✔️ SLANDEROUS INTENTIONS | +18

Chapter 22

HELENA

Yesterday was a wake-up call.

The reality hit me like a blast, shattering my bubble and watching me fall. With my bubble gone, the danger and brutal truth kicked me right in the ass, reminding me of who I am — no one.

And he is the master of the mansion, emanating power and authority. He was born rich. I was born to be low. I am never going to be his equal — yesterday was living proof.

The little voice I had came from him. As he gave it to me, he took it away. He didn't listen to me before, he didn't side with me. His anger clouded his judgment, and the master of manipulation got manipulated by a mere maid, who almost killed me.

And he has the audacity to lie next to me after treating me so poorly yesterday. He gives himself permission to hold me after pushing me away the day before. He acts like nothing happened, kissing my temple and looking at me with those soft gray eyes as he wakes up.

His eyes carry a soft touch, making me almost forget that I'm lying next to a murderer with a celestial face, hiding the Hell behind those deceitful features.

"Good morning," he says hoarsely. Gone is the cold undertone in his voice from yesterday, replaced by solace and care. Yet, I am not a fool to fall for his sweet little traps of brainwashing again.

Every smack and kick from Stella reminded me where I am — a shadowy mansion masquerading as prosperity to hide the ugly reality underneath. The deadly glare in his eyes reminded me who he is — a savage murderer, disguised as a successful billionaire.

"Morning," I mutter timidly, my voice cracking as my throat burns — I've literally lost my voice. And he has lost my bubbly personality. Disregarding him, I turn my back to him.

But he doesn't get the message. He moves closer, and I feel his fingers sweep my hair off my face, his gray eyes studying my bruised features. His lips ghost over my temple as I try to distance myself from him. "How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" I repeat. His question leaves my lips with such a quivering voice that tears come to my eyes. "I feel phenomenal after the way you welcomed me back to your home yesterday." Sarcasm flows from me like a river from a fountain.

"I apologized, and it's your home as well," he says with a heavy sigh. The bed shifts, and I glance back to see him sitting up, looking down at me. At least he knows how to apologize.

"Yesterday, you made it crystal clear that it's not my home. You treated me like I'm nothing," I mutter, my words filled with sorrow since he really hurt my feelings. "You promised to cherish me like your books, yet you failed. Your books get more respect than I do."

"You sound jealous of my books," he hums, a hint of amusement in his voice, before I feel his hand on the curve of my hip, his large palm brushing over my ass. "If it makes you feel better, I'm as engrossed in you as Venus was in Adonis."

Here I am, giving him the cold shoulder. And here he is, squeezing my ass. Blushing, I slap his hand away. This man is one of the most intelligent human beings I've ever encountered, yet he has not an ounce of emotional intelligence.

"Isn't Adonis a man? If I wore the pants in this relationship, I wouldn't have been hurt by you yesterday," I say with a heavy sigh, sitting up and looking at him. "But what hurts the most is that you act like it's not a big deal."

"Maybe I can't see what you see. What's the big deal, little doll?" he asks, detached from all emotion, unable to relate to my pain.

Concluding that he needs to feel my pain, the way I'm being treated, I decide to inflict some mental anguish on him. Because slapping him won't get me anywhere — violence is his language with his foes. I'm not his foe.