Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Arthur, don’t,” I begged, not wanting him to talk this way. It was too disturbing, too sad, too final.
He smiled at me, and it almost stopped my heart.
“My soul isn’t mine anymore,” he said, leaning down and kissing across my breasts. “It’s Satan’s. And, tomorrow, I will become the devil on earth.”
“Arthur—”
“You were the good thing, princess,” he said, cutting me off. “You were the one good thing I had been given.” But now that’s gone, I finished for him, knowing that was his meaning. I brought his mouth up to mine and kissed him. I kissed him softly and lovingly, exactly like I had wanted to for years. And if this was truly it, I had nothing to lose. Arthur kissed me back, and I replayed his words in my head—I will become the devil on earth.
I didn’t believe he could ever be the devil.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew he had a darkness in him that I had never reached, that, frankly, was terrifying. But up until now it had been a mere fragment of the boy I had been obsessed with since the age of thirteen. A part of him that I had been exempt from knowing, except in the bedroom. The way he fucked was depraved. The way he kissed me was savage and revealed that he was made of anything but good and light. But he was still mine. That was my Arthur, one I cherished and, over the years, never wanted to lose.
I didn’t know what Arthur Adley, boss of the Adley crime syndicate, looked like. I didn’t know him as that man in that role. And I knew by his tone that I would never find out.
So I kissed and kissed him until my lips were bruised and he fell asleep in my arms. I stared down at him and wondered what path lay ahead of him. As I stroked his hair, the four-carat engagement ring Hugo had given me less than forty-eight hours ago glared back at me. In that moment, that ring seemed more menacing than Arthur could ever be.
I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Hugo’s wife. But I didn’t know how to be anything other than Cheska Harlow-Wright, daughter of the Harlow dynasty, and soon to be spouse of Hugo and socialite of Chelsea.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think of my life’s bigger questions. I knew this time with Arthur was limited, and I strived to stay in the now. To hold on to this for as long as I could.
His body was warm on top of mine, his heavy weight keeping me calm. I still felt the echo of him inside me, of his tongue and his hands that had imprinted on my skin.
And I prayed the evidence would never fade.
A cool breeze slapped against my skin. I blinked, and the room slowly came into focus. My bedside lamp was on, and the events of the day slowly filtered into my brain.
Arthur … Arthur!
I scrambled to sit up and saw Arthur’s naked back. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, spine straight and shoulders tensed. I looked over to my clock; it read nine in the evening. We had fallen asleep and slept the day away.
Remembering how upset Arthur had been, I reached out and ran my fingers down his spine. He tensed, and I pulled my hand back. I felt more than the cold breeze wash over me. Arthur got to his feet and began to dress. I sat up, keeping my duvet wrapped around me.
“Arthur,” I whispered, my softly spoken words shattering the stillness.
Arthur wiped his glasses on his jumper, placed them back on his face, then slowly turned around. I immediately wished he hadn’t. Gone were the soft eyes that had fallen apart on me last night, trusted me with his need for comfort. In their place were chilling obsidian stones. Cold and darkness were the only things that lurked in their depths.
And, tomorrow, I will become the devil on earth. Those words ran on a loop inside my head. He was no longer drunk, and now he was sober, those words seemed to ring true. I knew every inch of this man’s face. I’d committed each mole and scar on his skin to memory. I knew his eyes—the looks, the pensive and the warm, the humorous and the hurt. This stare, this haunting and brutally aggressive stare, was nothing I’d ever witnessed before.
“Arthur,” I said, fighting the lump in my throat. “You’re upset. Please, I can help—”
“I’m not your problem anymore, princess.” He threw me a dark smirk. I lived for his smiles. But this smirk was one I wished I’d never been awarded. It was dismissive. It was patronising. And it made me feel cheap.
Arthur leaned down to the bed, and I wondered what he was going to do. He finally picked up my left hand and nudged his arrogant chin in the direction of the diamond. “I see it finally happened.” He tossed away my hand, and it fell to the mattress with a thud. He grabbed his wallet and phone and made his way to the door. Tears built in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall.