Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ilya
Locking her bedroom door behind me, I went straight to the trash chute and threw her clothes down into the abyss. Next, I went to pour myself a drink. Downing the burning liquid in one, I snatched up the bottle, and that’s when my hands started shaking.
My legs were going by the time I reached my bedroom and flung myself down on the bed, bottle still in my hand.
It was only then that I allowed the shock to take over.
Daisy was alive.
Alive and well and right here.
She had died; I had buried her casket. Her body burned beyond recognition when the car she had escaped in crashed and caught fire.
She had died.
And I had cried for her.
So how could she be here now? Looking beautiful, looking like the woman I had wanted to spend the rest of my life with?
The bottle fell from my fingers to spill across the black carpet, but I didn’t move to pick it up. All I could do was lie there and stare sightlessly ahead.
DAISY WAS ALIVE.
And she was as beautiful as she had always been. Her body a little softer, her breasts a tad bigger. The stretch marks and scar across her once flat stomach hadn’t taken away from that beauty. If anything, they had enhanced it.
I wanted her. I had wanted her from the second I had seen her in the graveyard, but that feeling had been drowned out with the shock and anger.
A few seconds ago, when she had been standing naked and wet in front of me with her eyes imploring mine to be kind and gentle—all of that want had come back with a vengeance.
She had looked at me like that before. Pleaded with me to treat her nicely. And I had done it because, right from the beginning, I craved her smiles more than I craved her tears.
Six years had passed since she had ripped my heart out, and she still had the ability to bring me to my knees like no one else had been able to do.
Well, no one but Alexander.
I couldn’t let her; I wouldn’t let her get the better of me again.
I wouldn’t let her pleading, pretty eyes and soft smiles make me love her again.
Only—
I didn’t even remember pulling my phone out of my pocket or turning it on to the cameras in her room, but there she was.
Curled up on her bed, naked and shivering and crying. She was in almost the exact same position as she had been the first night she had spent with me. And just like back then, my heart twisted at the sight of her crying.
Groaning, I fought the urge to go to her. To offer her a little comfort. But I knew that wouldn’t do any good. All it would do was cause me more pain.
I could not love her again. I wouldn’t let myself.
My body disagreed. It had been disagreeing since she had first stripped her clothes off the body I had once loved to worship.
God, I wanted her.
My cock felt thick and heavy against my zipper.
I’d never wanted anyone like I had wanted her.
Without thinking, I reached into the drawers where her underwear still lay, and yanked out a lacy thong.
It was clean, but I could still smell her on it as I brought it to my nose and drew in a deep breath.
I should have kept her clothes; even covered in vomit and anything else, I would have been able to smell her on them, and I desperately wanted to lose myself in her scent.
Let myself even for a second lose myself in the good memories we had together before she had—
Left.
She had left. She hadn’t died. She had purposely chosen to leave me and her infant son who she claimed to love. She had made me fall for her, and then she had walked away without a second thought to live the life she had always dreamt of.
And I had to remember that. I’d never forgive her for it.
Not ever.
There was a fine line between love and hate, and that line was blurred.
"Papa?" Alexander’s voice called out in a broken whisper as his small hand rapped on the closed bedroom door. "Papa, can I come in?"
"Of course, Alec." I didn’t even hesitate. Closing the phone, I tossed it and the underwear into the drawer and slammed it closed just as he slipped into the room.
His hair was tousled and his dinosaur PJs were twisted around his body. His face was slack with sleep, but his eyes were bright as he looked at me.
"What’s wrong, little man?" Almost instantly I changed. I always did around him. He made me want to be a good man. "Did you have a nightmare?" I swung my legs over the bed and opened my arms. He rushed into them, burying his face into my damp shirt.
"No. I just—" he hiccuped. "I thought I heard something."
My hand stroked up and down his back. "I’m sorry if I woke you. I didn’t mean to."
"I thought I heard someone crying. It made me sad." Lifting his face, he searched my face. "You’re sad too." A little hand came up to rest on the stubble of my face. "Why are you sad, Daddy?"
A lump formed in my throat that I couldn’t swallow down. He really was clever for his age. He saw so much.
"Don’t be sad, Daddy."
My son was barely six years old, and he was trying to comfort me. "I can never be sad when you are around, Alec." I forced myself away.
"The lady made you sad."
Yeah, my son definitely saw and understood more than he should. I scooped him up and hugged him to my chest. "A little, yes." There was no point lying to him. He would see straight through that.
"She was very pretty and very nice. She was nice to me." His thin arms tightened around my throat. "I’m sure she would be nice to you if she knew you were sad."
I almost laughed at that. Daisy didn’t give a shit about me. She never had. I had loved her and she had—
I took a deep breath. I couldn’t hate her, not really. She had given me the little boy in my arms, and Alexander was the best thing to ever happen to me. He had saved me when all I had wanted to do was die and take the whole world with me.
So no, I couldn’t hate Daisy. Even though I wanted to.
"I don’t need her. You make me happy." I ruffled his hair, forcing some playfulness into my voice. "It’s just me and you against the world."
Pulling away slightly, he stared at me. Nodding once, he hugged me tight again. "Can I stay in here tonight, Papa?" his little voice asked. "So you don’t get sad again."