Chapter 62 Questions in the Dark
Lara POV
From the day I moved into the penthouse, I refused to step foot out of the guest suite. Don’t ask me why — I just needed to be on my own for a while.
It was nothing short of a miracle that Emmanuel actually left me alone when I asked. He didn’t come in. He didn’t make me come out. Chef Srisuk delivered food to my suite, three times a day, and nagged in my ear if I didn’t eat enough of it.
I didn’t want to think about blood or death or carrying the Devil’s spawn. Nope, none of that. Instead, I kept myself entertained transforming the suite into somewhere I could feel comfortable for the next few months, and testing the boundaries of Emmanuel’s newfound patience and generosity.
Mr Ricci gave me a tablet which I could pick out designs on, and the orders were delivered to the suite within hours, like magic.
Chloe and I had talked a lot about what our dream home would look like when we grew up and became rich. We fantasized about it, lying in our narrow twin beds, inspiration that Chloe turned into her paintings.
I now turned it into my oasis, in this glittering tower where nothing belonged to me, not even myself.
An airy white canopy went up over the large bed, decorated with strings of fairy lights.
Soft rugs covered the hardwood floors.
A vase of sunflowers decorated the side table.
And a pergola swing was soon installed in the rooftop garden.
When I sat in the swing, idly swinging, with a mug of tea in my hand, looking up at the sky overhead—
I could almost convince myself that I was already living my dream life.
At least, I could when I didn’t catch sight of Emmanuel Sagres on the other side of the glass, moving about the penthouse.
My new ’flatmate’, haha.
Actually, flatmates — plural. Trying to ignore the one growing inside me.
Maybe I could not hide forever, but I thought, just another day. Just another night. I woke up from restless dreams at night, only remembering flashes of Emmanuel standing blood-soaked in a pile of bodies, laughing manically. But I didn’t dream of the assassin that I had pulled the trigger on again.
Stuff that I distracted myself from in the day came back to bother me in the darkness. Questions like:
What kind of man was Emmanuel Sagres, really?
What does this child mean to him?
What do I mean to him?
These sappy thoughts clashed with more practical ideas like:
His world is clearly too much of a mess for me to wade into. Better not to ask too many questions, stick to the transaction, and hope that I can actually leave unscathed at the end of it.
I could only calm myself and get back to sleep when I counted the twinkling fairy lights attached to the canopy.
Then, one night, I woke up from a bad dream, my heart thudding madly.
A brilliant flash lit up the garden with a rumble of thunder, a spray of rain pooling on the floor from the balcony door that I had forgotten to close before bed.
I jumped out of bed and padded barefoot to the balcony door, pulling it properly shut against the howling wind.
Another crack of thunder.
The fairy lights went out.
I pressed the light switch — all the light switches. Nothing.
The darkness made my heart thud even more wildly.
I felt my way to the bedroom door in the darkness and stumbled out, looking for a light. I felt my way along the hallway, trying to get to the elevator lobby. I had a vague idea of looking for Mr Ricci to tell him that the electricity had cut out.
The penthouse was quiet compared to the constant patter of rain on the roof and the rumbling of thunder outside.
Without warning, I knocked straight into something solid.
"Ah–!" My voice thinned into a squeal, jumping back.
Hey, I’m not a wuss! Don’t you know how creepy it is to run into something that shouldn’t be there when it’s pitch black in the night?
The next moment—
An arm shot out and snaked around my waist, pulling me into a familiar cedar and citrus scented chest.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
"Emmanuel?" I sighed. Of course it was him.
I tried to push him back. He didn’t budge. I mumbled, "It’s dark. The thunder woke me up. I came to look for a light."
A hand pressed against the side of my neck, feeling the racing pulse.
"You’re afraid of the dark?" A hint of amusement.
"There can be monsters in the dark," I said pointedly.
I felt a huff of air against my cheek that might have been a laugh.
"Yes. You should have stayed in bed. You would be the first to die in a horror movie."
I blinked.
"You watch horror movies?" I asked skeptically.
It was an even stranger idea than his apparent habit of reading philosophy in the bathtub.
"Mm. I find them rather funny," Emmanuel said idly.
He let go of my waist, and took my hand instead. "Come on then, little fox. I won’t let any other monsters get you."
Tugging me behind him, he stepped through the darkness into the living area with his usual long stride.
A soft yellow glow soon spread out from the coffee table as Emmanuel lit up a group of candles. It made the penthouse feel somehow gothic.
I sat down beside the coffee table, staying close to the dim glow of candlelight.
"The back up generator will come on within ten minutes," he said, glancing towards the window.
Sheets of rain blocked the usual city skyline view, the night shroud in darkness rather than glowing neon.
In the dim light, I noticed that Emmanuel was dressed not in his usual suit, but in navy blue pajamas in a silken texture.
So he did actually sleep, huh.
The second thing I noticed was the gun carried loosely in his left hand as he lit up the candles with the other.
"You–" My eyes widened, gaze flicking between the gun and his face.
"Don’t worry. Just a precaution. It is probable that the electricity outage is only caused by the storm," he said evenly. "But it increases the risk of a security breach."
"Oh." So he wasn’t completely joking about not letting other monsters get me.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, leaning back against the sofa.
Emmanuel sat at the other end of the sofa, gun in hand, the candlelight glow flickering in his eyes.
The rain poured down. The silence stretched.
It created a strangely introspective atmosphere that tugged loose the questions I had under my tongue.
"Don’t you ever get tired of living like this?" I asked.
"Like what?"
I shrugged. "Danger. Violence. Death."