Page 76 of Sinful Lord

He’s been watching me. Not for profit or for selfish reasons, but to make sure I’m alright.

Right?

Hell, I don’t know. And I’m starting to feel nauseous from turning myself around so quickly.

Shaking my head, I try to think clearly.

How do I know what Tytus true motivations are? For as tenderly as he kissed me last night, he still hasn’t told me shit.

For all I know, I could be the key to some master plan of his. Rozalia always said that her brother was a mastermind, a chess player making moves with human pieces.

So, am I one of his expandable rooks?

… Or am I something more.

The fact that I have no idea makes me angry again. Tytus was my first kiss. The way he held my cheeks and gently led me along should tell me all I need to know.

But it doesn’t.

I’m still in the dark. I’m still alone. Tytus is still nothing more than a beautiful and dangerous mystery.

I feel myself sniff back a bout of sadness. But I don’t wallow in it for long.

Slowly, the anger returns.

The thought of being used by a handsome stranger sparks something in me that melts away all the soreness in my limbs.

No. He’s not a stranger. He’s your rival. He’s your best friend’s forbidden older brother. He knows the power he holds over you.

But do I hold any power over him?

Swallowing my disappointment, I glare up at the vent and remember how Tytus stopped when I told him to.

“Who wants who more?” I quietly ask.

I almost hope he’s watching. But even just the thought of those silver-blue eyes glaring at me makes every hair on my body stand on edge.

“I don’t need you,” I say, louder this time.

Without breaking eye contact with the vent, I stride over to the painting of him. Then, with one purposeful shove, I knock it over.

A strike of satisfaction flashes through me when the canvas falls onto the floor, face down.

Out of view, out of mind, I tell myself.

If only it were that easy.

“You want this?” I glare up at the hidden camera, gesturing at my barely clothed body. “I’ll fucking give it to you.”

Turning around, I reach out for the pipe that runs up the cracked wall separating my room from the kitchen. It’s cold and rusty, but I don’t care.

I remember what that bitch Elsa taught me before she threw me to the wolves. How she almost made me feel like I was making a friend when she taught me how to pole dance.

At the time, it seemed like harmless fun. But now I know all about her hidden motive. She was grooming me to be a cam girl. A slave locked in some tiny room for all eternity, dancing for the entertainment of hundreds of creeps across the world.

Fuck that.

I’m not a dancer. I’d never danced for anyone before. And I never want to dance for anyone again.