Kiss

Chapter Eight

Mirabelle’s POV

Silence. A heavy silence.

The words I had just spoken still lingered in the air, and my chest tightened as I waited for his reaction.

What was my fate going to be after daring to ask that question?

"He's my brother," Luca finally said, his tone calm, too calm. "He came to claim you back, like you heard. He already paid money to your aunt so he could have you." His lips curved, almost mocking. He reached lazily for the table, picked up a chip, and chewed as though we weren’t discussing my entire existence.

I stared at him, my stomach twisting. "I’m a human. You don’t just buy people like that because you want to. Do you even realize how heartless that is?"

His eyes glinted. "Oh, don’t get too sentimental here, darling. Everyone has their way of getting what they want. I told the auction team to contact your aunts, offered them money, and they put you on the stage. Simple." He shrugged, like it was nothing.

Simple? Humiliating me, breaking me down in front of strangers, treating me like I was nothing—simple?

"You could have just offered them money like your brother did! Why did you have to put me through that? Why humiliate me all over again?" My voice cracked, anger bleeding into desperation.

"I went that route because I thought it would be more fun." His smirk widened. "And besides, that way my brother couldn’t take you away from me. I never planned on keeping you before though. I just wanted to show him that I could have you if I wanted to."

Fun. My humiliation. My pain. My worth turned into entertainment for the both of them 

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. He was a monster.

"My brother also seems to know a lot about your parents." His words cut through my storm.

My heart skipped. "My parents? What does he know about them?"

"I don’t know," Luca said easily, leaning back, like the subject didn’t interest him. "Ask him yourself when you see him. I don’t care about your parent for now. All I want is you." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But don’t you think you’re asking too many questions? You promised me one. That’s the only reason I let you speak so freely."

I wanted to smash my plate into his face. His smile, his calmness, his arrogance—it made my skin crawl.

I pushed food around with my fork. Appetite gone. My chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

"And yes," his voice suddenly sharpened, "I’m still furious with you for trying to escape. What the hell were you thinking, throwing yourself into the middle of us like that?"

I stayed quiet. Every word could be used against me. But inside, my fists clenched, my rage screamed.

He leaned forward, his gaze pinning me. "Speaking of Rafelo… if you had to choose between us, who would you pick?"

My stomach knotted. That question was poison.

Both brothers were dangerous in different ways. Rafelo was leaner, his touch colder, but there had been a strange safety in his arms. Luca was the opposite—bigger, hotter, magnetic in a terrifying way. He was exactly the kind of man my body wanted but my soul hated.

And I hated myself for even thinking of him like that.

"What’s wrong? Taking too long?" Luca’s voice was sharp, amused.

I swallowed, smirk tugging at my lips despite the fear clawing at my chest. "I’d go with Rafelo. His arms felt safe when he held me. The way he pressed the knife on me, even then I knew he didn’t want to kill me. The way he shot at you. The way he fought against me when I had the knife. He’s way more—"

The slam of his fist on the table made me jump. His eyes burned like fire.

"You felt safe in his arms? His lean arms?" His voice cracked like a whip.

"You asked me, didn’t you? Why get angry at the truth?" My laugh was bitter, sharp. "What, you thought I’d pick you? You thought I’d ever want you?"

For a second, his expression shifted. A flash of something—hurt, maybe? No, pride wounded. He hated not being chosen.

"I’m done eating." I stood abruptly, grabbing my plate. My legs shook, but I held my head high. "If this is what every meal with you feels like, I’d rather starve to death."

I turned, but his hand was already on my wrist, hot, unyielding. His grip burned into my skin.

"So this is your true color," he murmured, voice lower now, almost darkly satisfied. "I like it. I love when you provoke me."

Before I could resist, he yanked me into his lap. My breath hitched as my body landed against his chest, his arm snaking around my waist, trapping me.

"You weren’t supposed to stay long, you know." His words brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "At first, you were just something to break. Something temporary. Something to destroy before passing you on. But now…" His fingers dug into my side. "Now I’m not so sure I can let go."

My blood ran cold. My heart hammered.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to keep me."

He tilted his head, smirk playing on his lips. "Watch me."

Then his lips crashed into mine.

I froze, panic surging through me. My fists pushed against his chest, my nails clawed at him, but his grip didn’t loosen. His mouth was fire against mine, demanding, punishing.

I hated it. Hated him. Hated the way my own body betrayed me, trembling under his touch.

"No," I screamed inside, but my lips parted, breath breaking, and his tongue forced its way in, dominating, bruising, tasting.

I hated the way his heat seeped into me. I hated the moan that slipped out, humiliating me. His cock pressed hard against me, thick and ready, and the shame of it burned in my veins.

Tears stung my eyes. I wanted to bite him, to make him bleed, but part of me melted against his strength. That part disgusted me most.

He pulled me tighter, one hand gripping the back of my head, the other anchoring me to his lap. His hunger swallowed me whole, and my hatred screamed louder with every second.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red, my mouth swollen, my taste mixed with blood and him.

"I love it when you moan," he said, voice rough, satisfied.

I shook my head, trembling, tears falling now. "I hate you, Luca."

I ripped myself from his lap and ran. My feet stumbled but I didn’t stop until I slammed my bedroom door shut and locked it.

I pressed my back against the wood, chest heaving, lips still burning.

What the hell just happened?

Why couldn’t I fight him off? Why was my body betraying me, w

hen every part of my heart screamed that I despised him?

I hated him.

And I hated myself even more.