Taste of the ashes

Chapter 2: The Taste of Ashes

Scarlett 's POV

I had always feared my step-brother. Everyone did and over the years, even father. And how could we not?

Christian exuded the deadliest aura. Each night I sat at the dinning table, pretending to read while waiting for him to return from the ‘business errands’, father had sent him on. He strode 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 being in this danger but I was embracing it, choosing it.

"You think you're not him?" Christian’s voice was low, as he slowly stood up. He loomed over me. He was all muscle, ink, and raw malice. I twisted the straps of my robe, my legs shaking. "You breathe his air, Scarlett. You spend his money. You sleep safely under his roof while I burn."

His words pierced me and tears filled my eyes. After so many years, he finally said it. He hated me.

Christian was the son of my father's first wife, Gaia, the woman who had dared to cheat on a high-ranking mafia underboss, before running for her life, leaving her boy behind to pay for her sins. My father had looked at Christian's face every day and seen treason.Then came my mother, his second wife. Gentle, fragile with enough love to spare. I still remembered her pale hands clutching mine before she closed her eyes forever, leaving me alone in a mansion built with blood money. Now, my father had a third wife—a teenage bride pregnant with a new heir.

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.

I didn't say another word. I pulled my robe back over my freezing skin and fled the room. I stayed awake until the early hours of the morning, sobbing pitifully. I couldn't even call or text Chloe about my failed mission.

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The morning sun offered no warmth. It was 8:00 AM and the house was silent. I leaped out of my bed and walked into the shower like it was just another day. Then his words came crashing down on me. I paused in my steps and turned to the robe from last night that I had discarded on the floor. He would have left the house already and I didn't get the chance to have one good moment with him. My eyes stung with the tears I wouldn't shed. I had spent too many fluids on this man. I was done. What was I hoping for anyway? He was my stepbrother, ten years older than me and a monster.

I stepped into the glass shower enclosure, turning the knob until the water was hot. The steam filled the room, almost like the thick fog in my mind. I closed my eyes under the stream, letting the water hit my face, trying to find some peace, some relief. Maybe I would finally learn to move on and find a good man for myself. My father had already started making plans for an alliance with the underboss of Chicago, Damian. So it would do me good to get rid of thoughts of him.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, wishing it could reset the events of last night.

When I finally turned to reach for my towel, my heart skipped a beat.

Through the blurred, steamed-up glass of the shower door, a silhouette was standing in the middle of my bathroom. My heart thudded in my chest. Christian was gone and he had never come into my room, much less my bathroom. Father would never either. No one would.

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."