Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

“A friend may be nature’s most magnificent creation.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Jade

“He called me dramatic and theatrical! Can you believe that? Honestly, that boar had one job, and it failed spectacularly.”

Sofiya practically cackled, her laughter echoing through the call. “He said that?”

“Yes!” I waved my hands like a lunatic. “He’s absolutely insane . I gathered what little energy I had left, called a taxi, and went straight home. And then—get this—he still sent me a text, demanding I take the rest of the week off until the big exhibition on Saturday. Like he’s doing me some kind of favor!”

“Jadie—”

“Oh, and he also had the audacity to insinuate that I stank ! Me! The woman who carries six different perfumes, two deodorants, and enough scented creams to moisturize an army!”

Still fuming, I shot up from the couch, snatching my phone as I stormed to the fridge.

A bottle of wine practically threw itself into my hand. I poured a glass so full it was practically obscene, then took a long, satisfying sip.

Not only had this man turned me into a petty, vengeful little devilish monster, but he was also going to turn me into a full-blown alcoholic.

For the past three days, I’d been stuck at home, lying low and letting my head heal. The bandage had come off this morning, revealing a tiny, barely-there scar. No stitches, thank God.

Physically, I was as good as new.

Mentally? A disaster.

Now that I felt somewhat human again, I avoided my home office like it was cursed—a haunting reminder of my three-day tantrum. Every photo of Lazzio I’d ever printed had been vandalized with devil horns, absurd mustaches, and captions like Not Even That Hot or Overbearing Boss of the Year.

Today, I doubled down on my childish antics, burying myself in Twilight marathons and inhaling enough takeout to make my delivery guy assume I was running a one-woman pity party.

But now? Now I was ready to rejoin society.

Back to work. Back to throwing verbal darts at Lazzio’s perfectly chiseled face.

This whole fever dream of wanting to seduce him just to ruin him more?

It was over—or at least, that’s what I told myself.

I’d stick to the destroying part; there was no need to have him buried between my legs.

Sofiya snorted. “Wow, someone’s extra salty today.”

I groaned, grabbing my wine glass and collapsing onto the couch like the drama queen I apparently was. “I am! I mean, sure, I know I’ve got issues. Maybe I shouldn’t poke the bear or, I don’t know, strip naked in front of him, but still?—”

“You did what ?”

The glass froze halfway to my mouth as my brain short-circuited.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Jade, you absolute idiot!

I sipped my wine as casually as someone who had just launched themselves off a cliff, pretending Sofiya’s face wasn’t now practically glued to the screen, her wide eyes full of judgment, her jaw on the verge of unhinging.

“Nothing.”

“Did you seriously strip naked in front of your boss ?”

“No.”

“Jade.”

“… Maybe?”

“Are you insane?”

I sighed, swirling my wine. “Look, I think we’ve known that for a while.”

“Jadie, I love you, but I cannot— cannot —defend you on this one.”

I plunked my glass down on the coffee table, slid even deeper into the couch like it might swallow me whole, and pulled a cushion over my face to muffle the dying sounds of my dignity.

“I know! He’s just so—ugh! He’s infuriating! Always so tightly wound, so smug, so perfectly in control. I just wanted to see him sweat, to make him lose it for once! I’m going straight to hell for this. First-class ticket. Window seat.”

“Forget first class, Jade. They’re naming the gates after you. Welcome to Jadieland: Eternal Damnation Edition .”

I peeked out from under the cushion, glaring. “Not. Helping.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Hey, I’m just saying, it’s bold. You really stripped naked in front of Angelo Lazzio? The man who could probably intimidate a brick wall into crumbling?”

I groaned again, flopping back. “It wasn’t some grand plan, okay? It was the heat of the moment. I got carried away.”

“Heat of the moment,” she repeated, arching a brow. “So… did it work? Did you break him?”

“A bit.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “He was pissed. Like really pissed. He said I’d better remember he’s not just my boss, but a man first. And next time?” My breath caught. “Next time, he wouldn’t hesitate to fuck me.”

The silence was deafening.

When I glanced at the screen, Sofiya’s expression was frozen—wide eyes, parted lips.

“What?” I snapped.

“Oh my god, Jadie,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Angelo Lazzio wants to sleep with you.”

I rolled my eyes, dismissing her with a flick of my hand. “No, he doesn’t. He said it to scare me, to assert control or whatever ridiculous power play he thinks he’s running.”

Her brows shot up. “Stop lying to yourself. He said it because he meant it. Men like him don’t bluff when it comes to things like that.”

I buried my face in the cushion again, my words muffled and pathetic. “Why are you even my friend?”

“Because I love watching this trainwreck you call your life,” she shot back without missing a beat. “And because, somehow, you’re even funnier when you’re spiraling.”

Peeking out from the cushion, I glared at her, but it only made her smirk widen.

“Jadie,” she drawled, “he wasn’t joking. He said it because he wanted you to know exactly what he’s capable of.” Her grin turned dark, conspiratorial. “And because he’s probably thought about it more times than he’d care to admit.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up. Or better yet, admit it—you liked it. Maybe not his words, but the way he looked at you when he said it.”

Heat flared across my cheeks.

“You hate how much it’s gotten under your skin. Admit it, you can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I hate you, Sofiya.”

“No, Jadie. You hate how much you want Angelo Lazzio to mean it.”

I walked through the museum’s quiet halls, heels clicking against polished floors, heading for my office. After days of wallowing, it was time to reclaim my dignity—or at least fake it convincingly.

I showered, then slipped into my finest—an emerald Jacquemus dress with a plunging V-neck, sheer sleeves, and a daring slit up my right leg. My Kate Louboutins added power, and my black serpent Bvlgari necklace, earned by securing 30 percent of Lazzio Exhibits, gleamed at my throat.

Work was my anchor, grounding me when everything else felt like chaos.

With the exhibition a day away, nothing less than perfection would do—every detail had to scream success .

Each floor stood as a testament to battlefields and centuries of war. The exhibits were precise, flawlessly curated. I stalked through them, hunting for a flaw, something to tear apart. But, to my annoyance, there was nothing.

The artifacts gleamed under expertly angled lights, the arrangements immaculate.

Everything was infuriatingly flawless.

I sighed, frustration bubbling.

Perfection shouldn’t bother me—but today, it did.

Pivoting, I headed to the café in the restaurant wing. It was closed to the public, but a few staff lingered. The moment I walked in, the room fell into silence.

It wasn’t the usual awe-filled quiet—it hummed with curiosity.

Eyes darted away the second I glanced their way, but whispers continued, buzzing in the background.

My jaw tightened.

I passed them, pretending not to notice, and ordered my caramel macchiato with extra sugar.

Settling into one of the overpriced couches, I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup.

Normally, I thrived on this—on the way people shrank under my gaze, fumbling over their words. But today? It grated.

Every glance, every smirk, every murmur felt like it was about me.

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to show your face here today.”

I turned slowly, raising an eyebrow as Grace glared at me, her venom darker than ever. Arms crossed, face crimson, eyes burning with pure fury.

“What do you want, oldie?”

“For you to burn in hell.”

Her words hit like a slap, but she didn’t stick around to see the damage. Spinning on her heel, she left me standing there, stunned.

In all the years of fake smiles and petty jabs, this wasn’t her. She wasn’t blunt—she was a snake. But today? She went straight for the throat.

I set my coffee down, blood simmering, and stalked after her.

“What the hell is your problem today?”

Grace stayed silent, tapping the elevator button with manic precision.

When the doors slid open, she stepped in, stabbing Lazzio’s floor number.

Too stubborn to let her stew in silence, I followed her in.

“You know, oldie, you should come shopping with me sometime,” I said, giving her outfit a deliberate once-over. It was actually cute, but that wasn’t the point. “Who even wears dresses like that anymore? It’s not the ‘60s.”

She ignored me, eyes fixed on the blinking numbers above the door.

When the elevator opened, she bolted out like I was toxic air.

I groaned, patience slipping. “Grace?—”

She spun so fast I stumbled back.

“In all the years you’ve worked here, I’ve begged Angelo to get rid of you,” she spat. “To fire you. You’re the devil’s little soldier, making his life hell. And God knows, he’s suffered enough!”

My mouth opened, but she cut me off, voice trembling with animosity.

“But because you’re good at your job—because somehow, you made his life easier—I respected his decision.” She stepped closer, eyes blazing. “But he should never have been in danger because of you. The man was shot, for God’s sake! Shot! Saving your ungrateful ass. He lost so much blood the doctors said he’s lucky he didn’t lose his leg!”

My chest tightened as her words cut deeper.

“He can barely walk properly now,” she hissed, eyes flashing with something close to grief. “And here you are, prancing around like nothing happened. Like he didn’t almost die because of you!”

My stomach twisted.

Shot.

Lazzio had been shot.

The forest.

The bastard hadn’t told me.

Not a damn word.

The nerve. The audacity. The gall of him!

He saved me, dragged me out of there, and didn’t think to mention he was bleeding out while doing it? Or that he almost lost his leg?

My fists clenched. “That self-righteous, controlling son of a?—”

“You’re angry?” Grace hissed, cutting through my thoughts. “He gets shot, and you’re the one who’s angry?”

Oh, I was furious.

But not at her.

And definitely not because I thought I deserved his silence.

No. I was angry because Angelo Lazzio made the choice to swallow all that pain—his pain—and keep it hidden, just to make sure I was okay.

I didn’t know whether to scream, or kill him. Probably both.

“Where is he?”

Grace scoffed, barely sparing me a glance as she strutted toward her desk, slumping into her chair. “Like I’d tell you.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You’re going to tell me where he is, or I’ll find him myself. But trust me, it’ll be a hell of a lot messier if I have to do it the hard way.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t need you storming in and making a scene.”

“Grace.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Finally, she sighed, frustrated, muttering, “The Lazzios’ meeting room. But you won’t get far. You don’t even have clearance to get to the?—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish.

My eyes darted to her desk, catching sight of her keys—the set with the elevator pass I needed.

Without a second thought, I lunged.

“Jade!” Grace shrieked, scrambling up as I snatched the keys, pushed her out of the way, and bolted for the elevator.

Yep, second time I’ve knocked the poor old lady to the floor.

At this rate, Satan’s probably drafting me for a TED Talk in Hell on how to be the perfect villain.

The doors slid open, and I jabbed the button with more force than necessary, willing them to close faster as Grace’s heels clicked furiously behind me.

She almost made it. Almost.

But the doors sealed shut just in time, cutting off her furious shouts.

I leaned back against the cool metal, clutching the keys, adrenaline surging.

“Guess I’m doing this the messy way after all.”