My men didn’t understand the relationship between Celine and me. But the rule had been set, and they knew better than to break it.
Tonight, I was seated in my study, a glass of whiskey in my hand. My chair was swiveled to face the window as I watched the storm rolling past outside. In the dimly lit room, I sat in silence, sipping my whiskey.
Confused, I regretted nothing and everything in equal measure. The fact that I may have lost control of the situation messed with me in ways I wasn’t ready for. I’d deviated from the plot, and now I had no idea what the fuck I was even doing.
So many questions overlapped in my head about who she’d become and her role in my life. Unfortunately, I couldn’t provide an answer. She was no longer just a prisoner, though. That was for sure.
Then what was she?
What was the relationship between the two of us?
If I could answer that question correctly, I’d solve more than seventy percent of this particular problem.
Did I truly not know the answer to that? Or was I just too ashamed to admit it?
Chapter 15 – Celine
He’d been avoiding me.
I wasn’t entirely sure why, but that had been the pattern. Ever since he fucked me, he hadn’t had a proper conversation with me. We no longer ate together in the dining room, and our paths barely crossed anymore. Even when they did, he’d just nod and move on.
It hurt my feelings, and I hated myself for letting his negligence get to me. I was supposed to have seen this coming from a mile away. Men like Artur Tarasov weren’t to be trusted with anything. Let alone something as fragile as the human heart.
He never cared for me. He only wanted to smash. All those small gestures were nothing but tactics to bait me. And as the stupid, naive girl that I was, I fell for it. Artur was very good at making the whole process seem random and unplanned.
Gosh, I was such an idiot!
Despite his current attitude, I couldn’t help reminiscing on that fateful night every now and then. He’d made a woman out of me and made me feel more alive than I had ever felt before. His touch had opened my eyes to things that I’d been missing out on.
Now, all my body craved was him.
I wanted to feel him inside me again, to taste his tongue in my mouth and his lips on mine. But I couldn’t let myself go down that rabbit hole because he’d proven to be a dick. A big, veiny one.
Because he’d decided to avoid me, I made up my mind to let him see how much his actions were affecting me. I figured the best way to get back at him was to act like I, too, didn’t care. Like I didn’t give an actual fuck.
I moved about the place more freely nowadays and even forced myself to smile more often. This was supposed to throw him off the edge and leave him baffled. And I was almost certain it would work because men like him always loved being in charge.
Once he realized that I wasn’t affected by his nonchalance, he’d have no choice but to end the stupid game.
Every day, I put my body under subjection, denying it the very thing it craves. It was always a battle whenever I felt the urge to play with myself. Refusing was never an easy task, but at the end of the day, I learned that I had more control over my desires than I gave myself credit for.
He’d had his way with me. So what?
What was the big deal?
He didn’t take me by force. It was mutual.
I’d willingly given him my innocence, and we both enjoyed ourselves. It was pointless to feel used and played because I knew exactly what I was getting into. Regret was a luxury I couldn't afford. The deed was done. I enjoyed it while it lasted. Now, it was time to move on.
If Artur expected me to wallow in self-pity, then he had something else coming.
My carefree attitude during this period was enough to make him question who had used whom. And that was the goal. He reveled in the feeling as much as I did. And so, I wasn’t going to let anyone gaslight me into believing they stole what I willingly gave.
No.
That morning, before dawn, I woke up feeling thirsty and decided to grab a bottle of water. I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes and got out of bed. The marble floor was cool beneath my feet as I stepped out of my room, heading toward the kitchen.
I strolled down the hall, yawning and stretching, my hair a tangled mess. As I passed by his master bedroom, I stopped in my tracks, brows knitting together.