Twisted: Chapter 16

I ordered a new phone, but it won’t get here for another week.

Things have never been obvious that while I had a fun time in college and boarding school and got along with mostly everyone, I never went out of my way to make lasting friendships with people I could trust beyond Riya, and now that I’m here, back at my home, I’m secluded and alone.

For the past hour, I’ve been sitting at my desk, switching tabs between trying to find a law firm that might consider going up against Julian and my father and a tab to sign up for a social media site.

One of the things my father asked is that I have social media, at least a public profile, because the daughter of a billion- dollar businessman who is touted as one of the most powerful men in the world shouldn’t put herself in the limelight more than necessary. Personally, I’ve never felt the urge to be locked on my phone day in and day out, so I agreed without any issue, preferring to be behind the lens of my camera instead of on a social media app.

But now, my fingers hover over the sign-up button, trembling  with indecision.

I’m not sure I’d even be able to find Aidan’s profile, but I just want some way to be able to watch him when he’s so far away in Egypt, see if he posts things so I can feel like I’m at least part of what’s going on.

I imagine that Aidan must be worried sick and going out of his mind by now. Or maybe Julian’s people have told him everything’s fine. But if they’re giving him messages, then there’s nothing stopping them from telling him about the engagement, and the thought of Aidan hearing it that way and not knowing the full story makes me want to puke.

This is all my fault though. There’s no one to blame but myself.

I should have been smarter with my decisions.

Ironic how now that I’ve been backed into a corner with no way out, I’ve found the courage I needed to tell the truth in the first place. But it’s too late now. I won’t put Aidan’s life at risk.

And even though I can’t wrap my head around it and don’t have concrete proof, it seems that Julian had something to do with Alexander’s death.

I can’t take the risk.

But I’m panicking.

My father so easily believed that Julian and I were in love, that is the man I want to marry, and I’m still reeling from the realization that he didn’t even care enough to get angry.

Part of me hoped that my father would have seen through the facade. He’s the one who’s known me since birth, the one who should know me better than , but maybe that’s my fault for keeping so much of who I truly am from him for so many years, just to spare myself seeing the look on his face if he didn’t like who he saw.

A knock sounds from outside my bedroom, and my hand jolts back from my laptop. I slam the lid closed, not wanting anyone to see what I was up to, and jump up, moving quickly across the room to the door. I grip the handle, cracking it open and peering through the small space it creates.

Julian’s standing on the other side, his black button- down rolled up to his elbows and his forearm pressed against the side of the doorframe. My stomach flips and I huff a breath, annoyed my body is always betraying me when it comes to him.

“Time to pack, .”

I open the door fully, stepping to the side.

“Don’t call me that,” I spit. “What do you mean, ‘pack’?”

“I mean, grab some boxes and place whatever you wish to keep inside them. Then you use tape to close the top. I’d also recommend a Sharpie to mark what goes where, but if you want to live in chaos, I won’t stop you.”

Scowling, I cross my arms. “I’m aware of how to pack a box, Julian. I mean, why do you think I would pack?”

“Did you think I’d allow my wife to live somewhere other than my house?” He moves forward, and I stumble back. “To sleep somewhere other than my bed?”

Disgust sweeps through my middle. “I will sleep with you.”

He frowns, pressing a hand to his chest. “Devastated.”

“And I’m not your wife.”

He quirks a brow. “Yet.”

Fire licks at my veins and I dart forward, my hand smacking across his face before I can control myself, a burn radiating through my palm as his head whips to the side.

I gasp, bringing my stinging hand up to cover my mouth, and I propel myself backward to create more distance, fear spreading through my muscles until I’m paralyzed. I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never hit a person in my life.

Julian lets out a small chuckle, his face still turned to the side, black strands of hair sweeping across his forehead. He reaches up with his thumb and wipes a small drop of red bubbling on the corner of his lip from a gash my ring caused.

Slowly, he twists toward me, bringing that same thumb to his mouth and sucking off the blood.

The words “I’m sorry” are on the tip of my tongue, even though I don’t really feel apologetic. It’s a habit, but somehow, I stop the words from vomiting out.

Things happen in a flash then. Julian moves forward quickly, grasping my upper arm until it cuts off circulation as he drags me farther into my room and throws me on my bed.

The breath is knocked from my lungs when I bounce off the mattress, and my heart beats wildly in my ears. Every single nerve ending is lit up and on edge as I push on the bed with my heels and my elbows, trying to shove my body back as far as possible. He continues to stalk toward me until his knee is pressing into the edge of the mattress, and he grabs my ankles and pulls until I slide beneath his frame.

He looms over me, pressing his weight on top of mine, his corded forearms flexing as they cage me in, resting on either side of my head.

From this vantage point, I can see the muscles in his jaw working and smell the clean linen of his clothes and the hint of spice from his aftershave. My stomach twists when he presses his chest and torso against me, forcing me to lie back.

I swallow heavily. “Wh- what are you doing?”

His hand runs up my side and my breath lodges in my throat, my body vibrating with the need to get away from him.

“Testing out the merchandise,” he replies, his fingers feathering along my collarbone.

I make a noise in my throat, unwanted goose bumps sprouting beneath his touch. “You can’t just that.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the juncture between my neck and my shoulder, and my thighs tense. I hate the way heat shoots through my body when his tongue touches my skin.

“I can do whatever I want,” he murmurs.

“Not surprising from a man who thinks he’s a god,” I say through clenched teeth. I feel flushed, my body breaking out in a sweat from being beneath him, from lighting up in every goddamn place he caresses.

“That’s right, baby.” His hand wraps around my neck and my breathing stutters. “I’m god.”

I shove myself up on my elbows as far as I can go, which isn’t far considering a man who’s at least six six is resting his full body weight against me.

“You can make me wear your ring,” I hiss, “and parade me around with your last name, but I will bow for you.”

He smirks. “We’ll see.”

Anxiety over what he’ll do next digs into my sides and squeezes. “What’s your aim, Julian? You want Sultans? Everything that belong to you?”

The pressure eases off my neck and he cups my cheek instead, his palm hot against my skin. “Hit me again,” he murmurs, ignoring my question, “and you won’t like the consequences. Understand?”

I scoff, twisting my head away.

His grip tightens, and he jerks my face back. “Tell me.”

My nostrils flare, the anger breathing through my insides like a living dragon, but I shove it back, knowing that if I’m going to figure a way out of this, I need to cooperate.

At least for now.

“I understand,” I force out.

He smiles, the sharp angles of his face softening from foe to friend. “Good.”

Patting my cheek, he drops his hold and releases me completely, moving off the bed and running his tattooed hands down the front of his shirt.

“Now, listen carefully, because I don’t like to repeat myself. You will marry me, you will take my last name, and you will be the good, dutiful, little wife that I know is buried deep down somewhere inside that head of yours.”

Anger fills me up so quickly my fingers shake, but I clench the bedsheets and try to breathe through the fury.

“We will make everyone believe we’re in love, and then when your father”—he pauses, swallowing so heavily that his Adam’s  apple bobs— “when he passes, you’ll make a public statement that you have no interest in Sultans and as a belated wedding gift will be signing it all over to me.”

“I’d rather die than leave Sultans to you,” I snap.

He chuckles. “Be careful what you wish for, gattina.”

My lungs cramp.

“Play your part well and I’ll let you ride off into the sunset with the boy.”

My heart pounds against my rib cage, thoughts spinning wildly out of control.

Even as I ask myself the question, I know he can’t be trusted. But what other choice do I have?

Marry Julian, give him Sultans, and then disappear.

Realization of what that would mean sinks into my bones, and I try not to let the desolation swallow me whole.

If I do this, then I’ll lose everything my father begged me to keep safe.

But if I don’t, I may lose everything else.