Perfect Villain (Dark Lies Duet 1)

I hate cats.

They’re sneaky and smell worse than ass. Closing the door behind me, I use my phone for lighting. Unlike out back, the kitchen is clean—with everything in its place. As I make my way through the house, I take in my surroundings. The dining room is decked out with a table for four and peel and stick quotes on the wall. That is Kyla’s doing, I’m sure.

In all the years I’ve known Siân, this isn’t like her. Five years ago, when I watched her, she was a mess. Outwardly and in public, she appeared perfect—gorgeous in every way. But where she laid her head was just as unkempt as the backyard.

I saunter past the angry cat, ignoring the swat it makes at my boots. The girls are still out for the night, enjoying themselves at the club. I had to get out of there. Had I stayed and watched that Taj asshole fawn all over my woman, I would have done something I couldn’t take back right in the middle of the dance floor. Not that I care, violence is my love language. But with Siân standing there, I had to walk away. And now I’m here, in the home she shares with her so-called friend.

Something about Kyla rubs me the wrong way. Her personality is that of a girl who has things to hide. The way she puts herself out there tells me she’s compensating for something. What that is, I’m not sure yet, but I plan to figure it out. If she’s going to be around Siân, then I need to know everything there is to know about her.

I step into the long hall that leads toward the front door. In the center of it is a table that houses several picture frames. Stopping for a moment, I observe them, my attention narrowing in on one of the girls. They appear younger and happy, and in the image, they’re both holding boxes—move-in day, perhaps? Next to it is a picture of Siân and Taj. His arms are wrapped around her, but much like her everyday appearances, she’s not happy.

I smile at the notion of that, knowing that she’s not satisfied with him settles me, in a way. It makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Jealousy because he touches her, pride for obvious reasons, and maybe even gratification. It proves that we’re more alike than I thought. When the world smiles, we frown. Life is tragic, and the cards dealt to us solidify that logic.

I place the picture of her and Taj face down and make my way to the stairs. They are on the opposite side of the living room and creak as I climb them. At the top of the landing, I drag my gaze down both ends of the hall. Much like the rest of the house, it’s pitch black except for the few rays that shine through the window from the lamppost outside.

On the left is a single room, and based on the position I normally take from across the street, Siân’s room is at the other end of the hall. Curiosity takes hold, and I head to the left, staring out the window before pushing the door open. On the other side of the wooden frame, everything is in order. The bed is made, not a single litter of trash in sight.

The musky scent of cheap cologne hits me. It’s familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on where I know it from. On the wall above the mattress is a framed image of Kyla. Just as I expected, she’s self-centered. Staring back at me are brown eyes attached to the exposed body of Siân’s friend. I crane my neck to further inspect the picture and shrug it off. The only naked woman I care about is Siân. Just the thought alone makes my cock twitch.

When I turn to exit the room, something shining next to the bed catches my eye. I pick it up and turn it around to inspect it. It’s a gold cuff link and expensively made. At least whoever she’s been fucking doesn’t only own shitty cologne. With one final look around, I make a fist around the cuff link and step back into the hall while closing the door behind me.

Light flashes through the hall from a passing car, but I ignore it on my way to the other end of the hall. I pass the bathroom on my right and then a linen closet on my left before finally stopping at the end. With a deep breath, I push the door open, the hinges screaming loud as I do. In my mind, I’m drawing a map of their place, pinpointing every turn and creak in the floorboards.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room is a mess, and I know this is where Siân lives. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and her perfume permeates the air. Her dresser is cluttered, and there aren’t any pictures on the wall. In one corner are totes, and aside from the bed in the center of the room, it looks like someone who never settled in stays here.