Chapter 5
Maya
Flames. Hellfire. Oh my fucking god.
It burns. It hurts. I can’t fucking breathe.
I can no longer differentiate between my worst nightmares and my reality. The fingers pressing against my lips burn, blackening my lungs with their toxic poison. It’s Graham’s fingers. And they are not the only thing incinerating me.
Valeria’s eyes are fixed right on us as he caresses my bottom lip like a lover.
My heart beats so violently that my veins can’t keep up, pulsing erratically beneath my skin.
She’s staring straight at me as her husband leans in to kiss me.
I want to stop his lips from meeting mine so bad, but it’s like I’m entirely paralyzed.
When I look down at my body, I notice my arms are tied tightly in front of me with thick, rough ropes that prickle and bite deep into my flesh.
His mouth crashes into mine, and it feels like he’s sucking the very colors out of my life, leaving me drowning in a suffocating sea of grey.
My heart slows down, staggering, almost stopping completely.
It's like he stole the life right out from between my lips. Like he’s the Angel of Death himself.
But when my eyes snap back to Valeria, my heart lurches violently back to life.
It isn’t from love or relief; it’s from pure terror.
Because my sister’s beautiful features are twisting into an otherworldly creature.
Devil horns sprout through her perfect, bleached hair, her sneer turning demonic with way too many sharp teeth, and she reaches her hand forward, engulfing me in fire.
Every single inch of me, from my toes to the roots of my hair, catches in the flames. I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
My body jolts awake from the nightmare, a gasp ripping from my throat. But when I finally force my eyes to open, they widen in sheer horror. The nightmare hasn’t stopped.
My bedroom is slowly catching fire. Thick smoke curls toward the ceiling, and standing right in the middle of the heat is the vintage Versace dress Graham gifted me, its silk fabric slowly turning to ash.
Valeria.
I fling my body off the bed, coughing violently as the smoke fills my lungs.
Spotting the glass water pitcher sitting on my nightstand, I grab it and throw it onto the rapidly growing flames.
But instead of decreasing, the fire erupts with a vicious, angry roar.
The heat blasts backward, and I swear I feel the white-hot flames lick aggressively at my bare skin.
Completely consumed by panic, I let out a blood-curdling scream.
In an instant, Graham comes running into the room, his expression unhinged.
He is followed quickly by Sasha, one of the housekeepers, who carries a heavy fire extinguisher.
I keep screaming until the last of the fire dies out, leaving behind nothing but the rancid smell of burning fabric.
Only then do I collapse onto the hardwood floor, trying to draw fresh air while sobbing uncontrollably at the same time.
My own sister tried to kill me today. Over a fucking dress. What the hell will she do when she finds out her husband wants to fuck me?
Graham kneels down next to me on the smoke-stained floor.
All I can see is the dark material of his sweatpants because I refuse to look up at his face, terrified of whatever predatory thing I might find lurking there.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him gesture toward the door.
He’s telling Sasha to get out now that the flames are dealt with.
As if I’m watching my own life play out in slow motion, I see his large hand moving toward my face. Without a single coherent thought, my instincts flare, and I reach up to stop him.
“No!” I hiss.
This feels too much like my nightmare. Any second now, my sister will appear at the door and turn into a devil, and I will be the one paying the price—even if it’s her own husband who is throwing himself at me.
An ugly scowl draws itself onto his handsome features.
He shakes my grip off his wrist like it’s nothing but a stray feather.
His fingers bury into my hair to caress my scalp, and just like in my dream, my heart staggers.
It slows down, getting heavier and heavier until I feel like I might actually die right here on the floor.
“I told you no,” I whisper, barely having enough oxygen left to form the words.
The scowl on his face returns ten times worse, twisting into a dark snarl.
His fingers suddenly tighten in my hair, the tug stinging my scalp.
He uses his bruising hold on me to force my head back, twisting my face up so I have no choice but to look directly into the pitch-black eyes I was trying so hard to avoid.
“You. Don’t. Tell. Me. No,” he growls. With every single word, his grip tightens.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Staying in the same house with two psychopaths?
Like I telepathically summoned her from the dark, the hurried click of soft footsteps scatters across the floor outside. She’s coming.
Graham transitions back to stroking my hair gently. Oh my god. Please, God, no. She’s going to walk in here and see her husband all over me, and she will become the literal devil from my dreams. She already tried to incinerate me once tonight.
Valeria comes to a stop right in the doorway. Just like in my nightmare, my heart—which had been slowing to a near stop—lurches violently back to life.
Her slender body leans against the doorframe.
There is a faint smirk lingering on her beautiful face, but her eyes blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim, smoke-filled room.
When they finally focus, she notices her husband’s hand stroking my hair.
Graham turns his head and glares at her, treating her like she’s an unwanted intruder for interrupting us.
Her throat moves in a strained swallow. I can practically decipher the venomous words she wants to scream before she forces her mouth to stay shut. She will never allow herself to look like an insecure, unhinged psycho in front of Graham. She can’t risk him running away from her.
If she could speak her mind right now, she’d be screaming: You filthy little bitch, get your hands off him. He’s mine. You think an ordinary nobody like you can steal him away from me? He’s mine. Mine. You ugly bitch.
Instead, I watch the exact moment her face shifts, feigning shock and concern—when I know damn well that if she could choke the life out of me right here in front of him, she would.
“Oh no! Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay?” she shrieks, her voice dripping with artificial warmth.
Her hips sway as she navigates the smoke, dropping down right at her husband’s side. She crouches low near him while I’m still sprawled on the floor. She reaches out, trying to grab his hand, desperate to force his touch off my skin and onto her own.
He brushes her hand off without a second thought. Valeria’s right eye gives a microscopic twitch.
When I don’t immediately respond to her fake concern, the twitch in her eye becomes an erratic flutter. She is fighting a losing battle with the demons living inside her head. God help me when they finally claw their way out.
I will myself to speak, knowing I need to say something—anything—to appease the monster sitting in front of me, but my throat feels too dry, scorched by the ash and smoke.
“Her room caught fire,” Graham spits out. He moves his hand, caressing both my hair and my cheek now. Right under his wife’s gaze.
This has to be some sick game they are playing together. Because there is no way a human being can be this brazen.
Valeria brings a manicured hand to her chest, a perfect, dramatic gasp escaping her glossed mouth. “Oh my god! Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re okay. Did you forget a candle burning again?”
My brows furrow. I don’t even own a single scented candle. I grew up in poverty, for God’s sake, and that stinginess followed me into adulthood. I don’t buy anything that isn’t an absolute necessity. She knows exactly how this fire started. She's the one who set it.
But when the threatening look in her twitching eyes grows more persistent, demanding my compliance, I force myself to give her a small nod.
“It’s fine, Maya. Don’t worry about the mess,” Graham mutters. “There is another spare bedroom upstairs. The one right next to mine.”
I instantly shake my head. My mind starts racing, connecting the dots.
Valeria and Graham sleep in separate bedrooms, completely opposite each other on entirely different wings of the mansion.
What the fuck kind of game are they playing?
He is placing me in a bedroom closer to his own than to his own wife’s.
Valeria’s face completely drops. But she catches herself, quickly scrambling to recover her poise.
“Oh, no, absolutely not,” she says. “That room hasn't been aired out properly, Graham. She can just sleep in my room until hers gets cleaned—”
“No,” Graham cuts her off.
His powerful arms slide beneath my back and under my knees, lifting me effortlessly. I gasp, my hands instinctively clutching at his broad shoulders for balance, and the moment my skin meets his, the tears track hot, wet lines down my ash-smeared cheeks.
I’m crying because I’m utterly terrified. What he’s doing right now is making my life a living hell. He is painting a target directly on my back.
Valeria doesn't say another word. As Graham turns his back to the doorway, I look over his shoulder.
Without her husband's eyes on her, I see it clear as day. The demon living inside her is staring right back at me. I know with absolute certainty that it won't be long before that devil returns to burn me to nothing but ash.