Chapter Seven
? ? ?
And, thus, a villain is born.
Amber
You’re the night.
My heart skips as Liam’s voice echoes in my head. Before me on my computer screen, a white page gleams in blinding contrast to the images storming my mind.
…a dark angel hiding in her wings.
Lips parted, my mouth goes dry as I stare ahead at my very blank document.
Tolerate you.
He can’t just drop all those words, paint that stunning picture, then leave me on the edge of my seat, strangled for air. That’s not right. But, I guess, since it is positively evil , it is also positively Liam .
As long as I’ve known him, he has always known exactly what to say to cut to someone’s core—whether his words build up or tear down remains entirely dependent upon his whim.
Sitting at my desk in a room made for me, hearing his low voice murmur darkness and allure…it’s almost too much.
I shiver.
Pressure builds inside my chest, like a story bursting my seams.
I couldn’t care less about cowboys, but I could care a whole lot about threats, passion, and forbidden love.
Opening a new document, I lift my fingers to the keyboard, and words flow out of me like inky rivers—a woman, down on her luck; a man, with nothing but.
A deal.
A price paid.
A gold-limned cage.
It’s…a dark romance.
But I have never felt more alive.
? ? ?
“Bambi…” Liam murmurs at my ajar door.
Blinking out of a scene filled with pale skin, heated arrangements, and danger laced in terrible hope, I find the weepy man moping, head cocked against the jamb. Reluctant, I scoot away from my desk. “Everything okay, Cutie?”
His head shakes.
“What’s wrong?”
As elegant as my new male lead, Liam extends his hand, beckoning.
Even though curiosity slaughtered the feline, I find myself drawn to him, tentative concern rippling over top and underneath the pictures still waltzing in my mind. Ballrooms and gowns and stolen touches where scandalous dresses fail to obscure.
For a very hazy moment, pure grass-fed evil doesn’t sound so bad.
Once I’m in reach, his fingers slip across my cheek, combing back through my shoulder-length curls. “I’ve been home for an hour,” he says.
“Oh?”
“You didn’t leave your room yesterday until I lured you out with food.”
Now that he’s mentioned food, it occurs to me I haven’t eaten. I completely forgot to order my pastries after he called earlier. I’ve been typing this entire time, breaking for nothing but coffee.
His thumb grazes my pulse. “I want to play with you when I come home, Bambi. If you insist on staying in your box, I should at least get to look through the plastic and admire how cute you are.”
Not gonna lie. He had my heart racing in the first half, stuck in the dreamy, boundaryless land of dark romance male leads. Regrettably, he lost me quite swiftly after that.
He sighs as he takes in my plain capris and blouse. “I can’t wait for your clothing to arrive. I think my soul dies a little more every time I see you in beige. I’m eager to style your outfits each morning then come home to the ecstasy of witnessing you in them.”
My nose wrinkles. “Remember what we talked about before? You’re not allowed to dress me.”
“Physically.”
“At all. It’s bad enough you’ve picked out my clothes. If you weren’t catering so perfectly to my taste, I’d have deleted your email immediately.” My arms fold. “You may be a manipulative genius, but I’ve had more than enough time to learn how you work. Were I as evil as you, I could bring you to your knees in a moment.”
“Evil?” he asks, drawing a finger along my jaw. “Why would you need to be evil to say please kneel ?” A smile flirts with his lips. “I’d understand, Bambi. Your neck must hurt, looking up at me all the time. I don’t mind coming down to your height every once in a while if you just ask.”
“Watch it. That’s a real quick way to get kneed in the groin.” I swat his hand off me. “Then you’d be crumpled in a little ball on the floor whether I ask or not.”
“Then you could put your foot on my shoulder, your hands on your hips, and throw your head back to laugh like an adorably victorious little lady.” He spreads his arms. “I accept my fate.”
I twist on my heel to return to my desk. “Your perverted little brain ruins all my best threats.”
Unwelcome, he trails after me, seating himself on the end of the bed behind me. “It’s not my fault that physical abuse means you’re touching me. As a husband, isn’t it natural for me to crave my wife’s attention?”
That’s a great line. I think I’m going to use it. I just have to figure out how these two get married first.
“Liam.”
“Yes?”
“Are you trying to express to me that you’re lonely and need some quality time?”
His smile tames as his gaze lifts toward the ceiling. When his eyes return to me, he says, “Perhaps that is the core of it. If I can’t enjoy you at all at least a little each day, what is the point of having you for a year?”
“I’m sure I don’t have a clue what was spiraling through your brain upon coercing me into this situation.”
Deathly serious, he says, “Amber, I require that we spend time together each day, doing something, for a minimum of three hours.”
“ Three hours?” I blurt.
“Am I so intolerable that you can’t give me three hours of your evening, and a minimum of seven on my days off?”
Tense, I straighten. “When did days off become a part of this demand?”
“Just now. Aren’t you paying attention?”
I scowl, and my stupid lip does its stupid jut, which draws Liam’s stupid eyes to it. I snap, “What would we even do every day for so long? Three hours is practically all the time you have at home before you have to get ready for bed.”
“Yes, it is. I want to spend all my free time with you. Why is my request for a fraction of yours meeting rejection?”
That pinches a nerve. “I work, too, Liam.”
“Not as long as I do.”
“That’s not true!” I’m back on my feet. “I might get up later, but I’m still working well after the time you go to bed, not to mention I forgot to eat today, so I didn’t even get a lunch break.”
He stands, marches to me, and grabs my hand.
I struggle against his grip. “Let go! What are you doing?”
“Feeding you.”
“Liam! You’re missing the entire point!”
“No, I’m not.” He throws a look over his shoulder, down at me. “You want me to take your work seriously; you want people to take you seriously. I take everything seriously. Including our marriage. So you will have to excuse me if that means I want to spend time with you and take care of you, which—right now—means feeding you.” Frustration knits his brow. “Don’t you understand that when something is your favorite toy, you care deeply about it?”
“I dunno,” I quip. “I’m probably just stuck on the dehumanizing nature of your whole question.”
“I care about you. There. Was that in any way dehumanizing ?”
This man… I could stab him. What was he thinking adding literal daggers to my clothing list? I swear, he neglects to think the most simple things through while he’s oft too busy deep-diving into the extravagant.
I huff. “It doesn’t matter if you omit some of what you actually think after the fact, Liam. I already know your messed-up perspective, so here’s an fyi for you: husbands don’t own their wives. I’m not your property. We have an agreement, and that agreement never included spending time together.”
“It did.” He turns squarely on me, squeezing my hand. “You agreed to wifely duties, which included supporting me, and I agreed to take care of you, feed you. Therefore, we have two reasons right now why you should come with me without a fuss.”
What if I feel like fussing? After all, he interrupted me while I was writing the most amazing book in the world. “I hate how stubborn you are,” I mutter.
“Am I stubborn or just correct , Bambi?”
“No one likes admitting when they’re wrong, Liam.”
He cups my chin, briefly, letting the touch lift my face as it flutters away. Sadistic, he murmurs, “Shame, I do love hearing it, especially from such cute, cute lips.” He watches me, soaking in my frown, my defeat, my irritation. “Where would you like to eat, my wife ?”
My eyes roll away from him as I sigh, and if I weren’t so hungry, I’d put up more of a fight. “You have more food limitations. I can find something I like anywhere.”
“I love how sweet you are even when you’re upset.” His thumb runs over my knuckles, then he lifts my hand, bends, and kisses it. “I know I’m difficult to live with, Bambi. Please remind me how, all my life, you have tolerated me more than anyone.”
Yeah, I really have. I bet I’ve tolerated this guy more than his parents had to. He hung around me, like a toxic mold, utterly obsessed with everything his Bambi did. He’d manipulate and scheme new reactions out of me every day, and I’d feel almost…bad for him.
He had no friends, not for lack of trying. People just didn’t like him, and I knew why. It was so obvious to me. And I guess I had a savior complex growing up, because I took it upon myself to try and teach him how to behave, how to make friends, how to not be evil.
Difficult doesn’t begin to explain William Warrick.
William Warrick is just plain evil.
Fully aware his behavior is unacceptable, he does nothing to change it. Fully aware his ideas aren’t kind, he battles with wit until you succumb to them.
He’s not mean . Mean is different.
He’s just wicked.
And he doesn’t want to change.
Not one bit.
“No. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to dinner with you.” I pull my hand out of his, take a step back, and ignore the fact that I am very hungry. “We’re not kids anymore, Liam. You can’t just get your way because I feel bad for you or you’ve won my reason over with your logic. Now, you need to account for my feelings, and not just when you find it amusing to abuse them.”
“Abuse them?” he whispers. “Is that how you feel? Abused? By… me ?”
“Come on, Liam,” I drone. “You actively choose to treat people like objects that serve you. You torment me and smile when I crumble. How is that not abuse? You want control, and you don’t want to change. You go to any length to get your way.”
“Everyone wants control,” he says, swiftly. “Some people are just better at actually getting it.”
“Yup.” I sigh. “And that’s called an abuse of power.”
“I am abusing my power by asking to spend time with you and by persuading you to come with me to dinner when you’ve not eaten all day? That is what you’re saying to me?”
“Liam…”
His head shakes. He steps back as well. “Have we forgotten how to understand each other, or are you telling me that we never did?”
“I understand you. You’re the one who never takes the time to understand how your actions affect the people around you.”
His voice peaks. “I do nothing but take the time, Amber. I am constantly thinking about how my behavior affects everyone around me. Constantly . Your voice echoes in my mind, guiding me, reminding me that other people don’t understand the world like we do. I hear it constantly. I hear you constantly.” His hand lifts, delving into his hair, gripping. “You’re the only person I don’t feel I have to watch myself around, because I thought you understood.”
“You can’t manipulate me with a breakdown anymore, Liam. Please. Don’t go there.”
“I’m trying !” His eyes squeeze shut, and a tear cuts down his face. Voice shaking, he whispers, “All this time, you’ve hated me?”
Have I wanted to knee him in the groin and stab him a few times, sure. But hate ? Hate is a special emotion I reserve for very specific moments, then I try to let it go. “Only whenever you’ve really hurt me. Like when you put down my dreams of being an author.”
His damp eyes fly open. “You hated me when you promised to marry me?”
Sickness swirls in my chest. But we aren’t kids anymore . I’ve outgrown taking care of him. I even…I even outgrew all of the things surrounding me right now, all the things he’s pulling me back into because he hasn’t changed.
I want to be taken seriously.
I want to be as untouchable as him.
And standing amidst the things I like, looking and sounding the way I can’t help, makes me nothing more than a joke.
“Amber, answer me .”
“A…little bit, yeah.”
“A little bit?” He sucks in a breath. “How do you hate someone only a little bit ?”
“I don’t know!” I snap. “I made a lot of excuses for you when we were growing up. It took me years to reevaluate and realize that you were just someone else taking advantage of me, that you weren’t oblivious. You knew what you were doing. You knew cause and effect. You are so smart . Nothing was ever an accident. You hurt me on purpose, just so you could watch me bleed. It always sparked something in your eyes when my emotions spilled from the wounds. You enjoyed playing with me, and I convinced myself I could handle the abuse for another year if it got me closer to the dreams you always scorned. I convinced myself that if you could use me for your amusement, I could use you for money. But none of this is right, and I’m not budging one more step beyond the basic terms of our agreement just because you want me to. I never agreed to give you so much of my time. That’s fine print . And you said there wasn’t any fine print.”
I feel sick. Probably because once again, Liam’s moved me with his tears.
I have always, always hated seeing him cry.
“Why…” he whispers, “…did you come to conclusions about me in the time we were apart, when I couldn’t even hope to defend myself?”
“Because, that’s what I’m saying. You’re too convincing, Liam. I could only see you clearly after we graduated, after I waited for you to reach out, after you never did. I realized then that I’d stopped serving you, so you no longer needed me around.”
“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. Over and over, I wanted to show up at your door, but I stopped myself every time, not wanting to bother you until I knew I was allowed. I understand the weight I am on people. I understand how much effort you’ve put into me. I understand that my emotional response to situations is not right. I know that I smile when you get angry; the idea that I affect you so much intoxicates me. But, please, I do not in any way wish for your downfall. You are important to me.” He swallows, wets his trembling lips. “It hurts to learn that you’ve rewritten me as a villain in my absence in order to cope with how I made you feel rejected. If I’d known… that you’d wanted me around…I would have done anything to be around you. Just being around you makes me the happiest I know to be.” Lifting his hands, he scrubs the tears off his cheeks. “Please don’t judge me based on a memory your feelings have altered. Please, if you still forget that you packed a pudding in your lunch because you haven’t seen it since you put it in there, don’t trust the things you made of me in the time we didn’t see each other. I am begging you. Please.”
My heart cracks, so slightly. A hairline fracture right down the center. Did he absolutely have to bring up the pudding thing? Three separate times today, I even forgot there was a pantry full of coffee for me here. The despondent, Man, I wish I had some coffee met with an ecstatic burst of recollection each time was enough to have given me whiplash.
Maybe…
No.
No.
“You’re doing it again. You’re making me doubt myself. It’s so crafty , too.” I mend my heart, feed it air. “If I agree, what’s the solution? Obviously, relearning you. How do I do that? By spending time together . And then you’ve done it again—gotten your way, no matter what.”
“What’s made you so distrustful in these past years? We could always rely on each other.”
I laugh. “Right. Because you’d do all of this, and convince me I could. I’ve lived in the real world now, Liam. I’ve been overworked and underpaid and lied to again and again. I’ve been exhausted, wrung out, and flung. I’ve spent my days stumbling through day jobs and coming home to a place filled with anger and petty arguments, where I’m underappreciated and never doing enough. Everyone, everywhere, treats me like an irresponsible child who needs to grow up and learn responsibility. But I am responsible. I am . I just… don’t know what I’m doing. I work so hard, but I have nothing to show for it. I’m ‘bad with money’ because I save, and save, and save for one big business move that completely flops, leaving me broke. I don’t have your power. Nothing ever goes my way. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy left to put up with it all, least of all you.”
He watches me, for a long time, lashes still wet from his tears. Finally, he closes the distance between us, reaches for my hand again, and grips it tight. “So be it.”
“So be what?”
“If you have already decided to make me your villain, that is what I will be.” Turning on his heel, he drags me from the room. “I own you for a year, Bambi. I am paying you for your time. I am your job; writing is your hobby . Succumbing to my will is your top priority, and my will right now? Is to see that you’re fed. If you don’t like it, that’s too bad. Whatever manipulation led you here, you signed the license. You are my wife. And if you refuse to trust the grand many ways I idolize you, fine. We’ll do things through your perception using force until either you know me again, or…you leave me forever.”
“You can’t just—”
He squeezes my hand. “Tonight, I’m just trying to feed you. Choose your battles better, Bambi, or I’ll assume you’re just like your parents.”
That knocks the air out of me. Too tired in the wake of such a cruel suggestion, I succumb to the villain’s will.