Ruthless Empire: Part 2 – Chapter 21

As much as Silver acts like a bitch or directs all her maliciousness towards me, she sleeps like an angel.

Literally like one.

She snuggles to my side, her nails digging into my T-shirt. I inwardly groan at the memory of her dragging them down my back. She thinks she was hurting me, when in fact, she was proving how territorial she actually is about me.

Did she really think I wouldn’t notice she was leaving those marks so all the female population would see them? She was basically marking her territory.

Silver might be more low-key about her possessiveness, but it’s lurking in the background, waiting to be unleashed on the world.

Her long lashes flutter on her cheeks and her lips part the slightest bit, wishing for my fingers inside them.

The loose T-shirt slides down her cleavage, outlining the pale flesh of her tit and there’s a hint of her rosy nipple that’s begging for my fucking mouth on it.

I slowly pull the shirt up to hide it. My dick protests, but he needs to wait. Silver might sleep like an angel, but she’s a light sleeper. If I touch her, she’ll wake up, and I know I won’t stop if I start touching her. I have to take care of something else first.

Of course, I haven’t slept. One, she’s too distracting, moulding to my side like this. Two, this is one of the rarest chances I’ll get to take care of unfinished business.

I could’ve done it in the car earlier after I made Aiden drive us while I held her in the back seat, but I was too focused on her well-being to think of anything else.

Aiden was right — I took it too far. But that’s the thing about Silver, it’s clear that I have no brakes when it comes to her.

That’s not good.

Control is everything I have. I command situations and people before the action even plays out. I’m a director, but my sets are real and my actors are actual people.

However, when Silver showed up dressed like a fucking fantasy at my room in Ronan’s house, and not only kicked out Jennifer but also took her place, I lost all common sense.

After the last text I sent her, I suspected she’d follow; I never thought she’d be that direct about it. I never thought she’d actually let me tie her down and gag her and blindfold her. Or that she’d enjoy it the way she did.

Then she pissed me off by refusing to admit she wanted it and I lost track.

I can’t do that.

I need a remote control when I’m with her. Or that’s what I told myself. Then I found myself sneaking into her room again.

It was a bit easier when I didn’t have her. Now that she’s mine, I can’t stay away. Not touching her has become equivalent to physical torture.

And now, I need to know what’s bothering her. No one fucks with her.

Or at least, no one but me.

Moving slowly, I retrieve her phone from the nightstand and use her forefinger’s print to unlock it.

She mumbles something, but then her breathing evens out again.

Her wallpaper is a picture of the four of us from the wedding. She’s hugging Sebastian’s waist and I’m standing beside Mum.

I grind my teeth.

I know what she’s doing. She’s reminding herself every second of the day that the world sees us as siblings — even if she doesn’t.

We’ll see about that, my Butterfly.

I open her gallery and scroll through her recent photos. They’re mostly a few selfies she took with Summer and Veronica on their way to Ronan’s party.

Then I find a picture that makes me stop and click it.

It’s a shot of her out of the shower, wearing a towel, her wet blonde hair falling on either side of her. It’s a selfie, but her entire face isn’t visible — only from the nose down.

She’s trapping her lower lip under her teeth. Her towel is slightly loose around her tits to show the hickey — the same one I left above her right tit when I fucked her in the shower.

Silver took this picture right after I left. She wanted to memorise it, to store it for safekeeping.

I smile down at her. If hickeys are what she wants, I’ll bathe her body with them until the entire fucking world knows she’s taken. They might never know it’s me, but they’ll know she belongs to someone.

After sending the photo to my phone, I delete the text to myself and go to her messages, ignoring her group chat with her shallow friends. I don’t have to search long to find what I’m looking for. Unknown Number.

My muscles tense the more I read the texts. They started years ago — three, to be exact. It was around the time she became glued to her phone, sometimes smiling, other times frowning.

The number sends texts almost daily. In most of them, he tells her she’s beautiful, and in others, he’ll mention details about her daily life he wouldn’t know unless he watches her closely.

The Queens’ mansion has high security. No one but the family members and Sebastian’s team is allowed inside without supervision. And Cynthia. Somehow, Sebastian allows her free access to his house.

He hasn’t sent texts about her home clothes. They’re mostly about what she wears to go out. So this means he’s close, but not too close.

The last text he sent was on the day of the wedding.

Unknown Number: You look beautiful today, like a rose finally deflowered. Happy eighteenth birthday. You’re a woman now.

My grip tightens around the phone as my senses skyrocket to high alert.

I stare at Silver’s sleeping form, at the way her fingers are gripping me close, almost as if she’s afraid the same nightmare from earlier will repeat.

Her other hand clutches her butterfly necklace, the one I gave to her which she’s never removed.

Silver has someone who’s obsessed with her, watches her, probably masturbates to her pictures in the darkness of his room.

Someone who’s slowly but surely becoming threatening.

And she’s hiding it from the world.

Silver has someone who wants her chaos.

Just like me.