31. LYLA #3
His fingers glided up and down my spine—not in a sexual way but in a soothing rhythm, one that made it harder to hold myself together.
The man who’d just threatened to punish me had melted. And suddenly I wasn’t sure which version of him scared me more—the brutal enforcer, or the man who felt sorry for me.
Because I could already feel it; the tension between us, the hunger…it was gone.
And in its place was something worse.
Pity.
His silence was louder than the water pounding against us.
My almost-lover pulled away and held me by my shoulders at arm’s length, glaring at me as if I’d grown two heads. I wrapped my arms around my body as though I could shield myself from the burn of his stare, as if it could protect me from the regret I saw flickering through his expression.
His breathing was ragged, and his jaw was clenched tight.
I didn’t know what to say. “It’s not a big deal. Most girls lose their virginity in high school. Who cares?”
His entire body tensed. “Don’t fucking say that.”
I flinched.
His eyes bored into mine. “Don’t you ever say that again. That was your fucking virginity. It is a big fucking big deal.”
I stood there, eyes wide. “I wanted this. I wanted you to be the one.”
His jaw flexed. “You deserved more,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “A bed. Candlelight. A man who worships the ground you walk on—not a bratva thug with blood on his hands and a target on his back. Not a fuck-them-and-leave-them type of man.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he growled. “You didn’t know what the hell you were giving away. You think this is some dark little fantasy from one of your books?”
“I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t. And I didn’t ask. That’s on me.”
He scowled. “You were valuable. Do you understand? That could’ve been the only thing to keep you alive if Delgado had gotten to you.”
My stomach turned. “So what, I’m merchandise now?”
His head snapped toward me, his eyes burning. “No,” he growled. “Don’t twist my words.” He stepped in closer. “But to men like Delgado? Yeah. Your virginity would’ve put an even higher price on your head. That’s the kind of value they see—cash, control, power.”
His lip curled in disgust.
“But me?” he said, his voice dropping to a rasp. “That’s not what I’m about.”
He looked away for half a second, then back at me—like he hated what he was about to admit.
“I meant that…there’s something sacred about being someone’s first. About knowing no other man has touched you. That no one else has made you cry out his name, left his scent on your skin. It’s not just sex. It’s trust.”
His voice was barely above a whisper now. “And I stole that from you like it was nothing. Like I had the right.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He looked down at the water swirling around our feet and cursed under his breath.
“I fucked up. I didn’t even think…not for a goddamn second.
I thought you were experienced—well-experienced.
After watching the way you moved at the club, the way you danced, I figured—” He cut himself off and shoved a hand through his soaked hair.
“You deserved to have a man who would take his time and make sure you were ready. I’m the last man you should have given that most precious gift to. I don’t do relationships, and I’m not the husband type. My world is much too dangerous.”
With that, he stepped out of the shower. Water streamed off his body in thick rivulets as he reached for a towel and wrapped it low around his hips, the muscles in his back flexing with every movement.
“I’ll find someone to take you off my hands,” he muttered. “Someone decent. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve. I can’t do that.”
A hollow pain cracked through my chest. I clutched the bar to steady myself. “Wow. That’s…noble. So what, I’m a mangy mutt now? Need a nice little shelter to take me in?”
He paused at the door, his back still to me.
“Go to hell,” I spat, the heat returning to my voice—my defense mechanism. “You’re right—you’re not the man I deserve. You’re selfish and psycho and completely fucked in the head.”
He turned just enough for me to see the hard line of his jaw.
“You’re right.”
I shivered, despite the heat of the water, from the sudden void between us.
He stepped forward, grasped the door handle firmly, and then said coolly, “Please don’t try to escape again, Lyla. Delgado’s men are everywhere. You’re worth more to him dead than disobedient. Because if he can’t sell you, he’ll fucking kill you to prove a point about loyalty.”
Then he walked out, leaving me alone under the spray of the shower, shaking.
Long after he left, I stood there under the water, letting the heat pummel my skin until it turned pink. But it did nothing to wash away the ache between my legs and in my heart.
Everything had gone to hell.
In the span of just a few hours, I’d gone from dangling off a fucking rooftop to losing my virginity to a man who had stalked me for weeks. A man who had locked me in a room. Who had treated me as if I were both precious and a burden. My mind couldn’t make sense of it.
One minute, I hated him with every fiber of my being.
The next, I wanted him to take me again.
But the way he’d looked at me after he found out…
It was the worst.
And that wrecked me.
I shut off the water, got out and wrapped myself in a towel, and opened the door to his bedroom, stepping onto the hardwood, only to find the room empty. There were no signs of him.
His bedroom was a surprise. For one thing, it was warmer than I’d expected.
It was full of dark woods, buttery fabrics, gold accents, and old-world charm that whispered of money and masculinity.
But somehow, the softness of the space made me feel worse—like this room belonged to a man who had someone to come home to.
And that someone wasn’t me.
I turned on my heel and rushed out. The humiliation of his rejection was more than I could take. The last thing I needed was to face him again. I trudged barefoot across the penthouse, through the living room, and past the kitchen.
He was nowhere to be seen.
I reached the guest suite and pushed open the door, only to be greeted by the chaos I had caused—shattered ceramic, ripped sheets, cracked window. It looked as if a tornado had blown through the room.
God, what was wrong with me? How could I have lost my ever-loving mind so badly?
I quickly dressed, dried my hair, and started cleaning. I picked up the pieces of my own destruction, silent tears slipping down my cheeks as I gathered the broken fragments of a vase I didn’t even remember throwing. My throat burned. My eyes stung. But I couldn’t stop moving.
If I stopped, I might fall to pieces.
I found some clean sheets in the bathroom closet and remade the bed, then folded the ruined ones into a heap and stuffed them in the corner. No matter how hard I worked or how tired I was, I couldn’t get the way he’d touched me out of my mind.
My stalker.
My savior.
My captor.
Now my rejector.
He was the man who had saved me from being sold by human traffickers, only to toss me aside the second he found out I was a virgin. And maybe that was fair. Maybe it wasn’t what he’d signed up for. But God, it hurt. I hadn’t meant to give it to him, and I hadn’t anticipated it would matter so much.
But I had given it to him.
And now I couldn’t take it back.
He was right—I couldn’t go home. Couldn’t return to my role in City Song . Couldn’t chase my dreams. Couldn’t be free. I was a refugee now, a girl with no family, no future, and no fucking clue how to survive in a world like this.
My throat tightened.
I climbed into bed, feeling cold inside. I grabbed a pillow and pulled it to my chest, burying my face in it.
And finally, I allowed myself to break down.
A sob ripped out of me before I could stop it. Then another. And another. My body curled in on itself, and I wrapped my arms tightly around the pillow like it could shield me from everything I’d lost. I cried until my ribs ached, until my face was soaked and my heart was shredded.
Until exhaustion finally pulled me under, and the room fell into a bitter silence.