20. Destruction IncarnateMila
Twenty
Destruction Incarnate
Mila
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my breath catching at the red marks marring my neck. My fingers tremble as I trace one of them, heat rushing to my cheeks. Anger flares in my chest—at him, for thinking he still has a right to touch me.
I grab my concealer from the makeup bag. I’m hiding them, because I’m still fragile, but at some point I will have to tell Layla. Before I can even unscrew the cap, the door flies open, and she bursts in.
“What’s wrong?” Layla’s eyes narrow.
“Nothing,” I lie, backing away a step. The guilt is immediate. I know I’m a terrible liar. I know Layla sees right through me. And still, I try. “I’m fine.”
Layla moves closer. “Take your hands off your neck.”
I freeze. My pulse pounds in my ears. Slowly, I let my hands drop. I can’t look at Layla as she zeroes in on the hickeys.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Her voice wavers, but the fury simmering beneath it is unmistakable.
“Yes,” I whisper, barely audible. “I’m so sorry, Layla. I tried to stop him—”
“Stop him?” She yells as she spins around, clutching her hair in both hands. “How could you let this happen, Mila? How could you?”
“I didn’t want this! I didn’t—” I stumble over my words. Tears sting my eyes as I realize I’m yet again about to lose one of the most important people in my life. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please—”
“Sorry?” Layla cuts me off. “You’re sorry? God, Mila, do you even hear yourself? You don’t even know him! You’ve met him a handful of times, and now this?”
Confusion breaks through my shame. “What? Layla, that’s not—”
“Is that where you were earlier? Were you out with him?”
“No!” I shake my head frantically, the chair behind me digging into my calves as I back into it. “No, I wasn’t. I had… I had something else to do, and he—he crashed it.”
Layla’s eyes widen. “He followed you? He chased after you?”
I sink into the vanity chair, my legs too weak to hold me. “I swear I didn’t want him to.”
Layla paces, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “When did you and Anatoly get this close, huh? What else aren’t you telling me?”
“What?” I look up, disbelief crashing over me. “Anatoly? What are you even talking about?”
“You think I haven’t noticed the way he looks at you?”
“I wasn’t with Anatoly, Layla. Besides, he doesn’t look at me in any type of way.”
“Then who? ” she demands, did she seriously forget about Rafael’s existence? Or does she only want to satisfy her doubt?
I swallow hard, my hands clutching the vanity behind me. “It was Rafael,” I finally admit, the words falling from my mouth like stones.
Layla’s face goes blank for a moment. “Rafael,” she repeats, her tone unreadable. “As in my fiancé?”
I nod, feeling like the worst human alive. “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” I mutter. “He tried to kiss me at the celebratory dinner too, I swear to everything holy I put a stop to it.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I see something in her expression I don’t understand—relief? But it’s gone as quickly as it came. “You’re unbelievable,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Please forgive me.”
She exhales shakily, running a hand through her hair. “God, this is such a mess.”
Something in her voice makes me look up, makes me analyze her more closely. “You’re not… mad, are you?” I ask cautiously.
“Of course I’m mad!” she snaps. But there’s something in her tone that doesn’t quite match her words.
“Layla…” I narrow my eyes. “Are you actually—are you relieved?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are,” I insist, realization dawning. “You’re not mad about Rafael. You’re relieved it wasn’t Anatoly.”
She stiffens but doesn’t deny it. “What is wrong with us?” I whisper, more to myself than to her.
Layla lets out a long, heavy sigh and sinks down onto the floor beside my chair. She pulls her knees to her chest, burying her face in her hands.
“I kissed Anatoly at the dinner too,” she blurts.
It feels like the ground beneath my feet is shaking. My ears start to ring. “What?” I breathe.
Layla peeks at me from between her fingers. “Please don’t be mad,” she says softly, dropping her hands to her lap. “But I… I overheard you and Rafael. In the bathroom.”
“You what? ”
She holds up her hands defensively, rushing to explain. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I was looking for you, and then I heard you two in there, and—I couldn’t move. I just stood there.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off, her words coming faster now. “He was just… so hungry for you, Mila. So desperate for you, despite all the baggage you two have.” Her hands move to rub her forehead, like she’s trying to massage the tension away. “And—please don’t misunderstand me—but I’ve never had anyone feel like that for me. Not like that.”
I blink at her, stunned into silence, but she keeps going. “I was turning to leave, and Anatoly was there. He saw me… and I just—I kissed him.”
“Why?” I finally manage.
She groans, covering her face with her hands again. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to feel something. Maybe I wanted someone to look at me the way Rafael looks at you. Maybe I was just being stupid and impulsive.”
I slump back in my chair, staring at the floor. “Layla…” I trail off, not even sure what I want to say.
“I know. I’m a mess, Mila. I just…” She hesitates. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Neither of us knows what to say after that. The silence stretches and it feels like I’m drowning.
She closes her eyes briefly as if summoning courage. Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, she confesses, “I asked him to run away with me.”
My heart clenches violently. Too much. Too much is happening all at once. My fingers clutch at my chest, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of my heart. “What?” I croak.
“Somewhere far away,” she continues. “I told him we could leave everything behind—this life, all of it.”
“And?” My throat feels tight.
“He didn’t agree,” she murmurs, her face twisting with bitterness. “He wouldn’t even entertain it.”
“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m in love with him.”
Oh, God. I glance at her, then away, then back again. We truly have the worst taste in men.
As if she hears my thoughts, Layla lets out a bitter laugh, wiping at her watery eyes before raking her hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face. “You were right, Mila,” she says hoarsely. “Rafael isn’t salvation. Marrying him would be moving into an even worse cage.”
Her shoulders are hunched as if she’s carrying the weight of the world. And maybe she is. Maybe we both are.
“The way he feels about you… it’s terrifying. Mila, he won’t stop. Not at anything. If it meant keeping you tied to him, he’d burn the whole damn world down.”
My breath catches, the gravity of her words sinking into my bones.
“But no matter how much he tries to deny it,” she utters, “he’d never let you burn. Everyone else? Everything else? They’ll all go up in flames. He’ll scorch the earth around you without hesitation, but you…” Her gaze locks on mine. “He’ll protect you, even from the ashes.”
She swallows hard. “And I don’t want to burn in his wake.”
She’s right. Rafael isn’t just dangerous; he’s destruction incarnate. She got one thing wrong, though—he wouldn’t just burn me down; he’d reduce me to ash, mix me with his blood, and carve me into his veins so no one could ever take his plaything away.