The killer of her best friend wants her. What happens when the lines between hatred and desire begin to blur?
𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢'𝐬 life takes a harrowing turn on her best friend's wedding day when an anonymous man crashes the celebration...
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As soon as the hot water of the shower hits my frame, warmth rushes through my body, causing my knees to nearly buckle from the relief. After the hellish night, this is the moment I feel as though I can breathe freely without having to pay my sanity in return.
Maybe because I am alone, or maybe because Rafael de Luca is absent here. And for the record, I knew he wouldn't barge into the bathroom inappropriately.
I back away until I hit the cold, blurry glass behind me, and crouch down until I'm sitting on the floor. Curling my arms around my frame, I rest my forehead on my knees, letting the water drip down my body more intensely.
For the first time, my thoughts don't scatter around, and my mind doesn't race a mile a second. I can think coherently and logically without feeling as though my lifeline is considerably lessening by the passing seconds.
And while it was actually lessening, that was the last thing I should be concerned about if I want to get out of this mess of a marriage.
My first and foremost concern always leads me to think about what happened to Anastasia.
Either she's in danger, or she is with danger. There could be no in-between, especially when the de Luca family is involved.
My second concern is for my uncle, who might be, or will be thinking about where his daughter and niece have disappeared to. He'd be more panicked than both of us because he doesn't know about either of our situations.
Everything leads to a worst-case scenario. And I need to do something before worse things can occur.
But for now, I'll need sleep. A long sleep.
How ironic it is that I feel sleepy in my enemy's compound. But a tired brain and soul always work like that, at least for me.
I nearly slip and fall hard on the floor when I try to stand up, barely holding myself back from doing so. A death in the bathroom would be one of the most pathetic ones I could think of, and I don't want a death as such.
When I step out of the shower, the last thing I expect is to find a pair of pajamas and a towel resting on the sink, indicating very much that Rafael came inside without my knowledge and left as well.
The glass was not transparent, which I find out when I look at it. A sigh of relief leaves my mouth at that.
Without wasting any more time, I quickly dry off my body with the provided towel and slip on the pair of pajamas. Not even an ounce of gratefulness brushes me at the so-called hospitality. I rather feel weirded out.
Not that I would've died if he didn't provide me with the towel and the oddly comfortable pair of pajamas.
The moment I step out of the bathroom, I'd rather expected Rafael to be sleeping on the bed, leaving the floor for me. Or the worst-case scenario is him holding some weapon he'd torture me with.
