Page 40 of Vicious Kingdom

“We’re in public,” I managed to whisper, desperation clawing at my throat.

“So come this way,” he beckoned, his words a venomous promise.

Before I could even form a protest, his scraggly fingers, like tendrils of pure evil, ensnared my arm, their grip cold and unyielding. The one person I wanted to avoid caught me easily, tugging me into the back rooms.

“I’m leaving!” I asserted.

But he was too strong.

I stumbled after him, my heels clinking on the marble floor as the fiend dragged me along the dimly lit corridor. The sounds of society faded with each step.

“Let go of me!” I insisted.

“Hush now,” he murmured.

The door slammed behind us, cutting off escape. His hands moved from my arm to my shoulders, shoving me backward until my spine collided with the cold plaster wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs.

“You think you can just walk away when I’m speaking to you?” he snarled, his face inches from mine. The stench of wine and cigars wafted over me, making my stomach turn. “You forget your place, my little teddy bear.”

His breath was rancid, the smell of decay and expensive alcohol mingling together as he leaned closer. One hand moved to my shoulder, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of what he could do if he wanted.

“You’re my little bear,” he hissed, spittle landing on my cheek. “You think you can walk away without my permission?”

In his delusional mind, we were going to be married. Grow old together. Rule this city as a power couple, revered by all. He told me once he was saving himself for me.

Thank fuck he was that insane. It kept him from taking me against my will.

“I’m tired,” I countered. “Please, let me go. If anyone should find you here—”

“Who’s going to believe you?” he mocked.

No one—not a damn soul.

He was too admired. His charisma swirled around me like a bad perfume. If I talked, if I told anyone what happened to me, he would make my existence in this polished realm a living nightmare. It was me—the victim—who would take the fall. Not him. Never him.

“Please, I have a headache. Let me go,” I insisted.

“Pookie. You sat there, ignoring me the whole evening, and then you try to disappear.” His tongue tsked in warning. “You didn’t bother to spend time with me. That’s all I wanted. One look. One drop of your attention.”

The lie rolled off his tongue as easily as poison from a viper’s fangs. One look, one drop of attention—that was never all he wanted. His demands always escalated, always pushed further into territory that made my skin crawl.

“I’m looking at you now,” I whispered, forcing myself to meet his malicious gaze.

His grip on my arm tightened fractionally, thumb brushing against my pulse point. “Such a smart mouth. Always so defiant.” A twisted smile curved his lips. “I remember when you were sweet. Obedient.”

When I was a child and terrified. When I didn’t understand that his ‘games’ weren't normal. When I thought every girl had a demon who visited her room at night during social gatherings.

His free hand traced down my side.

“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, though his grip had loosened.

“Am I?” He tilted his head, studying my face in the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door. “Or are you just being dramatic again?”

This familiar tug-of-war—him pushing boundaries while maintaining plausible deniability, me trapped between fear and the need to appear unaffected. In our world, showing weakness was a death sentence.

“My father will wonder where I am.”

“Your father is three drinks deep in conversation with the commissioner about city contracts.” His smile was all teeth and shadows. “He won’t miss you for another hour at least.”