𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝒐𝒇 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐝𝐮𝐞𝐭.
A truly dark and unconventional romance that's still somehow saccharine at its rotten core.
❥ 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 is a 28-year-old wannabe ballerina with her head stuck in the clou...
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Ronan's POV
A 1998 Mercedes Benz S600 with a 6.0-liter V12 engine will cap out at 155mph.
Yet, I just made an eight-and-a-half-hour drive in four, going 170 most the way, so that's a lie.
Another lie would be I know exactly what to do with baby doll next, because I totally thought this all the way through.
I'm not panicking. Swear.
Okay, I'm panicking. This is bad. This is really, really fucking bad.
I severely underestimated the extent of Dorian's abuse and as a result, I now have a very sick, very hurt girl to nurture and take care of.
Nurture. Take care of.
I'm already 'fraid I bit off more than I can chew.
Calm down, Ro. You can do this. You can take care of her. You are not your father.
Sometime during the getaway drive, the once cloudless sky was overtaken by brewing thunderheads, electricity prickling in the now dense air. As soon as I exited the interstate and turned down the winding dirt road that leads to my safe haven, my war-torn Louisa let out a harrowing whine that absolutely shattered my glass heart into a million, tiny, rugged pieces.
I glance in the rearview mirror to see her writhing around the backseat, face twisted in agony.
"I know, baby. We're almost there," I try to soothe, more myself than her.
After what's felt like an eternity, we finally reach the lake house.
Over five hundred miles away from New York City, cloaked in a barrage of wilting trees and opaque mist, there's a black lake that hosts an assortment of predatory creatures. You could argue I'm one of them.
Which is exactly why I feel right at home.
Perched on the waterfront of Lake Verdant, the isolated structure that is my home away from home welcomes me and my new love with the overwhelming scent of damp earth and decaying plant matter hanging heavy in the fog-draped air.
It's a brooding building, with weathered, dark wood and steep, angular roofs that pierce the sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the home front, the sleek glass reflecting the dead foliage closing in on it. Even with the vulnerability of essentially having mirrored walls, I don't worry about my privacy.
Although I want this to be a sanctuary for baby doll, it can easily be a prison if needed. There's nowhere for her to run. Nobody around for miles.
Unless you count Winona, who I'll be feeding here shortly.
First, I need to doctor up my first, last, and only patient. Ma was right. I should've gone to med school instead.
