Taste of the ashes

Chapter 2: The Taste of Ashes

I had always feared my stepbrother. Everyone did, and over the years, even Father grew to fear the beast he had tried to break.

Christian exuded the deadliest aura.

Each night I sat at the dining table, pretending to read while waiting for him to return from the bloody ‘business errands’ father had sent him on. He would stride in with a fierce, dark look in his eyes, blood dripping down his neck or arms, never sparing me a single glance. Yet, as much as I feared him, the danger around him only made my forbidden obsession grow.

But standing in front of him tonight, I knew that I wasn't just risking my life by being in this danger. I was embracing it. Choosing it.

"You think you're not him?" Christian’s voice was dangerously low as he slowly stood up from the leather chair. He loomed over me, a towering figure of raw muscle, dark ink, and cold malice.

I twisted the silky straps of my robe, my legs shaking uncontrollably under his intense gaze.

"You breathe his air, Scarlett," he sneered, taking a slow step forward until his presence completely overwhelmed my senses. "You spend his money. You sleep safely under his roof while I burn."

His venomous words pierced straight through me, and hot tears instantly filled my eyes. After so many years of absolute silence, he had finally said it. He hated me. Christian was the son of my father's first wife, the woman who had dared to cheat on a high-ranking mafia underboss before running for her life, leaving her son behind to pay the price. And now he blamed me for the luxury I enjoyed while he bled.

"Christian, please..." I choked out, my voice breaking.

But his eyes held no mercy. He looked straight through me with a freezing indifference that shattered my heart into pieces.

My father was a monster to the underworld, a ruthless Underboss who ordered executions like a casual afterthought. But to me? I was his perfect princess. His favorite possession. And that was the cruelest joke of all. I am not my father, I thought desperately as I stood before Christian.

I wouldn't let him leave believing I was the enemy.

"I don't care about his money!" I confessed, my voice trembling. "I care about you. I’ve always only cared about you!"

And that was the perfect time to excute my plan.

With shaking fingers, I pulled the silk tie of my red robe and the fabric parted. I tugged it at my shoulders and let it pool at my elbows, before sliding down my arms to the floor. I stood before him completely exposed, shivering from the coldness of his room. I was offering him the only thing I truly owned. Myself.

I closed my eyes, waiting for his hands, waiting for the heat I had fantasized about for years.

But nothing happened.

When I opened my eyes, Christian hadn't moved an inch. His expression wasn't full of the hunger or desire I had always imagined. It was blank even as he assessed me from head to toe, his gaze lingering most on my chest and further down.

Then his eyes darkened and he smirked.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his tone dripping with boredom. "A performance?"

"Christian..." A tear slipped down my cheek. How could he be so unaffected by me?

"Put your clothes on, Scarlett," he said, turning his back to me as he looked out the window. He didn't even sound angry; he sounded exhausted. "Stay away from me and forget my name. You don't know what you're asking for."

His words cut deep. I would never recover from his rejection

Humiliated, broken, and unable to bear his hatred for another second, I pulled the lapels of my red silk robe tightly around myself. I turned on my heel and fled his bedroom. I ran blindly back down the dark hallway, bursting into my own room and throwing myself onto the bed. I sobbed heavily into my pillows until my chest throbbed with a hollow ache. He would be gone by morning, and I had failed.

When the first light of dawn broke through the curtains, the house was dead silent. I leaped out of bed, my mind trapped in a chaotic fog, and walked into the adjoining bathroom.

He would have left the house already. The realization crushed me. I didn't get the chance to have even one good moment with him before he disappeared forever. My eyes stung with the fresh tears I refused to shed. I was done. What was I hoping for anyway? He was a monster forged in blood, and I was a fool.

I stepped into the glass shower enclosure, turning the knob until the water ran steaming hot. I closed my eyes under the heavy stream, letting the water hit my face, trying to find some semblance of peace. Maybe I would finally learn to move on. Maybe I would accept the alliance my father was planning with Damian Russo. I let out a shaky breath, letting the heat wash over my shivering skin.

But as the thick steam filled the glass enclosure, a dark silhouette suddenly materialized on the other side of the glass.

The bathroom door hadn't clicked. I hadn't heard a single footstep. Before a scream could even leave my throat, the glass door slid open with a click.

I wiped a small patch of the condensation away with a trembling hand. Standing there, leaning against the door, was Christian. He hadn't left. He was staring toward the shower, his expression unreadable.

I gasped, and I pulled the towel tightly against my chest as I stepped out of the enclosure.

What was he doing here?

"Christian? You’re still here?"

My chest hurt with panic and yet that need that had always filled me when I looked at him was there. He didn't have the look of indifference from last night anymore. Instead he looked like he was battling with internal conflict.

He walked toward me slowly, stopping just a few feet away. He towered over me, his eyes raking through my body.

"I couldn't leave," he rasped, his voice lower than it had been last night, gruff with desire. "Not like that.”