Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MASSIO
Anger has me storming into her bedroom, and I slam the door behind me.
The little brat thinks she’s being clever covering me in her shitty pink hair products.
Well, I’m about to show her who’s really in charge.
I need to stay on target, to seduce little Theodora to the point she can’t come back from, to hurt her like her mother hurt me.
To destroy the pampered little princess and, in turn, destroy her mother.
Her bedroom is neat and tidy, unlike her chaotic first impression. It’s white and silver, with mirrored furnishings to match, making it appear more clinical than you’d expect from a teenage girl. It lacks character, and the thought causes something to twist deep inside my chest.
I head straight for her vanity table and scan it. The only things littering the table are the notebooks and a choker hanging from the mirror; no makeup or jewelry. I touch the ring on the choker, thinking I could break it, but the idea of seeing her wear it is far more appealing.
Maybe there’s something in these notebooks I could use against her.
I pick one up and open it, expecting to find diary notes, but instead, there’re dozens of logo drawings.
I flip through the pages, one after the other, various designs of brands I recognize and some I don’t.
She’s recreated some familiar household names and drawn them into something new, fresher.
She’s talented, I’ll give her that. I wonder if she realizes how much.
I place the notebook back down and shuffle the pile about until I find one that looks different to the rest. It’s worn, pink, with tattered edges and a ripped cover, like someone tried to pull it apart but failed miserably.
When I open this one, my heart sinks, and I find myself shuffling back until my ass hits her bed and I can sit down.
There’s lots of dark scribble. It’s childlike and angry looking, but there’s no disguising the image in the center. It’s a drawing of a small girl on a floor with her legs pulled up to her chest and her head buried into her knees. Something tells me it was drawn from experience.
Sadness takes form, and my finger traces over the image of the girl. Loneliness and vulnerability radiate from the pages, and the stabbing pain in my chest intensifies the longer I stare at it.
My mouth becomes dry, and I slip my phone from my pants pocket to take a photo and send it off to Miko.
Me: Opinion?
Miko: A scared girl. She’s been hurt.
Miko: Who is it?
Me: Thea drew it.
Miko: She has trauma.
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Thea might have had a lonely childhood, but that doesn’t stop her from being a brat. Her mother’s daughter.
Me: She’s a spoiled brat.
The only trauma this girl will have is when her credit card gets declined.
Miko: I don’t think you should take your vengeance out on her, Massio.
Anger boils my blood. Miko is the last one to talk; he revels in others’ demise. The man quite literally gets off on hurting people, even when he likes them.
Me: What? Like you do?
Miko: You don’t understand me.
Miko: We’re not the same.
Miko: Just like Thea isn’t Veronica.
I pocket my phone, almost as pissed as when I came in here searching for a sliver of revenge. Thea might not be Veronica, but she’s a surefire way to hurt her, and that’s all I care about.