•Phoenix•
1799
Our love is no longer strong. I am no longer strong. If you wish to proceed with our marriage, you must write me back. Should you not, my father requests a duel at dawn.
Love, Sylvia
______________
Two months. Two fucking months. That is how long it has been since Marcello D'Angelo Forest's blood spilled on the walls of his supposed daughter's bedroom.
Two months is how long it has been since Camilla looked me in the eyes. Those warm brown eyes pleading with mine to diffuse the situation. To say fuck it, and put everyone out of their fucking misery.
Two months since I pressed the cold metal against her skin, ready and able to take her life. Two months since I have been too coward to go through with it.
Two months since it hit me that I have never once hesitated to steal another's life as if it were mine to take. Never once felt remorse for being responsible of a possible panic attack, heart attack, just an attack.
More importantly, it has been two months—sixty-four days—since I realised that Camilla Forest means more to me than I thought she did. I accepted a while ago that I was attracted to her. I figured a little later that she was someone I would accept no disrespect towards.
But it dawned on me sixty-four days ago that Camilla Forest is not only my weakness. She is so much more. She has proven to be my downfall. My fatal flaw. She has caused me to spiral out of control and that is a problem. I never have been one to allow my hold on control slip between my very fingers.
She has usurped me in a way I did not know was possible. Seeped her way into my system, stole my heart despite my reservations about it only having one function—keeping me alive, not beating for anyone else—and took my place at the top of the food chain of power.
Because sixty-four days ago, I realised that the only woman I would get on my knees for is walking around with my heart on her sleeve and my blood on her hands.
Because Camilla Thorn Forest will one day be the death of me. And I could not be any more glad for that revelation. I will welcome my demise with open arms and a box of chocolates if only it is coming from the woman who consumes my every waking thought.
When I looked into her eyes with that weapon pressing the neck I had kissed only hours before, I realised that I could not—would not—let her go. Would that make me selfish? Absolutely.
But, I have always admitted to being a horrible man. I do not deserve Camilla. Yet, I have every intention of taking her anyway.
Her father's death is not on my hands. I knew I could not kill him when someone else in the room deserved the pleasure more than I ever would. And when I decided to allow the revenge I have dreamt for, longed for, yearned for slip from my reach in order to satisfy Camilla, it confirmed what I already knew.
Being desired by Camilla meant more to me than my desire to seek vengeance.
Hearing the bullet echo did nothing to me. I did not feel satisfaction. I did not feel at rest. I did not feel anything.
Nothing but uncertainty. Uncertain that Camilla would ever forgive me for using her. Uncertain that Camilla would ever allow me prove how special she is. Uncertain that my vengeful mind had led me to lose the one thing I wanted most in my life.
YOU ARE READING
Rose Thorns & Love Letters
Romance"Your Father is my biggest enemy." He proclaims as he tilts her chin up with the hand that is not gripped around the nape of her neck. Her eyes gloss over as she looks down at the loaded gun held tightly in her trembling hands. The gun that is press...
