Heartless (Merciless 2)

Everything else, from the plush white rug in the center of the room to the sheer curtains, is white. A glass table and mirrored nightstands allow the light to shine through with no obstructions.

It didn’t take long for the company to put it together. Her room is at the other end of my wing, farthest away from my bedroom. It was Jase’s suggestion and the only reason I agreed was due to my impatience. I needed it done quickly considering we’re only days away from all-out war.

“What do you want in return?” Aria asks me hesitantly.

My expression turns hard for a moment while I consider her. “This isn’t a negotiation or a game, Aria. It’s a gift.” Her beautiful hazel eyes widen slightly and her lips part to apologize, but I interrupt her to ask, “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she says reverently as she admires the details of each of the pieces, only taking small glances at me to keep track of how I’m assessing her as she reacts to the room.

“There’s no bed?” she asks quietly with a touch of confusion as she stares toward the wall where one should obviously sit.

“You can sleep in my room…” I almost add, “or the cell,” but I choose not to. She seems to hear the words regardless, her eyes drifting to the floor as she swallows thickly.

“This isn’t a room I’d like you to consider your bedroom.” My words bring her gaze back to me. Choosing my words carefully, I tell her, “You belong with me, but this is a place for you to go if you need… space.”

She only nods, and I think that’s all the reaction I’ll get until she peeks up at me, her fingers trailing along the patterned wallpaper, and says softly, “Thank you.” The gratitude melts the tension between us, and it soothes a deep need inside of me for her to want what I can give her.

I watch Aria walk hesitantly to the vanity, intricately carved and an antique, but stunning. She barely touches the cut glass knobs before pulling out the drawers and finding her things there.

Not the ones she had at her home, but new ones to replace each item she had.

Her hand hovers above them for a moment, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll be bitten by something inside if she moves too quickly.

Her pace is quicker as she moves to the closet, filled with all kinds of clothing. From expensive dresses and lingerie to nightshirts I was told she prefers.

“I enjoy picking out what you wear,” I tell her and catch her attention as she turns to look at me, although her hand is still caressing the silk of a deep red blouse.

“And you choose red,” she says beneath her breath before turning back to the closet. “There’s certainly a theme.”

“Red complements you well,” I answer her although she doesn’t respond. I take a single step toward her, but she continues to examine the room, taking in each bit with care.

“If you’d like something changed,” I tell her as she opens a nightstand drawer, “it can be arranged.”

She stares at me as she shuts the drawer. There’s an edge to her movements.

“How did you know?” she asks, and her question is laced with tension.

“Know what, exactly?” I ask her, my muscles coiling from the tone of her voice.

Her gaze shifts to the open door before her eyes land on me. Her fingers play with the edge of her blouse in a nervous fidget.

“You have a lot of things here.” She licks her lip and debates on continuing, but she doesn’t need to.

“I asked for a list,” I answer her before she can ask how I knew what she’d want.

“There’s a rat,” she whispers, and her posture turns stiff.

“How did you think Romano knew when and where to acquire you?”

“Acquire… is that what you call it?” Her voice rises as she stalks toward me. Slow, deliberate steps and I can feel the tension rolling off of her shoulders. “The rat told you where to acquire your whore and what to fill her room with?” she asks me with shaky breaths and tears in her eyes.

“I wanted this to be nice for you.” The hard words linger between us as my throat tightens. Anger is written on my face; I can feel it like stone, but I can’t change my expression.

Of every smart comment and tiny bit of anger she’s shown me, this is the worst.

Distrust is clearly evident. I didn’t earn her distrust. I’m not the fucking rat.

“How did you expect me to react to being told someone was spying on me?” she asks with genuine distress as her lower lip wobbles and she catches it between her teeth before turning her back to me. I thought she already knew. She’s a smart woman, but I forget how trusting she is. How loyal.