chapter 2: Her pain, my pleasure

LOGAN'S POV

I smiled as the funny scene of Amaya trying to run replayed in my head. What was she thinking? That  would she would escape? She must be a joker because there is no ending to this.

I had planned on making the Alfred family suffer for years, and finally, I had their daughter all to myself.

I smiled, grabbing my phone from the car's dashboard. I dug into her personal life and found out she's not working in her father's company; she's a partner with a friend. I need to make her financially unstable.

I sent some messages to Mr. Walton, who happens to be her boss. He did not think twice before agreeing to my condition to get her sacked and get his work promoted. Power is indeed the best weapon!

I increased my speed, my grip on the wheel getting tighter as I drove down to my mother's mansion. What kind of mother refused to show up on her son's wedding day? When others are choosing a normal, caring mother, I choose a psycho.

I halted my car after carefully parking in the lot and then stepped out. Cedar, her personal assistant voice filled the air, a notice that my mother was at home.

I pushed the door open before entering. I sighed at the image in front of me. A photo shoot was going on, with my mother at the center of the living room, the cameraman bending upward and downward to get her picture.

My mother's hair was long, cascading down to the ground, and she wore a sleek, black, tight gown that hugged her curves, showcasing her porcelain skin. Her expression was domineering. I sometimes wondered if she was really my mother or sister. She looked too young and beautiful, but her character was the opposite of her appearance.

My gaze moved to Cedar, who was kneeling, holding a stool up in the air, and then I finally understood why he was shouting. Obviously he had spent hours there.

Their cameraman stopped when he saw me. “Good evening, Mr. Logan.” Cedar and the cameraman chorused.

I waved, a sly grin playing on my lips, and I watched them exit the living room, leaving me with this zany woman.

"You aren't looking good, Beatrice," I uttered, trying to piss her off. I called her by her name; she hated being addressed as "Mum," "Madam," "Mother," or any other old title for old women.

She settled beside me on the couch, grabbing the wine on the table. She gulped down some of the content, then placed the cup down on the table with a loud thud.

"Your bride looked beautiful?" she asked, earning a mocking laugh from me.

"Too bad you didn't get to see a beautiful person today; you would have seen one if you had attended," I replied, gazing at her hair.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, her expression darkened as she responded.

"I don't know why you want to get yourself entangled with the Alfred family. Alfred is more devilish than you think."

I rolled my eyes, her warnings falling on deaf ears.

“I am still surprised he doesn't know me; is he pretending?” I questioned, furrowing my brows. The first time I met him, I was expecting him to speak to me about the past or my father. I was surprised when he started talking to me about business.

Beatrice released a smirk. “You probably don't know the real devil behind Alfred's face. He has only seen you twice, and that's when you were ten years old. He can't recognize you; he's only devilish; he is not smart. Even if he is, he wouldn't have recognized a boy he has only seen during a billionaire gathering. He can't even get a clue since our surname and name aren't the same, so he's in the dark.”

I laughed at my mother's reply. Alfred is foolish indeed; it's easy for my mum to get away with it because of her constant plastic surgery. I tend to forget she's my mother sometimes, always fixing her nose, forehead, eyes, and everything.

“I won't be able to visit your bride; I have to be in China tomorrow. I noticed the bridge of my nose; I don't like it. I want to change it.” She explained, and I sighed. I'm not surprised; I'm more interested in how she survived without getting surgery when we had nothing.

“You were so poor before; are you sure you did not do anything illegal to get a surgery?” I asked, staring intently at her.

Beatrice rolled her eyes as she sipped out of her wine. “I don't have a passion for fashion then; I'm a newborn.” She winked.

I stood up, adjusting my trousers. “You should operate your eyes too. It's not sexy anymore.” I snarled, walking out of the mansion.

“Aren’t you going to pay for my bills? What kind of son are you! Logan!” Ignoring Beatrice's yells, I made my way out of the mansion.

I slid into my car before zooming off.

After a few minutes, I finally reached my mansion. Parking my car properly, I stepped out, gliding into the mansion. As I entered, Nova stopped in front of me, leaving a palpable space in between us.

“You are welcome, boss.” She bowed, and I nodded, uninterested in whatever she had to say.

“Madam Amaya, she's not feeling well.” She finally reported. I stared blankly at her; the word "not well" made me happy for some reason.

She's in pain already; that's so nice. The memories of my mother clutching her legs together, suffering greatly from stomachache, displayed in my head. My expression darkened from the painful memory.

Without saying anything, I brushed past Nova, ascending the stairs. My moves deliberate and calculating. As I entered the room, I met my foolish bride covered in a duvet; as soon as I entered, our gazes met; she wasn't covering her face. I moved closer to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. my expression unreadable but distant. I stared at her, and then I noticed her lips shaking; she is obviously feeling cold. I should be sad because she's in pain, right? But for some reason I can't comprehend. Her pain is giving me pleasure. I smiled watching tears roll down her cheeks.

“Are you in pain?” I asked, and she nodded; her response made me chuckle.

I can't correct my impression about her; she's really foolish. Who the heck answers an intentional question? Didn't she notice I was mocking her? Why is she answering me then? Oh... she must be scared of me.

“I’m glad,” I mumbled, a pang of excitement in my eyes as I stroked her hair with my hand.

“You are glad that I am in pain?” She asked, in a faint voice.

I smiled, moving away from her. “Of course, you look beautiful like this. Don't ever overcome this; continue suffering like this.” I winked.

Those words made me get what I truly needed from her, a devastated expression, sad eyes. I was satisfied.

Walking away, but I stop when I reached the door, glancing over my shoulder at her trembling form. A wicked smirk curled on my lips. “Tell me, Amaya, how can I break you. I really love seeing you like this.” I smirked, but she didn't answer.

I chuckled, turned and left her room, my mind swirling with another devilish plot to make her feel more pain. She deserves it.