Wish you were mine

59. Deceptive Love

PENELOPE

Today, when I opened my eyes, the world felt sweeter. Lighter. Almost indulgent.

And all thanks to Sean Anderson.
Yesterday, the mighty king lost his precious land project.

Correction: I made him lose it.

The memory alone made a slow, satisfied smile curl across my lips.
I had wanted-no, needed-to see his reaction last night. The moment he realized the woman he married, the woman he thought he caged, had slipped a knife between his ribs and twisted it without mercy.

But he didn't come home. Or maybe he did, long after I'd fallen asleep.
Damage control must have kept him busy.

For the first time in years, I actually found myself waiting for him... just so I could watch him choke on the truth of his downfall.

But that's fine.

I can enjoy the show this morning instead.

Still smiling, I pushed off the blankets, letting my bare feet slide into my slippers. I tied my hair into a messy bun, humming under my breath as I walked out of my room and straight toward his. Two light knocks, and then I opened the door without waiting.

He was on a call-of course. Still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp, shoulders tight. A man who didn't sleep.

Poor Sean.

Losing must be... unfamiliar territory.
Guilt?

Not a flicker of it. Not even in the darkest corner of me.

He ended the call the moment he saw me. His gaze traveled over me, then stopped-frozen-at my neck.

"You didn't apply anything on that wound," he muttered.

For a moment, I blinked, then remembered the marks Maxton left. The bruises, the fingerprints. The reminder of yesterday's chaos.

It will scar.

A lovely, permanent reminder of everything wrong in my life.

But why does he care?

"I forgot," I shrugged. "And it's not important."

His jaw ticked. Mine loosened with amusement.

"But what is important," I said sweetly, "is that you lost the land project."

I let my grin widen, sharp as a blade. "Such a tragedy."

His eyes narrowed. "You're really enjoying this."

"Why wouldn't I?"

I strutted past him and settled onto the sofa, crossing my legs, leaning back like a queen lounging on her throne.

"After all," I whispered, "karma is a bitch."
Then I tilted my head and added, softer, deadlier,

"But this time? Karma didn't hit you. I did."

His brows pulled together-slight, controlled. But I saw it. The shift. The spark of something murderous flickering in those dark eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asked, folding his arms.

"I mean," I said, savoring every syllable, "that it was me who sold your confidential information to your enemy. The reason you lost your precious project."

I winked, venomously sweet.
"Tit for tat."

He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared.
But beneath that blank, icy expression, anger was coiling like smoke-slow, quiet, lethal.