Chapter 35
The night was weird. After I left and came back to my room, the system locked me in, and I have no idea what happened to him. I don’t know if he made peace with his brother, if he killed him, or if Adam harmed him. My God, what am I going to do if Cain … ?
He told me to go to my room tonight because he probably figured it’d be safer for me. But why? Jesus, I need help …
How did this happen, and in such a short period, he became my everything? Not that I had much before him. There was only Emily—if you can still call her my friend after what she did.
But even if I walked away now, where would I go? Nothing is waiting for me outside this place.
And the truth is, I don’t want to leave. Not anymore. Not now that he’s etched into my skin like a scar I never want to heal.
I should run. I should scream. Instead, I stay, because even when his darkness swallows me whole, it feels like the only place I’ve ever belonged.
I should hate him for it. Maybe I do. But I’d still crawl through hell if it meant staying in his orbit one second longer.
Because whatever this is, it’s mine, and I won’t give it back.
Gosh, I need to go out and find him. Isn’t it still too early, though? Maybe he is still sleeping.
Then, there’s a knock on the door. Is it him?
“Come in!”
“Good morning, Miss R??i?ková,” Eleanor says softly.
She’s wearing dark blue pants and a white shirt, with her hair styled in a messy yet polished bun. She doesn’t look as creepy as I think she is.
“Good morning, Eleanor.”
“Mr. Manson wants you to meet him in his office.”
My heart skips at the sound of it. At least that means he’s okay.
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Alright, I need a few minutes to get ready.” I just woke up; I need to look at least decent!
“Please don’t take long,” she says, her gaze vacant and cold.
She wasn’t always like this. Sure, she could be creepy, but she used to be sweet, even a little pretentious in a harmless way. What’s changed?
My eyes land on her arms. “What happened to you?”
She glances down, then quickly hides them behind her back. “Nothing.”
I step closer and gently pull her arms out again.
Her forearms are covered in deep cuts. They’re not along the veins, and it doesn’t look like a suicide attempt. It seems more like self-harm or like someone else did this to her.
She tries to pull away, but I don’t let go.
“How did this happen?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, even though my chest feels tight.
She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “It’s nothing. I was just clumsy.”
“Clumsy doesn’t leave patterns like this,” I say. “Talk to me.”
She hesitates, lips pressed into a thin line. I wait.
“You really want to know who did this?” she says quietly, almost like a whisper. I nod, my heart pounding. “He did.”
“He who?” My eyes widen.
“Mr. Manson.”
I freeze. “What?”
“He did it. He grabbed me, held me down, and said it was to teach me a lesson.”
My breathing becomes louder and more forced. Did he really do it? But why? I know him; he’s not like this. He kills, he tortures, but that’s not his style.
Even as she speaks, something’s off. Her tone is just a little too even, her eyes a little too dry. She’s trying to sound broken, but there’s no real crack in her voice.
She’s lying.
I don’t know why she’d say something so dark, but I know it’s not the truth.
“You need to be careful. He’s dangerous,” she says calmly.
I don’t object to her. I end the conversation with a sharp nod. She understands I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so she turns her back and exits my room.
He’s violent, vicious, and savage. But I don’t believe he’d do something like this. It doesn’t sit well with me.
I run into my closet and grab a pair of jeans and a black, cropped, long-sleeved knitted sweater.
I brush my hair and let it fall in natural waves over my shoulders.
My eyes fall on the rose-flavored lip gloss sitting at the edge of the sink.
I pick it up, twist it open, and breathe in the scent that numbs my mind.
Haunting, inescapable, obsessive. Just like him.
This smell will always be his. I can’t help myself.
I drag it across my lips, slow and careful, as if the act might hold him here a little longer.
All set. I give myself a final check in the mirror, then exit my room to find him in his office.
On the way there, nothing feels surprising or new. The mansion is quiet, wrapped in the familiar scent of soap and roses.
Inevitably, I pass Landon’s bedroom, and as if he hears my thoughts, the door opens, and he steps out.
He freezes, just like me. There’s a flicker of surprise on his face, faint but discernible.
He looks worn down, almost battered. A fresh scratch cuts across his cheekbone, red and swollen, like it came from a fight.
I’m guessing he was in one, just like Cain.
That would explain the blood and the dirt on their clothes last night.
I guess I was too shaken to observe his face.
The silence between us is too awkward. Contrary to Eleanor, he was always creepy, but now he’s not. He seems regretful and normal.
He lets out a long breath through his nostrils. “Thank you,” he says quietly, pushing his hands in his pants pockets.
“For what?”
“Saving me last night.” His gaze drifts back to mine. He’s solemn and quiet, as if he actually means it. “If it weren’t for you, Cain would have killed me.”
“Violence is not the way to solve things.”
He studies me with a look that lingers too long. “You really believe that?” he murmurs. “That violence isn’t the answer?”
“I think … it shouldn’t have to be.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe as a corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s not a yes.”
“I’ve seen what it does to people. That’s enough.”
He clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed. “Then what are you still doing here?”
“I …”
My voice catches before the rest can form. My eyes stay locked on his longer than they should, longer than is safe. I don’t know how to answer him. Not in a way that would make sense to someone like him.
Because the truth is, no answer matters here. Not when the rules are written in fear and control. Not when kindness is just another weakness to exploit.
I know how twisted this is—how wrong. But saying that out loud, to him, would be pointless.
“Hmm.” He hums quietly, his brown eyes roaming all over me, intimidating me to the core. He pushes off the doorframe and steps in. “You’re quieter than usual,” he says, almost amused. “Starting to learn your place? No fight left? Or are you just figuring out it’s easier when you don’t pretend?”
I need to defend myself and deflect him. I crane my neck and meet his eyes defiantly. “My place is next to Cain.”
But that doesn’t deter him. He prowls closer, making me take small steps back until I meet the wall. Calmly, he rests his hand next to me and peers into my eyes, but he doesn’t talk.
“Back off,” I growl, holding his gaze.
He smirks, clearly amused. “I can see why Cain likes you,” he says with a hoarse voice as he touches the ends of my loose hair.
I am cautious with my movements. I’m trying not to touch him, not even to push him back.
“I think you’re the one who forgets his place.”
He lets out an eerie chuckle that makes my skin crawl. “You talk like someone with control.”
“Landon, back off!” I say firmly, my heart pounding in my chest.
“He’s a fool for letting you wander around like that,” he says as he continues to play with my hair.
“Such a pretty little thing like you, out here alone … with things far worse than me watching.” He tilts his head, a sinister smirk crossing his face.
“Either he’s stupid, or he doesn’t care what happens to you.
If it were me … I’d handle you differently. ”
My fear dissolves into anger, and I become furious in an instant.
I slap his hand away from my hair. “You are the fool. I should have let him kill you.”
“But you didn’t. And here I am, wondering why,” he says, tracing his fingers along my jawline.
I slap his hand again. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
He snatches my face and pins me harder against the wall. “Damn, you’re sexy when you fight back. Women like you turn me on so much, I feel like acting like a savage.”
“Zkurveny parchant!” I curse loudly as I try to slap him, but he snatches my wrist in the air. Fucking bastard!
“So much for ‘violence is not the solution,’ huh?”
“Ty zkurvenej parchante! Já tě zabiju!” I hiss through gritted teeth, my gaze piercing through his eyes. I will kill that fucking bastard myself!
“I know you’re into savages and primal behavior. Cain is such a wuss when it comes to you. He’s so gentle when you clearly don’t like it that way,” he whispers against my cheek, jamming my face in his hand. “He doesn’t know what to do with a mouth like yours. I’d fuck the attitude right out of it.”
Breathless, I yank myself, trying to escape his grip.
“You think I don’t know exactly how you sound when you’re trembling with pleasure?
” He turns my head and licks my neck. No matter how strong I hit him, he’s stronger than me.
“I’m just wondering,” he growls in my ear, tracing his filthy fingers between my thighs, “how you’ll sound like when I am inside you and make you scream into the wall while you pretend you hate it. ”
“He will kill you. I will make sure of it!” I hiss furiously.
He pulls out his gun and presses it against my belly. “Then let’s go and tell him together.”
I freeze, but my breathing becomes louder, and I pant. Oh, God, what do I do now?
“Get your filthy hands off her.”
I turn my head and see Grayson standing at the end of the hallway, his arms at his sides, ready to jump in and help me.
“Grayson,” he sings. “Of course you’d show up and fuck up the vibe.”
“Grayson,” I pant.
His eyes drop to Landon’s gun and then right back to him. “Let her go.”
“Or?”
“Or you make a choice you can’t take back. Think wisely.” He takes a few confident steps closer. “You either walk away now with your pride intact, or it ends badly for you, one way or another.”
Landon lets go of me and prowls closer to Grayson.
“I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut unless you want your brains all over the wall, old man.”
Grayson doesn’t recoil. He steps right up to him, his pale green eyes locked on Landon’s. “You never scared me, boy.”
Landon sneers. “That’s one of the many mistakes you’ve made tonight,” he hisses, shoving the gun up under Grayson’s jaw.
But Grayson’s done waiting, and in a split second, he moves.
His hand snaps up, grabs Landon’s wrist, and twists hard. Landon lets out a guttural groan, dropping the gun. Grayson catches it without blinking.
Now, the roles are reversed.
The muzzle presses against Landon’s forehead, and this time, it’s Grayson who doesn’t waver.
“You pointed this at the wrong man,” Grayson hisses. “I told you, you never scared me, big boy. Now get your fucking ass out of my sight.”
Landon grits his teeth, seething with rage, but the humiliation cuts deeper than the pain.
“We’re not done, old man.”
Grayson doesn’t reply. He remains composed, the gun steady in his hand. Landon turns around, gives me a final glare, and walks away, banging his feet on the floor.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Are you okay?” Grayson asks, furrowing his bushy, gray brows.
I nod sharply, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
“It’s all over now.”
“Cain will kill him,” I pant.
“Don’t tell him,” he says quietly, sliding Landon’s gun into the waistband at the small of his back.
“What?” Is he serious?
“Cain’s soul is already heavy with the lives he’s taken. Don’t let it burn for one more.”
“But … I can’t lie to him about it.”
“Kate?ina.” He gently holds my arms. “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to protect him. You know what this would do to him.” My eyes lower as I contemplate. “Cain is like a son to me, and I want to protect him as much as I can.”
There’s something about his voice. A serenity. A kindness. I know he really loves him; I’ve seen it. He loves both him and Adam equally.
But can I trust him?