Deviant King (Royal Elite 1)

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You assumed it yourself.”

I crane my head to have a better look, but he grips me by the neck and keeps me facing ahead.

“Why were you a virgin?”

“Uh… what type of question is that?”

He carefully tucks the strands of hair on the side of my neck. His hands curl on my shoulders. “It’s simple enough. Why did you wait this long?”

For the right person.

But I don’t tell him that or he’d think he’s the right person.

I lift a shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”

“You know.” His tone is casual but the undertone isn’t. “There will be no trust between us if you continue lying to me.”

I crane my head back to glance at him. “Trust? You think I’d ever trust you?”

His lips tighten in a line, but he smiles. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, Aiden. Maybe it has to do with the fact that you targeted me the first time you saw me. Or that my life has been a living hell for two years because of you? Take your pick.”

One of his hands wraps around my nape. It’s firm as if to keep me in place. “Then why did you give me your virginity?”

“I’m attracted to you,” I whisper. “Even though I hate it, I just am, but that doesn’t erase what you did the last two years. You keep pushing me. It’s not like I have a choice in being attracted to you.”

“Is that what you want? A choice?”

“What does it matter? You always get what you want.” I huff. “Even when you give me a choice, it ends up playing in your favour.”

Aiden is thoughtful for a bit. The scary, silent type of thoughtful. “I see.”

He drops his hands.

A strange chill crawls up my spine despite the warm water.

Aiden’s poker face is the last thing I see before he walks out of the door.

Chapter Thirty-One

On Monday, Uncle, Aunt and I are having breakfast together when I say, “I want to see Dr Khan.”

Two pairs of eyes snap from their tasks. Uncle pauses drinking his morning coffee and reading from his tablet. Aunt stops packing my lunch, her hands shaking around the container.

“Are you having nightmares again? What did you see?” Her tone is almost hysterical.

“Stop it, Blair.” Uncle abandons his coffee and tablet on the table and rises to his feet. I face him as he clutches my shoulders and says in a cool voice, “Are you all right, pumpkin? Why didn’t you call us when you had the nightmares?”

I can’t help noticing the difference between Aunt and Uncle’s reactions. Her eyes are shifty and she keeps opening and closing the container as if she’s not aware of what she’s doing. Whenever the topic of my nightmares resurfaces, Aunt never asked me if I was okay. Her first question was always ‘what did you see?’

Uncle, on the other hand, always asked if I was fine.

It’s weird.

In everything else, Aunt cares about my wellbeing more than Uncle. She’s the one who acts like a Nazi to make sure I eat healthily.