Chapter 15
I could forgive Saint for a lot.
The lack of communication.
The twisted fury he stared at me with when we locked eyes.
Hell, I could even forgive him for telling me not to come if he wove a great enough excuse together, but what I couldn’t forgive was him ignoring me to flirt with other women.
After locking eyes for a matter of seconds, I expected him to march over and demand to know why I didn’t listen.
He hadn’t.
His eyes didn’t even soften as we stared at each other. He reminded me of when I found him in the Icarus den. There was no playfulness, no softness. Just pissed off authority in his expression.
I watched his fists clench in agitation at his sides before he turned his attention to a woman who had sauntered up to him with a sultry grin.
He gave her his full attention while I got his back.
With the whole reason I was here giving his attention to another woman, I did nothing but watch.
Watch and stroke those flames that roared to life inside me.
Saint didn’t spare me a single glance as he moved to another woman, and then another. Laughing, smiling, touching.
He always was an asshole, I’d just never been on the receiving end of it.
I wasn’t a fan. Not in the slightest.
My eyes followed him as he continued his flirt train with a glare so fierce I waited for him to catch fire but it didn’t work.
Enough.
Saint wanted to ignore me?
We’d see about that.
Tearing my gaze off him, I did the one thing I knew, aside from taking my clothes off, that would get his attention.
I broke the unspoken rule about going upstairs.
No one was allowed up there. No matter the occasion, Saint kept it off limits. I always wondered why, and now was the perfect opportunity to find out. Two birds, one jagged stone.
Neither of my siblings noticed I slipped away. Both were too busy with their own matters to keep an eye on me.
Jessa found a handsome man to flirt with, a lawyer here in Atlanta, and the moment he mentioned his firm’s name, I saw hearts in my sister’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Archer went out back and, I assumed, showed our dad where he could take the cocktail waitress.
I hadn’t seen him come back in by the time I reached the stairs.
I took them slowly, making sure people saw me. Making sure Saint had a chance to find me as my hand trailed up his banister.
He was treating me the exact way he promised not to. Dirty and less than. Not a person, but a secret.
He’d never ignored me before. Not in all the years I’d been to parties at his house. Not in all the years I knew him.
He always greeted me, hugged me, joked around with me. The fact that he wasn’t now hurt. And frankly, it was quite rude of the host to ignore one of his guests.
Coward. Selfish. Bastard.
I didn’t understand it. A few days ago, he was holding me, kissing me, declaring he wanted to try this back home.
But it didn’t feel like trying.
I knew we had to be kept a secret, but what if the time away from me made Saint realize what we did should be left in London?
And only London.
What happened in the time we were apart?
My chest felt tight with worry.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I listened for the sound of angry footsteps chasing after me, only to be met with the sounds of the party.
Shaking my head, I rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Into the hall. Entering the inner sanctum of Saint Delacore.
The hall was pretty standard with a long rug that stretched from one side to the other. The walls were bare, all the doors shut. Nothing screamed secrecy.
But wasn’t that the point? Nothing should stick out?
Was that why no one was allowed up here?
Were there secrets to Icarus up here?
With determined steps, I tried all the doors. There were six in total, and all but two were locked. One was a bathroom, nothing of worth in there. The other led to Saint’s bedroom.
Large and furnished with only the essentials: a bed, nightstand, dresser with a large mirror and a reading chair tucked in the corner. There were two other doors in the room, to the bathroom and closet, I discovered upon my openings.
No hidden bodies in sight.
I was picking up the book on his nightstand to see what he was reading when the door slammed shut.
The book fell to my feet.
I whirled around.
Saint stood with his back pressed against the door. “Did you wear that dress for me?”
He stared at me with cold eyes and an indescribable expression.
It left me cold. Numbed.
His shields were up, and they had nothing to do with the people downstairs or that we were breaking the rule of us being alone together.
“Oh, now you want to see me?” I folded my arms across my chest.
Not saying a word, he stepped away from the door, but farther from me. Distance. He was putting distance between us.
A chasm of worry roared in my chest. He never put distance between us in London. Not like this.
“We agreed this would be a secret,” he reminded me. “What did you want me to do? Walk over there and fuck you in front of everyone?”
My eyes widened at his sharp response.
“A secret, yes, but not to act like strangers.” I continued my retreat. “You’ve known me my entire life. I don’t think anyone would’ve questioned it if you acknowledged me at least once instead of flirting with everyone in a skirt.”
“You sound jealous.” He mirrored my stance of folding his arms in front of his chest.
The dress shirt he wore pulled tight around his shoulders. Almost as tight as the line his lips were pressed into.
“And you told me not to come.” I glared.
“Looks like you didn’t listen.”
“I was already on my way here.”
“You could’ve stayed in the car.”
My mouth dropped open before I could stop it. I quickly shut it. “Fuck you.”
Asshole.
He didn’t say anything, and his silence was pissing me off.
“Why didn’t you text me before today?” My voice was low. “Did something happen? I know you said to only text at night, but I haven’t heard from you until now and I was worried?—”
“I’ve been busy, Madelayne.” He shrugged. Shrugged! “Nothing has happened other than the fact I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t had time to be on my phone. I’m not a good morning and goodnight kind of guy. Stop sounding so clingy.”
Clingy. Me wanting a simple text, maybe a little reassurance, was being clingy? Maybe I needed to hit him upside the head with a dictionary so he was more familiar with the word.
“Funny, he looks like a man and talks like a man, but right now he’s sounding like a high school boy.” My glare deepened. “You could’ve texted me that. Instead, you’ve been radio silent since we came back.”
“I haven’t been near my phone, Madelayne?—”
“You’re always on your phone!” I yelled, remembering all the hours the device stayed glued to his side in London. “A simple message would?—”
“Madelayne, I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”
His silence became more impactful than any words.
If he cared enough, he would’ve carved out the time.
A weight settled over me with that.
Twenty-four hours made up a day.
That was one thousand four hundred forty-four minutes.
That was eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds.
In all that time, he was too busy to send one simple message?
That would’ve been all I needed. One.
“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?” I asked again, this time through clenched teeth.
Meeting my stare head-on, he said, “Didn’t want to.”
There was no guilt, no remorse. He looked at me like I was a stranger.
I launched myself at him with a growl.
I didn’t understand. Where was the guy I was with in London? And who invaded the body of the man who held my heart?
Saint grabbed my wrist before I could slap him, holding it in a vise grip inches from his face.
“I still feel you on every atom of my skin,” I cried into his face, trying to wiggle out of his grip.
He gave no reaction. Not even a sinful gleam in his eye. In fact, they looked lifeless as he stared down at me.
I squirmed some more, hoping the heat I felt inside me would burn through my skin and he’d let me go.
He didn’t get burned, but he did release me from his hold.
“Is that why you came dressed like a hooker tonight? So I wouldn’t ignore you like your text messages?”
I gasped. My dress might’ve been short and my boots might’ve run high up my thigh, but that didn’t give him the right to call me a hooker. Didn’t give him a right to insult me at all.
“Why are you trying to hurt me?” I breathed, feeling my heart deflate in my chest.
“What did you think this was, Madelayne?” he asked, frustrated. “You’re not my girlfriend. I wasn’t going to hold your hand and introduce you to my friends. I wasn’t going to kiss you under the stars while your family stood several feet away. I didn’t want you here to begin with.”
His words were cruel. Accusing. And I was left stunned by the delivery.
“What happened between leaving London and now?” I searched his face for answers, but it was still closed off. Giving nothing away.
“We were just having sex, Mady. It wasn’t going to be anything but sex.”
“You don’t mean that.” My voice was small. Unsure. “What about all the things you said about wanting to try? That you couldn’t stand not to touch me or kiss me or be with me again.”
I remembered his words from the hotel room in our last minutes together. He never said he wanted a relationship with me. Only that he couldn’t stand not kissing me, being with me.
Fucking me.
Oh, God. My lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe.
“I woke up,” he said, as if we were talking about the weather. “Pulled my head out of my ass.”
“You woke up,” I repeated. Dazed. Unable to believe what I was hearing. “What does that even mean?”
“It means London was fun, but it was a mistake.”
A mistake.
I was the mistake.
Oh, God. Everything hurt as sharp, icy pain pierced my lungs.
“You’re lying.” I studied his face, his calloused, cruel face that still gave nothing away. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” He rubbed his jaw. “What was a future together even going to look like, Madelayne? You’re an immature nineteen-year-old with no future in front of her while I’m on my way to being the CEO to one of the largest businesses in the world.”
I’d never put much stock into other people’s opinions about my future. About what they thought of me. Not my teacher’s, not my family’s, and definitely not the people of Honeycutt, but Saint’s…
Saint’s opinion mattered more than it should.
He got me.
He saw me.
He always supported me.
Until now. When he was using it against me.
I shook my head. “You’re lying,” I repeated, refusing to believe any of this. It was a joke.
It had to be a joke.
Saint wouldn’t do this to me.
“You were right to worry in the hotel room, Madelayne. About what would happen if we got back here and I realized you weren’t worth it.”
“You didn’t answer me then.” I remembered him pulling me to his chest in a hug, silent. No words.
“Well, I came home and realized you were right. You’re not worth it. Not worth losing everything I’ve built for myself here. Not worth losing my family.”
The party downstairs stopped.
Time stopped.
The world stopped.
My heart stopped.
No.
No.
It felt like a dull, rusted knife shoved in my chest. Backed by enough force to pierce my heart.
No one ever picked me.
No one ever stayed for me.
And Saint was no different.
You’re not worth it.
I wanted to scream, claw that indifferent expression off his face.
Instead, a weird calm settled over me as I heard my heart splinter, breaking into pieces and falling into the hollow depths of my stomach.
I stood tall, while on the inside, I was crumbling.
Saint did nothing but stare. Stared as he broke my heart into tiny pieces.
I was replaceable, interchangeable to him.
I was nothing. Nothing but a body to fuck.
We were just having sex, Mady. It wasn’t going to be anything but sex.
That dull knife was shoved deeper into my chest.
With one more long look, Saint turned on his heels and left the room without another word, leaving me alone to catch myself.
Part of me wanted to keep fighting, to run after him and make him take the words back in front of the party downstairs, but there was nothing left in me that cared.
It means London was fun, but it was a mistake.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed onto the floor, knees to chest and tears unshed.
You’re not worth it. Not worth losing everything I’ve built for myself here. Not worth losing my family.
I wanted to cry. Scream. Destroy everything in this room until it looked like the remains of the heart he just broke.
My biggest fear after sleeping with Saint was that I’d lose him. Never did I think I’d be filled with so much hatred toward him.
It came instantaneously.
The moment he shut the door, my heart closed around itself. Consumed with hate so visceral I tasted it on my tongue. Felt it burn behind the tears locked in my eyes.
It was funny, how someone could bring you joy until the moment they didn’t.
Everything felt like it was in quicksand. Descending slowly into an abyss with no exit.
I was sinking. Hate and hurt made a deadly cocktail. One I didn’t want to drink.
For the first time, I didn’t like the way Saint had control over my emotions.
I didn’t want to feel this way.
At least now I knew why it was called a crush. When it ended, it crushed you.
Well, fuck that.
I was done. Caring, fighting.
A worthless fuck. A worthless mistake. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.
That’s all I was to Saint.
Well, fuck you.
The necklace he gave me, once treasured, now felt impossibly tight. Without giving a damn about the clasp, I ripped it off my neck, enjoying the bitter snap as it broke. The little star points punctured my palm as I squeezed it. As if the pain was enough to erase the damage.
I felt it for a second longer, then dropped it to the floor.
Saint Delacore didn’t deserve me. And I sure as hell didn’t want him.
Not anymore.
I stayed in Saint’s room, not wanting to be anywhere downstairs, until I got a text from my sister telling me we were leaving in twenty.
A sigh escaped.
Once I left, my story with Saint would be over. No more pining, no more feelings.
When I saw him, I hoped to feel nothing.
Shouldn’t be too hard. It was all I could feel right now.
Nothing.
Empty.
A void sucked all my emotions out, draining me dry.
I was walking out of his room to go find Jessa when I stopped cold.
A necklace that didn’t belong here caught my eye.
A necklace I hadn’t seen in years. A long, thick black cord with a skeleton key dangling from it.
Dazed, I went to it. The metal was cool against my fingers as I picked it up from where it sat on his dresser.
A memory of me picking it up in another place, at another time, when it belonged to another person flashed through my head.
The necklace was my mother’s.
She used to wear it with various necklaces everyday.
Fingers curled around the key.
He stole it. He fucking stole this from me. My mother.
Why did Saint have it?
Where did he get it?
My phone buzzed with a text, no doubt Jessa giving me a warning that she was about to leave my ass if I didn’t hurry. Couldn’t have that. Staying at Saint’s wasn’t an option.
It apparently never was.
I pocketed the necklace, not knowing why Saint had it to begin with. He didn’t get to keep it. He didn’t get anything from the Novak women.
Not my mother, and certainly never me.
Not again.
Never again.