Nobela ni Diavola

The morning passed slowly.Leo had disappeared into meetings — or whatever dangerous things men like him did before noon.Which gave me space.Time.A little too much of both.Marcello found me in the garden — or maybe I found him.He was checking something on his phone, seated near the shaded table with a glass of something dark and probably too strong for morning. He looked up and gave a short, lazy nod when I approached.“Didn’t expect you out here,” he said.“Didn’t expect you to be either.”He smirked slightly. “Touché.”I hesitated. Then sat across from him, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth.“I wanted to ask you something.”Marcello raised a brow. “Dangerous start.”I huffed a laugh, then sobered. “About Leo.”That got his attention.The smirk faded. He set the glass down carefully.“What about him?”I paused. “What kind of person is he… really?”He studied me. Too long. Too carefully.“Why are you asking me that?”“I just—” I looked down. “He’s hard to read. On

The clock on the wall blinked 3:04 a.m.I slipped out of the bed like a ghost — slow, careful, limbs aching in ways I couldn’t explain, even to myself. My skin still tingled with memory. His touch. His breath. The way he’d looked at me like I wasn’t just his captive, but his.I left the lights off as I knew my way around the room.The air was cold, or maybe I just told myself it was.I pulled on a long-sleeved top and leggings. Layered over it with a robe. The heat still lingered on my skin, but the comfort of fabric dulled something deeper.I didn’t dare look in the mirror.I didn’t want to see the scars that had somehow gone unnoticed last night.I didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be seen — really seen.Not yet.I climbed back into bed and lay on the far side, staring at the ceiling, feeling him next to me.Steady breath.Even rhythm.Was he asleep?I didn’t dare ask.Eventually, sleep dragged me under like a tide.7:34 a.m.I woke with a start, blinking against the sunl

The days blurred.I don’t know how many had passed since the night in the library — since I almost let him kiss me.Since I almost let myself want it.But I hadn’t stopped thinking about it.Not once.I watched him when I shouldn’t.At dinner, when his hands curled around his glass. When he stood with Marcello outside and the wind pulled at his sleeves. When he leaned against the edge of a table, unreadable and distant, eyes scanning a report like he didn’t know I was right there.But he always knew.He always knew.And yet, he hadn’t touched me since.Hadn’t even come close.And that, somehow, hurt more.I started pulling away more. Not physically…emotionally. Short replies. Avoiding eye contact. Ducking out of rooms early.I didn’t know what I was afraid of more — giving in, or never being wanted again.“Lena?” she says, snapping me back. I blink, the knife still in my hand, an apple half-peeled. “You’re miles away, honey. What’s got you so lost?”“Nothing,” I mumble, my cheeks heat

The only sound was the clink of silverware against porcelain and the occasional shift of a chair.I was halfway through a piece of toast I didn’t want when I felt his gaze again.Leo sat across the table, sipping his black coffee like it didn’t taste like burnt ash. His eyes were on the tablet in front of him, but I wasn’t fooled.He hadn’t said a word to me.That made two of us.“You’re quieter than usual,” he finally said.“I didn’t realize silence came in levels.”He looked up at that, sharply. “Yours does.”I took another bite, chewing slowly. “Maybe you just got used to the sound of me defending myself.”“I got used to the sound of you fighting.”My eyes flicked to his. “And now that I’m not?”“You’re retreating. There’s a difference.”I didn’t answer.Because he wasn’t wrong.I didn't even finish up my breakfast before leaving, going outside trying to breathe.What was he doing to me?I was lost in thoughts when I ran into David, he was trimming the roses. He was one of the youn

Days passed.I stopped keeping count.Nothing loud had happened since he took me to that house. No punishments. No arguments. No forced apologies.The moment came in the garden.I was curled on the cushioned bench under the willow tree, half-reading a book I didn’t care about, trying to ignore the way my skin still tingled when I thought about him too long.Then I heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel.I didn’t look up.“You’ve been acting usual.”Straight to the point. No softness. No patience.“Have I?” I flipped the page. “Didn’t notice.”His shadow blocked the light. “Don’t play games.”I sighed and closed the book. “I’m not.”He crouched in front of me — not sitting, not relaxing. Just there. In my space.Too close.My body tensed.“Look at me,” he said.I didn’t.His hand came to rest on the bench beside my thigh, palm heavy against the cushion. “Lena.”“What?” I whispered.“What happened to you after that visit?”I clenched my jaw. “Nothing.”“Liar.”I force myself to mee

I followed him back to the car, still brushing stray flour from my sleeves, my mind racing. Why had he brought me here? What deal had he just sealed? The questions burned, but his silence told me I wouldn’t get answers—not yet.I tried to speak. Then stopped.His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.After twenty minutes of silence, I finally said, “You didn’t bring me there just for a deal.”He said nothing.“Then why?”Still nothing.We drove longer than expected. Too long. Too far.Then I saw it.My heart dropped.“Leo…”He parked near the curb. My old street. My old house.My blood ran cold.I stared at the chipped paint, the rotting fence. I could already hear the yelling. Feel the belt.I couldn’t move.“Come,” Leo said, already opening his door.“Why are we here?”“Closure.”My stomach twisted.The door was unlocked. Inside, the air smelled like beer, mildew, and memories I didn’t want.Every room was messier than I remembered. Dirtier. Smaller.The smell. The stains on th