It was childish, petty, and probably unfair to Tia, but I’d never claimed to be the good guy.
Tia stood, smoothing her dress and then I noticed the look of horror transforming her face. Then the color drained from her cheeks, leaving her complexion ashen.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, standing quickly, alarmed by the abrupt transformation.
She looked down at the cushion she’d been sitting on, and I followed her gaze. A bright red stain marred the cream-colored fabric.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m so sorry—this is so embarrassing,” she sputtered, her hands trembling as they clutched at her dress.
Without hesitation, I retrieved my jacket from the back of my chair and placed it around her shoulders. She stood at least a head shorter than me, and the jacket fell to her hips, effectively concealing the back of her dress. Then I grabbed the cushion from the chair and guided her from the kitchen with my hand resting lightly at the small of her back.
“Please let me die now,” she whispered as we slipped into a less-traveled corridor.
“Don’t be dramatic,” I murmured. “It happens.”
I led Tia deeper into the villa, past ancient statuary and family portraits. Zeus padded silently behind us, sensing the change in mood.
As soon as we were inside my suite, Zeus settled on his bed in the corner. I pointed to a door of carved olive wood.
“The bathroom is through there.”
Tia darted inside and shut the door. The lock clicked firmly into place, followed by complete silence.
Unlike the elegance of the main house, my rooms reflected my own tastes. Racing trophies lined custom-built shelves along one wall, framed photographs of me behind the wheels of various supercars—some intact, some mere wreckage—told the story of my career in chronological order.
In one corner stood an easel holding a half-finished charcoal sketch of Zeus. Drawing was my secret refuge, the one activity that slowed my perpetually racing mind. No one knew about this hobby.
I examined the stained cushion while Zeus whined softly in his bed. I grabbed a napkin from my bedside table and poured water from the crystal carafe on it. I dabbed at the crimson spot on thecushion, only to watch in dismay as the stain bloomed outward like a watercolor painting.
“Shit,” I muttered, hastily shoving soggy napkins in the trash and flinging the cushion across the floor.
I approached the bathroom door and rapped gently with my knuckles. “Are you okay in there?”
No response. Only the soft sound of sniffling reached my ears.
“Tia, if you don’t answer, I’ll kick the door in.” I kept my voice calm despite the ultimatum.
Her voice wavered through the thick wood. “Go away.”
I sighed, pressing my forehead against the door, feeling strangely protective. “I should have a robe in there on the hook. Remove your dress and put it on. I’ll get one of the maids to help you.”
“This is literally the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.” Her voice was muffled, as if she might be speaking through her hands.
“It’s natural,” I replied. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Her voice rose with distress, though a thread of resilience ran through it. “Yeah, um... a tampon, clean underwear, and maybe my dignity?”
The tension in my body eased. “I’ll handle it, I promise.”
I flagged down Maria, a passing maid, handed her the cushion, and explained what I needed. She maintained her professional composure and promised to return promptly.
When Maria returned, she carried a small bag. After a brief exchange with Tia, she examined the stained dress.
“Fifteen minutes for the dress, Mr. Christakis,” she said, before departing.
I retrieved my phone from my pocket and scrolled to Katalina’s name. I sent her a quick message before I could reconsider. Tia would never know she was part of my revenge and Katalina would finally feel what I had.
I settled onto my bed, propping myself against the embroidered pillows, and waited.
