Page 24

I just didn’t care.

I tasted those lips, felt the brush of her tongue against mine. Her eyes seared me to my soul, and her very presence stole the air from my chest. And she fucked with my plans for revenge. If anything, I was owed this.

I could justify it—the stalking, the leering—because somewhere, I could pretend it was for intel. What if she told her brother about me? What if they were hunting me down right now? I had to be ready. But it was all a lie.

Instead, I drooled over her perfect body and fought the urge to jack off whenever she stripped. For months, I studied her dance moves, the way her brow furrowed when she thought too hard, or how she bit her thumb when nervous. I made a note of the perfume she liked and her favorite snacks she hid in her bedside table. All the tells I filed away, intending to use them against her later—and buried my real, secret desire to know her better.

Then, I randomly fucking texted her, like some beaten dog looking to his master for love.

Why? Because I needed more of her. Not what was on paper, or through a disjointed screen, but her.

When she turned her phone off, I laughed. It was fucking cute. Who knew a sheltered ballerina had such a backbone?

When I watched her help the sex worker out of the house, giving her money and a ride, my lust turned to something deeper. Respect.

She’s a Bruno; she should understand that a woman is a thing to her family. They have nothing without enslaved women performing tricks for their pockets. But she didn’t seem to care. She wanted Cherry to escape, and she did it without a second thought.

It was brave.

I watched on camera as Roman barged into her room, thrusting his finger in her face. I couldn’t hear his words—but I could guess. He found out Cherry was gone and blamed her.

She never admitted it. Let him rage and stared, bored, chin lifted. Solidified her as a courageous woman in the face of adversity. Begrudgingly, I liked that about her.

Valentina got a week of isolation for it. No visitors, rarely allowed to leave her room or go outside. If she tried, the guards rounded her up and made her go back.

A part of me wanted to intervene, crash Roman’s system, and get her out of there. How dare he stunt this mesmerizing woman and toss her into a closet like a broken toy? He should be stabbed for that slight.

But I couldn’t. Not without blowing my cover.

Yet, it gave me an opening. She was bored, and she turned her phone back on.

Pulling up my screen, I look through the sporadic messages.

What are you wearing?

Sunshine: A knife.

I chuckle, scrolling further down.

Favorite show?

Sunshine: True crime where the stalker gets caught.

Laughter slips from my mouth. Sassy little princess. My thumb swipes the thread down.

Favorite color?

Sunshine: The color of your blood.

Kinky.

My lips twitch. She was a tiny thing with a large bark. I wondered if her bite would be as devastating as her wit.

Across my computer monitor, she twirls in nothing but black tights and a matching sports bra. Her arms raise above her head, long fingers splayed as she jumps. I rub my face, eyes trailing along her figure. It’s been a few days since our last exchange, and I’m growing restless. I click a few keys and check that her phone is still on.

I could⁠—

“I need a fucking break,” I grumble, rolling back from my chair. I’ve been glued to this screen, drinking her in for so long that I’m becoming obsessed.