A Grip Of Fear

VICTORIA WASHINGTON ;

We arrived at an expensive villa after Vincenzo had to gather himself. I had never seen anyone as grouchy as him. He smoked for about an hour when we parked in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t seem to care that a woman was with him. I mean, what if something had happened to me?

His family was warm to me, which made me wonder why they had said such things to him. I could see from his eyes that he was broken. A part of me hated the fact that I couldn’t do anything for him. I followed him like a lost puppy, never leaving his side.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me change? And now I’m beginning to wonder if you were sent by my family!" Before I could process what he meant, he was already approaching me, as if he wanted to kill me. The look on his face was familiar—my adopted parents had that look, and Marianne had the same expression whenever she saw me. Hatred—that was the look he had while staring at me.

"I can leave if you want me to. I just thought I could be of help," I muttered, lowering my gaze to the floor. He exhaled and walked into the bathroom without saying anything.

I was feeling sleepy, so I took a blanket from the bed to use in the guest room or the sitting room, whichever was available for me.

But then I was hungry, and I was sure that Vee would be too. So I did what anyone would do—I started looking for the kitchen. It must be a few steps away, I thought, heading straight, but I reached the end of the hall.

The kitchen must be the other way around, I sighed, turning back. The entire villa was silent. Then, boom, I found the kitchen—big, intimidating, and a sight to behold.

Getting into the kitchen, I wondered what I would make for brunch. It was already getting close to six, so it had to be something light. Luckily, I found pasta and some fresh veggies. Whoever was keeping this place in check was doing an excellent job. Everything was clean and in perfect shape.

Twenty minutes was all it took me to prepare a healthy meal for us. I heard footsteps coming down as I served the meal in the dining room.

"Vee, I made something for you," I mumbled. When I raised my gaze, a loud gasp escaped my mouth—holy moly. He was shirtless, water dripping from his chest down to his lower abdomen, and his nipples were a sexy shade of red. Oh my gracious father, I wanted to put that in my mouth.

"You made what?" he questioned, and I swallowed hard. His arms—mmm—I wanted to take a bite. He must taste so good. "Victoria! What the fuck is wrong with you?" His deep voice made me flinch a bit.

“Yeah... dinner’s ready,” I said, sitting down. He took the seat across from me, wordless, and started eating in silence. Suddenly, he stopped.

"How much? How much money do you want from me?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet. "This marriage... it’s a burden. I have someone I love, someone I actually want to spend my life with—and it sure as hell isn’t you!"

His words hit me like a slap, making me question if anyone would ever want me.

“I don’t need your money," I whispered, almost choking on my food. "This marriage... it has to work.”

He scoffed. “Work? What makes you think—”

“You need me,” I interrupted, the words spilling out before I could stop myself.

What the hell was I thinking? I cursed myself internally. He’s a ticking time bomb, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy everything.

“Me? Need you? Why would I ever need someone like you?!” He half-yelled, slamming his glass down.

I mentally noted to remind myself of his temper next time I considered speaking up.

"Consider this a marriage of convenience. We manage to play nice for a year, your family sees you as a responsible man, then I divorce you, and you go back to your sweetheart. Simple, right?" I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease.

He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal.

I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive cult. Why else would anyone have a tattoo of a python, a symbol often associated with power, control, and death?

The markings gave off a sinister aura, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than he let on.

He gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those green eyes pulled me in, dark and unreadable, as though I could see something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

"Why should I trust you, huh?" he asked, his voice low and threatening. His hands roamed over my face, down to my neck, gripping it tight. I gasped for air, his hold almost choking the life out of me.

“You... you have to,” I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. He held me there for a few more agonizing seconds before finally releasing me.

He gave me a look that spoke volumes, as if silently warning me that I was being watched, that he wouldn’t let his guard down. I’m watching you, Victoria.

"Good. Tomorrow morning, we're leaving the villa for my house. Keep it together, and trust me—when I find out you were sent to marry me for some stupid reason, I’m going to make you regret it. I’ll fuck you senseless before tearing your world apart."

“Are you afraid? Do you think I’m a spy?” I asked, my voice shaky.

He laughed darkly. “A spy? You? Sending someone as weak and pathetic as you to spy on me would be a complete waste..." He leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin. "But I’ll break you anyway, just to be sure."

As soon as he walked away, I released the breath I'd been holding, my eyes widening in disbelief. No. No, this can't be happening.

This man isn’t just any cold-hearted billionaire. There's something about him that screams danger, like he’d have no problem killing me if it suited him. Maybe even some kind of twisted ritual.

Rich people and their abnormal behaviors.

Dear God, all I’m asking for is just one year of peace without dying at the hands of a psycho.

Those eyes of his… so dark, so unnervingly deep.

I cleared the plates and decided to lie down. It had been a long day, and some rest couldn’t hurt. You know what else isn't a bad idea? Sleeping with a knife under my pillow.

I don’t trust him—so what? If he tries anything, at least we’ll both end up injured.

I smiled to myself, patting the pillow like the kitchen knife could actually save me if something went down.