Chapter 30 #3
"Right. Enough of the brooding," I snap, though my heart is hammering against my ribs. "Are you finally going to tell me who that fucking woman is? Who the hell was that?"
Rhys doesn't blink. His expression is stony, his jaw tight. "Her name is Mary Wells."
The name doesn't mean anything to me, but the way he says it—like he's spitting out a piece of rotten meat—makes my skin crawl. "And what the fuck does she want with me? Why is she trying to drown me in a river?"
Rhys lets out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. He looks at me, and for a second, the psychotic intensity softens into something that looks almost like regret, though it's still twisted. "She wants to kill you, Ophelia. Because of me."
I go completely still. The air leaves my lungs in one sharp hiss.
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, but there isn't one.
The reality of it sinks in—this woman isn't just some random lunatic; she's a predator, and I'm the prey because I'm with him.
I look away, staring at the dark mahogany of his desk, my mind racing.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why in the name of god would she do that?"
Rhys moves closer, his hand coming up to grip the back of the couch, effectively pinning me in place.
"Mary was... a casual arrangement. Years ago.
It was right when I was sketching the designs and building the Menagerie.
Before I met the coven, before I met the succubus and I built this place.
I had many women back then. Distractions. "
He pauses, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, dangerous rumble. "She became obsessed. Jealousy turned into something foul. She didn't just want me; she wanted to own every breath I took. It spiraled. She eventually snapped and murdered one of my one-night stands in a fit of rage."
I gasp, my eyes snapping back to his. "She killed someone?"
"She did," he says coldly. "But the courts didn't send her to a cell. They found her legally insane and shipped her off to a psych ward. She's been rotting in there for the last five years, and she hasn't gotten any better. If anything, the walls just made her more focused."
I feel a cold sweat break out on my neck. "And now she's out."
"She escaped recently," Rhys confirms, his eyes darkening.
"And she's been on a mission. She's been hunting down every single woman I've ever been involved with.
That blonde girl you saw her shoot? Just another name on her list. Antoinette Smith was also a woman I once had a night with.
She's been pruning my past, Ophelia. And you... you were the last target."
He leans in, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips.
"Because you aren't just some girl I slept with.
You're the only one I actually want. The only one I love.
In her twisted mind, you're the one who stole my heart before she could, and she thinks if she kills you, she can simply step into your place.
She wants to be the queen of my world by erasing you from it. "
I stare at him, completely floored. The sheer, psychotic scale of it is overwhelming. I'm not just dealing with a stalker; I'm dealing with a serial killer who thinks my death is a ticket to a relationship with a man who is just as unhinged as she is.
"You love me?" I breathe out, the word feeling strange and heavy. "You're telling me this while admitting you're the reason some psycho is trying to murder me, and you're playing the 'I love you' card?"
A dark, predatory smirk curls his lips. "I don't play cards, love. I own the deck. Yes, I love you. Which is why I'm going to make sure she never breathes the same air as you again."
I swallow hard, a shiver of both fear and a sick, twisted kind of arousal sliding through me. The danger is intoxicating, but the thought of that woman's hands around my throat makes me want to vomit.
“So she’s a literal green-eyed monster?” I say remembering how those green eyes looked at me as she tried to kill me.
"Is she... is she dead?" I ask, my voice small. "Did you kill her when you shot her?"
Rhys pulls back slightly, his expression returning to that cold, murderous mask. "I hit her, but the current is strong. My men are at the river right now, scouring every inch of that muddy shite. I gave them very clear instructions."
He leans in one last time, his voice a lethal whisper. "They aren't coming back without her body."
I recoil slightly, the brutality of his words hitting me.
He isn't just protecting me; he's erasing the threat with a clinical, violent efficiency.
I should be horrified. I should be screaming for help.
But as I look at him—this beautiful, psychotic monster who just dragged me out of a river and claimed he loves me—all I can feel is a terrifying sense of belonging.
"You're absolutely mental," I whisper, my voice shaking.
"And you're mine," he replies, his hand sliding up to cup my jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into my skin. "Always.”