Later that day, I tell the doctor I want to go home. Or more like, I inform him, since I didn’t stay around to treat any sicknesses, anyway.
I’m about to change my clothes when Kyle steps inside, remaining at the door.
In these past few days, I tried everything to separate myself from him. Not only did I strategically plot my amnesia so he’s in the part of my life I don’t remember, I also pushed him away every chance I could.
Honestly, I should get acting awards for the ways I feigned panic attacks. But that first day? The one in which I cried? Yeah, those tears weren’t entirely acting. The betrayal was so tangible and raw and I had to express it somehow.
I glare at him, but soon cut off eye contact because I’m not supposed to be glaring at someone I don’t remember.
Kyle is perceptive to a fault, and what makes it more dangerous is that it’s not obvious on the outside. He gives off a nonchalant vibe when he actually observes everything in his environment. Part of it is because he’s a killer, and the other part is because he’s naturally distrustful.
If I let my guard down even for a second, he’ll pounce on me. And because of that, I need to be careful while pushing him away.
“The doctor said you’re free to go home. If you’re not feeling well, you can stay longer.”
“I’m fine.” I motion at my dress on the bed that I was planning to wear before he came in. “Can you get out? I need to change my clothes.”
He reaches me in two steps. “I will help.”
“No. Just leave me alone.”
I try to ignore how close he is and how his frame is nearly perching over mine with the height difference. His hair is damp and falls to his strong forehead. He must’ve taken a shower, changed clothes, and come right back in.
He can pretend to be worried about me and my wellbeing all he likes, but I’m not an idiot who will fall for it after he’s been using me all along.
Kyle doesn’t even attempt to leave. On the contrary, he barges into my space until his clean, distinctive scent robs my air, and just like that, I’m caged by his presence.
There’s something about being trapped by him. Oxygen ceases to exist, and the world turns blurry except for the place where he stands. That’s not blurry at all. If anything, it’s lighter, shinier, and crystal clear. But not everything visible is beautiful. After all, the devil looks his best when luring in his victims.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” My voice doesn’t lose the edge, but I try not to come off too strong so it doesn’t raise red flags.
“I did hear what you said, Princess. But I’m not leaving.”
“Why the hell wouldn’t you?”
“Because I said I will help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do. Look at how you’re barely standing.” He reaches his hand out to grab my arm, but I pull away.
“Katia will help me.”
“Why Katia?”
“Because she’s my guard.”
“And I’m your husband.”
The confident way he says those words almost makes me believe they’re real, that I somehow hold a special place in his black, cold heart.
Wishful thinking. Just like everything about him.
“You’re not my husband. I don’t know you.”
“Then you will get to know me.” He turns me around and undoes the flimsy thing that holds my hospital robe in place.
The thin material falls to my knees, then pools around my feet on the floor.
I force my body to go numb and frigid like what he did to me. It doesn’t matter how much he touches me or how much his hands used to bring me unimaginable amounts of pleasure, because my body isn’t an entity on its own. It’s connected to my brain, and my brain recognizes that he betrayed me first.
He broke the rules first.
Kyle’s fingers wrap around my nape, studying the skin after the doctor removed the soft brace. His hands are gentle, almost as if he doesn’t want to hurt me.
The injury stings, but I hold the reaction in, refusing to let him see any pain.
It’s strange how he’s touching me like this. No, it’s not that he’s touching me like this, but more that he’s not doing it in a sexual way as usual.
He runs his fingers over my skin as if he’s relearning my body. Maybe he’s recalling something. Maybe he was the one who choked me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he was, but he couldn’t have been considering he was talking inside the room.
“Who put their hands on you?” His voice is laced with a threatening energy.
“Didn’t you hear the doctor? I don’t remember.”
“Whether you remember or not, I promise to find whoever touched you and crush them before your eyes.”
“I don’t need you to crush people for me. I can take care of myself.” I pause, unsure if that will give me away.
But I hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “Some things never change.”
Phew.
“But as your husband, I will avenge you.”
“I don’t need vengeance.”
His voice drops. “But vengeance is my specialty, Princess.”
My heart thumps at the way he calls me that. Princess. At first, it was a term of degradation because I’m the boss’s granddaughter, but ever since he came back, it holds more meaning than it ever should.
“I’m not your princess.”
He grabs my bra and slides it up my arms, still soft and caring. “Yes, you are. You’re also my wife.”
“I don’t remember marrying you.”
“I can show you the registration papers or the video taken during the marriage when you said ‘I do’, although there was a very unfortunate event at the end of the wedding. I doubt you would want to see it.”
He straps my bra in place and loops an arm around me to run his fingers along the soft flesh of my breast. At first, the touch is experimental, innocent almost. But I should know better; there’s nothing innocent about Kyle.
His fingers linger more, becoming explorative as he feigns keeping my bra’s strap in place. He wraps his hand around my shoulder then trails it to my back, then returns to the front again.
It takes everything in me to remain still. It’s not me; it’s a chemical reaction and stupid hormones. It’s not because of Kyle, right? I would have the same reaction even if someone else were doing this.
My legs tremble as I step into the dress and he slides it up my arms, wrapping his hand around my waist in the process.
The pads of his fingers dig into my hipbone, stroking back and forth. My body’s memory kicks in from the times he used to do that while making me wear that toy.
No.
“Stop touching me that way,” I snap.
His eyes gleam as he slides the dress up. “What way?”
“Like you’re molesting me.”
He chuckles, the sound amused. “That’s impossible since you’re my wife.”
“Well, I feel molested.”
“How so? I’m only helping you get dressed ever so casually.”
“You’re not helping me get dressed. You’re feeling me up.”
“That’s because I missed you, Princess.” His voice drops as his lips touch my ear. The shiver that breaks across my skin is too violent to ignore.
I push away from him, but in my haste, I trip. Kyle catches me by the arm, an infuriating smirk tugging on his lips.
“This is what happens when you don’t accept help offered to you.”
“I said I don’t need your help.”
“Are we back into the first stage of our relationship? Should I try to woo you all over again?”
“You can try—though I doubt you ever wooed me.”
“Oh, I did. After all, you screamed my name every night.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“We’ll see.”
“I can assure you that you won’t succeed.”
Kyle steps behind me and lifts the zipper of my dress agonizingly slowly, as if he’s enjoying the act. Goosebumps multiply on my skin as his fingers glide up the middle of my back.
I bite my lower lip to not let out any reaction. There is no way in hell I’m giving him the satisfaction of seeing me react to him.
“You underestimate me, Princess.” His voice gains a low, dark edge. “You really underestimate me.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do. I would never fall for your charms.”
“You did the first time.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why would you?”
I flip my hair back, and even though I’m so tempted to pull it into a bun, I don’t. I only started that habit after my grandfather’s death.
Facing him, I stare him right in the eye. “Simple: you’re not my type.”
He smirks, but there is no humor behind it. “I’m everyone’s type.”
“Not mine, arrogant jerk, so you might as well divorce me.”
Kyle loops his arms around my waist, pulling me against the hard ridges of his body. I gasp as an unmistakable bulge presses against the bottom of my stomach. “That won’t be happening. Do you know why?”
“No, and I’m not interested in finding out.”
“I’m interested in telling you. I might not be your type, but you’re mine.”
Of course he won’t make this easy. I think of that and not the fact that he just said I’m his type.
Lies.
Everything out of his mouth is a lie.
I try to wiggle free, but his fingers dig into my hip, keeping me in place and guiding me out of the hospital and toward his car. Katia and Ruslan follow after us, asking me silently if they should interfere, but I discreetly shake my head.
Sure, I can fight, act out, or feign another panic attack, but all of those are temporary solutions.
To make sure my plan works, I need to play his games.
The irony. It seems games are the only things Kyle and I will ever agree on.
He was always a step ahead, but this time, the ball is in my court.
This time, it’s his world that will be flipped upside down.
