Our Finest Moment ✔️

41

COLTON

When I find her, Liana's pacing the length of her room with such force and determination I'm surprised there are no holes under her feet. She didn't hear my knocking, and I don't think she registers that I walk into her room either.

At least not until I set the bag with our food on her bed, and place myself in her path. The cry she lets out is so helpless I can't help myself; I put my arms around her and pull her to my chest, holding her tight as she sobs against me.

"It's okay," I mutter, not knowing what else to say. "You're okay, and no one will hurt you again."

She shakes her head. "You can't promise that, Colton."

Her voice is so little and fragile that I push her away so I can see her face—the sorrow and hurt that's broken her more than any of my death threats or punishments have. "You're strong, Liana," I tell her, keeping my own voice soft as I stare deep into her beautiful ocean eyes, "and I'm not lying when I say I never expected to feel the way I do when you're around." When she just stares back with an open mouth, I add, "I can't explain it. I've never felt anything for anyone other than hatred, and believe me, I despised you, but now I'm pretty sure it's more than that."

Her fingers curl into a fist around the dark fabric of my shirt, her brightness, and the room's brightness, contrasting me so fiercely I'm suddenly afraid she'll kick me to the curb. She could twist my balls and shoot me, and I'd fucking thank her.

"You're talking about feelings," she whispers, her brows furrowing in what looks like worry. "Should I punish you for breaking the rules, now?"

"Later." I wink at her. "Eat first."

Luckily, she doesn't need me to tell her twice. I even manage to convince her to get out of her room, and she proposes that we eat by the cozy fireplace downstairs. I don't know which one that is, so I follow her down the stairs, not able to keep from glancing at her ass now and then.

"If you get some plates and something to drink, I'll get the fire started," I tell her as softly as I can. Something about her mood right now makes me want to be kind—to show her I'm not the monster I think I am.

I don't think I ever was that monster, not to her, at least. To her, I've always been a mean man who does what I want, but not a monster. She sees me. Even when I put my hand on her throat in the kitchen and made up the rules the first time, she saw me. And that's what made me angry—made me act out in anger instead of embracing what she could become to me.

Liana is the first person to call me out on my true feelings. After that rule, she respected that I didn't want it, but...I think she still knows I don't hate her guts.

The fire is starting to crackle in front of me as she returns with plates and glasses and—

"Is that the decanter from my office?" I ask, raising a brow at the glass container in her hand, filled with amber liquid.

"Yes." She sends me a sweet smile, one that tells me she's up to no good. "I need a drink, and I made an educated guess that you'd have that in there."

It's hard not to smile back at her. "It's the best bourbon you can get," I tell her, "so you better enjoy it."

"I'm surprised you're not pushing me up against the wall with your hand around my throat, because that seems to be your reaction to everything I do." She sits down on the carpet, crossing her legs under her, as she starts pouring the alcohol into glasses.

She hands me one of them, and I take it, my eyes still on her gorgeous face. I don't know what was the last drop that made it all spill, but it's so fucking clear what's going on inside me as I watch her raise her glass and say, "To douchebags and entitled assholes, to people who think they're better than everyone else, and to murderers and arsonists; fuck them all. Except for you."