suppressor in my hand spins in place with the gun in my other hand; it would be a shame to let my dear Malia hear what had happened. We are on the other side of the manor, and down in the basement where I have a room just for this kind of occasion; it’s a soundproof room where they can scream however loud they wish.
I am using a suppressor for the sake of that half a percent chance of Malia hearing because she does like to wander at times, but I made sure to have my room locked with a guard outside to make sure she doesn’t leave my room.
Our room, I mentally correct.
It is going to be our room for the time being, but we will be moving soon. I do not want Malia to be under the same room as death; her pureness has only room for my darkness, and she will learn to love me for who I am.
The woman’s face changes when she sees the gun in my hands, but I do not care for her begging with smeared makeup. This is what happens when a fool puts their hand on what’s mine, and they believe they can get away with it in my own home.
Their deliberate disregard for Malia was present from the moment they saw her; she was no more than a fly at my side as we were discussing our business deal for the next wine that he had wanted.
They did not try to make Malia feel welcomed in her own home. This was going to be the last time I do business with them, and I do not care for the lost future revenue. I am angrier at the disrespect.
Then I reviewed the security image of this vile woman pushing my beautiful future wife down the stairs; my heart squeezes painfully when I think back because I could have lost her then.