15. Betrayed

Betrayed.

That’s exactly how I feel right now, and that too by my own body.

Shame burned in my chest, hotter than the fever wracking my body.

How could I?

How dare I take pleasure from the same hands that shattered my world? The same fingers that killed my family. How could I stoop so low?

For a few moments of pleasure, how could I forget what he did to me?

A soft knock on the door disrupts my thoughts, irritating me further.

"Go away! I don’t want anything," I snap, for the fifth time today.

My voice is hoarse from the cold I caught yesterday, all thanks to him.

My body is burning with fever, and my throat is raw and clogged with cough, making it difficult for me to speak and breathe. The contrast between hot and cold is unbearable, leaving me exhausted.

But more than that, I miss my father and brother. After my mother died, they became overprotective of me. When I was sick, they took care of me like a child, fussing over me and making sure I was comfortable no matter how busy they were.

I was always their priority.

The monster named Nikolai snatched everything from me.

I closed my eyes, hoping that the maid would leave, but instead, the door opened, and she entered. The sound of her footsteps was followed by the low rumble of trolley wheels rolling inside.

My teeth gritted as my irritation increased. Ignoring her, I stayed silent. If I ignore her, she’ll leave, right?

Wrong.

I felt a tug at my blanket, which only spiked my irritation further.

How could she enter the room when I straightforwardly asked her to go back?

"I told you I don't want to have anything," I grumbled, pulling down the blanket.

My nose was scrunched up in irritation and my eyes tightly squeezed. I wasn't in the mood to face anyone.

"You look cute when you're angry."

My eyes shot open and my nose flared in anger when I saw Nikolai standing beside the bed with that infamous smirk on his face. The very sight of him makes me want to claw that smug smirk off his face.

His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing his veiny forearms. He looks very calm and composed in his white formal shirt and gelled hair. It seems like he has returned from his work. But it's still evening. Why so early?

"What are you doing here?" I demanded; my voice was heavy and rough with both cold and anger.

"Sexy voice," he chuckled and mumbled more to himself.

"Seems like the fever has fried your brain," he remarked, this time loud enough for me to hear clearly.

He tossed the blanket slightly aside and made space for himself before sitting down, too close for my comfort.

"You are forgetting, Dolcezza; this is my room."

"Then why don’t you grant me another room? Or better kick me out of this house?" I bit out, rolling my eyes in exasperation.

His lips twitch in amusement.

"And why would I do that when I have my pretty little wife right where I want her?"

I scowled at him but it didn't affect him.

He appeared too calm and collected much to my dislike. He hadn’t shown his face since the bathroom incident, and now he’s here as if he never left. Hadn’t he been busy with some shipment? Where did he suddenly come from?

"Now stop being stubborn and eat," he orders, gesturing toward the tray of food.

I scoff.

"Don't pretend to care. This is your fault—you’re the reason I’m in this state."

"True," he admits without hesitation. "But more than that, it’s because you keep overworking that little brain of yours." He tilts his head as his eyes gleam with mischief. "Spending too much time plotting ways to kill me, aren’t you?"

I press my lips together, narrowing my eyes at him only to earn a chuckle of amusement from him.

"But if you really want me dead, Dolcezza, shouldn’t you stay alive long enough to witness it?"

I shot him a glare; my breath felt hot on my upper lip.

"You really take me lightly, don’t you?" My eyes narrowed at him.

"That’s where you’re wrong." His voice shifts from playful to serious in a split second. "I don’t take you lightly at all. In fact..." He leans slightly forward "I’m terrified of you."

I blink.

"...Terrified?"

"Terrified of losing you."

My breath caught, and my body froze.

A long moment of silence spread between us when I decided to break it.

"Then it would be better if I just died," I murmur, mostly to myself.

His jaw tightens, and his fists clenched.

"Don’t get your hopes up, Dolcezza. Even death would have to get through me before it reaches you." His lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. "And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. Not before I have you—all to myself."

His hand rested above my blanket-covered thigh

"At least once," he added.

I tossed my head away, unable to meet his gaze. I could feel his smirk only deepening. Why does he find every act of mine so amusing?

Damn him.

Damn my body for reacting to him.

And damn the way he always manages to get under my skin.

More than anything, I hated him for making my heart race when I wanted nothing more than to drive a knife straight through it.

Urghhh...

"Enough of sulking." He broke the silence, and my head once again slowly turned to him. "Eat!" He ordered.

"I am not hungry."

He exhaled a sharp sigh that screamed, 'You are testing my patience.' Then, without a word, he dipped the spoon into the soup and brought it close to my mouth.

Though my stomach churned with the smell of the soup, yet, I clenched my jaw tightly, not willing to give in.

"Open your mouth, or I’ll make you." He threatened.

"You wouldn’t dare," I said through clenched teeth.

"Try me." His lips curled into a smirk.

Before I could react, he grabbed my chin and forced my lips apart just enough to slip the spoon inside. My taste buds exploded and I swallowed reflexively. He smiled triumphantly.

"I hate you," I glared at him, but my weak, fever-ridden body betrayed me.

I wanted to throw the bowl at his head but my body felt too heavy to move. So I just turned away and pulled the blanket over my face like a child.

"You’re impossible." He sounded irritated.

"And you’re unbearable," I shot back, my voice muffled under the fabric.

But the next thing I knew, the blanket was ripped away from me, leaving me exposed under his sharp and penetrating gaze.

"You can hate me all you want, Dolcezza, but you will eat for me because you are mine." He said it in a no-nonsense voice.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Damn him.

Damn him for making my heart stutter when I should be disgusted.

Shifting forward, he shoved his palm under my head and forced me to sit up. He adjusted the pillow, and my body instantly rested against it.

"You are burning up," he muttered, more to himself

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock," I grumbled.

Dipping the spoon into the soup again, he brought it to my lips. My gaze flicked between the spoon and his eyes that dared me to defy him.

Slowly I parted my lips. I needed it to fight him.

He then fed me slowly and in silence. His fingers brushed my lips every now and then, sending shivers down my spine.

Once the bowl was empty, he went out of the room. I let out a deep sigh. If only I had the energy, I would have locked the door from inside so that he couldn't come back.

But to my dismay, he returned with tablets.

"Take it," he ordered

My gaze once again flicked between him and the tablet. I could either fight him and exhaust myself further, or give in and save my strength for the battles that truly mattered.

Forcing my mouth open, he placed the tablet on my tongue and I had to swallow it. He handed me a glass of water and I finished it as well.

I was now full.

"Rest," he murmured.

It is better if he stays cold and cruel towards me because this side of him is fluttering my heart in a way I don't want.

Ignoring him, I lay back, but as I closed my eyes, I felt the bed dip beside me. My body instantly stiffened, and my eyes shot open.

"What are you doing?" I asked

"Sleeping," he said simply. "With my wife."

"I don’t want you here." I spat in anger.

"Tough luck, sweetheart. I’m not leaving."

Wrapping his arm around my body, he pulled me closer to him.

How could this man—this ruthless, possessive, infuriating man—always get what he wanted?