Chapter-25🌜 I wont miss.
William's POV
Vance gives his finger a soft suckle and then smirks, "Sweet."
I couldn't look away, my stomach twists into a hard knot, the air around us is feeling suddenly polluted. That single syllable is enough for me to be disgusted.
Vance just starts laughing as he backs off. The sound is a cacophony of madness, echoing far longer than this pathetic joke deserves.
And I finally release a breath, I don't even know I am holding as relief brushes over me. "Motherfucker, have you lost your fucking mind?!" I ask in a ragged voice.
"You should have seen your face..." He keeps cackling like a maniac while clutching his chest. As if this is so funny it's making breathing difficult for him. The sound reverberates in the silent walls of the hotel room.
My own breathing is not any better either-its like the fundamental task of inhaling and then exhaling has become so hard. But it's not because of any amusement.
It's because of pure eye-reddening fury. I can feel it rushing in my blood and all the suppressed anger towards him. My former bully. The man who made my college years hell-returning and hitting me like a truck.
My right hand goes starts wandering in search for something on the table that I was hit by-when the fucker in front of me made me back off. I find the vase, which I think is made up of ceramic or something.
It doesn't matter which material is used to make this piece of decor, because my grip around the narrow neck of the vase tightens as I grab it.
I launch that vase just close to this twittering dimwit's feet. It shatters into a thousand jagged diamonds, each one singing a sharp, final note against the hardwood.
"Next time, if you even dare to come close to me. I won't miss." I declare, the hoarseness of my voice is something the nerd inside me would gasp for.
His laughing finally stops, but he doesn't look bothered by it. Instead a grin takes over his psychopath face. "Oh, so the lanky little nerd has finally grown a pair, huh?"
"Maybe he has, but what I can clearly see is-you are still a mindless engine of malice." This time, a smile quirks up my face. "Still useful for nothing."
I see how the last line changes something about his nonchalant but sardonic expressions. "Oh... so being called 'useless' hit a nerve huh?"
"You bitch-" His whole face becomes red with wrath. Shoulder rising and fists clenching.
Even though I am the naked one-just covered with a thin towel-he looks the most vulnerable right now.
Clothes are stripped off of me-sure. But it's like his smug pride was stripped off of him, leaving him completely bare.
"I will-" I don't let him complete this time either.
"You will what?" I whisper-shout. "What huh?" With every question, my pitch gets higher, and so does my anger.
"Because here's the thing... you can do nothing." A soft rhythmic series of tsks leaves my mouth eventually and smooths out into a low, humming vibration of pure satisfaction.
Because I know he can't. "Your dad needs this marriage to happen, so you can't harm me." I smirk, "moreover... how will he react when he finds out his little son likes to choke on men's sweat?"
It's not sweat, but I still call it that, to make it as obscene as possible. I don't know much about Alessandro Belladonna-but he is anything but an ally.
"You won't dare-"
"You cannot tell me what I can or what I cannot." I remind him with fierce eyes. "Now get out of my room. I am disgusted enough with your face already." I wave my hand towards the door. "After all, I need my beauty sleep to wed your lovely big brother."
No matter how much I hate this marriage, I know one thing-if Vance has even the tiniest interest in me. This would land like an arrow straight to his weakest spot.
Because which brother would like his own twin to have someone he likes so desperately.
I know 'likes desperately' could be a stretch. But it's not about him liking me-it's about him not liking his twin brother.
I have noticed that Vance and Zane don't seem to like each other much. Even hate.
And that hatred is the vulnerability I can use as a defence mechanism in my revenge.
It is an arrow in the dark, but somehow it lands the way I intended it to be. Because just the mention of his big brother or is it the mention of me marrying him-I don't know-makes him grind his teeth and his shoulders tense.
"Now would you leave on your own, or should I call my groom?" I make an innocent pout. Tightening the web I spawned with my mockery.
This time even calling him my groom doesn't even make me cringe that much. In fact I feel kind of pleased seeing the way it's finally coming into my use.
Vance just flares his nose and goes straight towards the door. And just when he's about to leave, "don't forget to send room service to clean the mess you made me make." I order him without even sparing him a glance.
He bangs the door shut. I shrug, "Looks like he couldn't take what he started."
This...felt like a win.
My first win.
I make my way towards the wardrobe-my suitcase was already brought here. I am mostly dried up, but I still wipe myself some more. And then pull out my night suit that I made sure was kept on top of my clothes.
After I finish buttoning up my pyjama shirt-the soft silk fabric hugging my skin-I jump straight on my bed. The springy hotel mattress makes me bounce a little. "Ahh... what a day it was..." I groan like a labour, who has come home after a long shift.
Although I know-the main day hasn't even started. I check the time on my phone and it shows 8:04 AM.
Fucckkkk! I have just four hours before that valet comes back. I roll on the bed until I reach the nightstand and with just a single tap on the 'sleep' button-all the lights are turned off for good.
Just when I am about to pass out and have found a comfy position with my face poked inside that soft pillow. There's a knock on my door.
'I fucking hate my life! Ughhhh!'
I press the glowing button again to turn the lights on. It must be the damn room service I asked Vance to send.
I rise from the bed and walk towards the door with hunched shoulders-tiredness showing in my posture. Although I do make sure I don't step on the shattered pieces, when I reach the door.
??
After I was done with the room service guy and he finally left after finishing his job. I went back to bed and slept like a rock.
I am still in my dreamland when there's another knock on my door, and I open one eye to take a peek on the door and see the dark room. I wave my hand on the table to look for my phone to see time. And when I do find it, I pick it up and see the time visible on Romie's picture.
It shows exactly 12:00. Ughhhh-the valet guy. Why is everyone that punctual here?!
I suppress a yawn as I walk towards the door.
My vision is blurry without my glasses on but clear enough to see that it's that guy again.
"Buon pomeriggio, signore. I am back as you requested.
" I just bob my head wordlessly and gesture at him to come inside.
Although, this time-I do make sure, it doesn't come out rude.
He comes inside and just when I am busy kneading my eyes-he says, "Sir please change into this base." He has a crisp white shirt and black trouser pants in his hands.
"Already? But it's like just 12... isn't the wedding at 3 or something?" Okay I know, it's kind of comical seeing I am the groom myself. Correction-I am the clueless groom.
I haven't even taken a bath and am I actually gonna wear a wedding tux without a bath? Like I know I bathed just hours ago, but still...
"It is sir. But it's just to check the fitting, and to see if something needs to be altered before the final ceremony." He explains it to me gently. "Now if you may..." He trails, clearly giving me a clue to change into the clothes he asked me to.
"Ah...yeah sure." With a dumbfounded expression on my face, I take the clothes from him and go to the wardrobe area to change.
When I come back into the room, wearing the smooth and flowy fabric. I notice the heaviness in the room. I see how he has unzipped the tuxedo and it's now hanging on a metal hanger. But it feels more like he has unveiled a bride.
Sophisticated.
Elegant.
And out of reach.
And I just blink-am I supposed to wear that...? Me? The same guy who wore sweatpants with a cardigan on his primary school prom?
Don't judge! My fashion sense has improved way too much since then! Or I hope so...
But it has! And that's why I can tell that this tuxedo in front of me is just...expensive. Well that is not even the word I will use. If I have to describe-I would say it is enough to wake me up and remove every remnant of my sleep.
The valet ignores my expressions like he doesn't care about my fallen jaw or is used to men, a lot powerful so it doesn't daunt him much, as he comes forward with a jacket in his hand and puts it on my shoulders-which involuntarily open up for him.
He slides it onto my shoulders with careful precision, adjusting it immediately-fingers firm at the seams-pulling, aligning and then correcting.
It fits too well.
Not tight. Not loose.
Just... exact.
The fabric is deep black, but under the light it carries a muted sheen-rich, controlled, almost liquid in the way it holds shape.
The cut is sharp through the shoulders, narrowing cleanly at the waist, forcing my posture straighter without asking.
Oh... so we are going without traditional lapels, huh? I wonder. Because instead of that there's a structured high collar that framed my neck-leaving no softness to the look.
"Stand still, sir." and I do.
The front is fastened-hidden closures, seamless.
No distraction. No excess.
Then comes the cape. A fucking cape?! What are we-an aristocrat in fucking mediaeval Europe?
It is attached with quiet efficiency, settling behind me in a clean, uninterrupted fall. It doesn't flare. It doesn't move much.
It simply... exists.
Present. Heavy Intentional.
The valet steps back slightly to take a look at his work, and I turn towards the mirror.
And I paused completely. Like I am alone in the room. Because who the hell is that?!
The man looking back at me isn't dressed for a wedding.
He looks placed. Like he has been positioned into something already decided.
Like a fucking mannequin at a Dolce and Gabbana store-boutique which was set up in 1400s.
What in the fuck is happening? It's my marriage and I am feeling decorated...
"Any discomfort, sir?" And I just swallow my own saliva while adjusting my shoulders.
Discomfort? Well I have that... but it's not about this fucking piece of art-but from why I am wearing this art piece.
But I can't tell him that so I just give him a "...No."
"Good. It will be prepared for the ceremony." He tells me, completely unfazed, as if it's a common thing.
Of course it would be prepared.
Now can he prepare me too?