She is the Queen

Chapter 30

𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚔𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚛'𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅
Her words, "You lied to me," echoed in my mind, piercing the veil of calculated indifference I covered myself with. Her countenance, clouded with hurt and disappointment, was a sight I never anticipated, never wanted. I grappled to understand the inexplicably binding trust she had bestowed upon me. Weren't her defenses supposed to be impenetrable? She, the epitome of strength, displayed vulnerability that was a stark contrast to the iron will she exhibited during the times of torture. Yet, her trust shattered under the weight of my fabricated narratives.

I recoiled, the sight of her vulnerability unsettlingly foreign. Against all odds, barely five days into our association, a connection, unwanted, yet unmistakably present, had formed. The three days she spent unconscious felt like an eternity, her suppressed whimpers of pain resonating in the quiet of the nights. It was a fear unpronounced, that she wouldn't wake up, a fear I foolishly allowed to creep in.

As news of her consciousness reached me, I found myself rushing to her side, lulled by the mounting anxiety. Her contorted face, her eyebrows wiggling in discomfort, her lips pulling into a pout that was uncharacteristically childish, stirred an unfamiliar emotion within me. Without a second thought, I helped her recline, cushioning her bruised body with a pillow, offering a semblance of comfort.

Her words echoed again, "I believed you... I felt sad and guilty... Your non-existent brother." My fabricated tales, woven with precision, were the source of her pain, and the realization gnawed at me. Unfamiliar guilt prickled my conscience. Separated by an invisible line of morality, my strategies meant for extraction were now a source of torment. I found myself in borrowed waters of remorse, questioning actions I once deemed justified. Overwhelmed by such alien emotions, the lines of rationale blurred, as the man I was and the man she believed me to be, collided.

A few hours later I heard that she woke up again so I sent the maid with food and some painkillers. She needed them. But what surprised me that the maid told my men that she spoke Russian. Did she know Russian all this time? Did she hear me say sorry? I never say sorry to anyone. She shouldn't have understood that.

My retreat to the detached solitude of the camera room was followed by a swift dismissal of my subordinates. An unusual desire for solitude prevailed as I found solace in the quiet anticipation of observing her silently. My gaze never wavering, I watched her as she surrendered to the soothing arms of slumber. Her naturally sculpted face contorted in discomfort each time she shifted her injured limb inadvertently. The sporadic twitching of her arms sent a ripple of unrest through her otherwise calm façade. Her brows knitted together, constructing an achingly beautiful portrayal of endurance in her sleep.

A few hours later she opened her eyes but this time she tried to stand, even though she simply couldn't. Without a second thought I rushed to her and helped her.

She told me she wanted to go to bathroom so I helped her. I waited her for few minutes but there was no sound from her. Did she faint?

"Are you fine?"

"Yes." She answered quickly.

Bound by the unfolding circumstances, she resorted to an excruciatingly slow pace, a noticeable limp slowing her down as she headed towards the washroom. Time seemed to stand still, each minute a testament to her suffering. Subsequently, she expressed her desire to shower. My immediate reaction was to offer assistance, not out of a voyeuristic fantasy to behold her in the nudes, but out of a sense of responsibility that had sprouted insistently within me.

She reluctantly consented to my presence but under the condition that I divert my gaze. The Herculean task of not turning around to steal a glance was counterbalanced by the constant sensation of her noticing my presence. I held my word, and with a reversed stance, I let her cleanse herself of her discomfort.

Upon completion, I swiftly turned around, only to be greeted by her captivating beauty. Draped in a modest towel, she was a sight for sore eyes. Her dampened hair cascaded down to her shoulders, and her lips looked plump, regaining their natural cherry hue. Speckles of water clung to her eyelashes, as she blinked innocently. The bruises on her cheeks somehow added a rosy tinge to them.

My gaze lingered down her elegant neck, moved down to her toned physique. Her olive skin glistened in the humidity, a sight further mystified with the captivating fragrance that the shower had left behind. She was not exceptionally tall, but her long legs added grace to her posture. Her curvaceous figure, complemented by her fit form, was an irresistible combination that any man would envy.

Her towel, despite its limited coverage, seemed like her only sanctuary as she clung to it desperately. Swiftly, I removed the plastic protection from her cast, enveloping her petite waist to help her back onto the bed. 

Submerged in the unfolding circumstances, the sight before me transformed my thoughts. I couldn't help but muse over the need to fetch her some fresh attire. The memory of her wide-eyed expression as she caught sight of my boxers etched itself in my mind. Her comical innocence left me chuckling, yet the sharpness of her intellect impressed me. She was clever enough to acknowledge the presence of surveillance cameras and seek privacy in the bathroom.

After what felt like forever, she emerged clasping my clothes. I was taken aback. The sight of her adorning my clothes imprinted on my mind. The way the oversize hoodie hung loosen on her delicate shoulders and the way the sweatpants trailed due to her short stature, yet she looked mesmerizing.

Her lifting her hair out of the hoodie was an image of pure seduction. My pulse quickened. The simplicity of this girl was bewitching. Every movement of hers piqued my interest, a peculiar attraction that threatened to consume me.

While helping her dry her hair, I treaded with caution, mindful of her injured arm. Her exhaustion was palpable. Yet, I didn't mind this newfound gentleness within me. I was always abrasive with women, treating them as disposable commodities obtained and discarded at leisure. Countless women have succumbed to my charms, pleading to have a modicum of my attention. But, not her. She was unlike the rest, desiring nothing from me.

The thought left me pondering, will she ever want to be mine?

I vowed to myself, no matter what, I would make her mine.