Housewife
: Chapter 16

The water envelops me like a tender lover, its warmth and embraces soothing the knots in my muscles while the steam dances around me. Beads of sweat delicately trickle down my forehead, my wild curls clinging to my skin as I let out gentle tears. The air is infused with the sweet scent of vanil a and honey, a balm for the emotional turmoil churning within me.

For what seems like hours, I have sat in this bath, drowning in my thoughts. Disoriented, determined, and inextricably entwined with Saint.

I allowed myself to peel back the layers and expose the darkness within, sharing secrets that I had vowed to keep until the end of my days. Little did I know that one day, an intimidating figure would emerge who could somehow and in some way empathize with my struggles. What unsettled me was how, with just one glance, he read me like his most beloved novel, recounting in vivid detail all the trials I had faced and the truths I had kept concealed from the world.

Mixed emotions swirled within me – a sense of happiness and relief that I was finally being heard, although not in the way I had expected. For the first time ever, someone truly believed and understood the pain that tormented me, leaving me completely stunned.

Or…

My body quivers with fear at the mere thought of him. His piercing gaze can extract my innermost secrets, which he would use as leverage to acquire whatever his heart desires. The pressure is suffocating, like a loaded gun pressed against my temple, while the ticking of the clock counts down the moments until my demise. I cannot bear this agony any longer.

However, I can’t help but contemplate why Saint would bother listening to my account of Viktor’s demise, especially when he already knew the truth and had solid evidence against me. Surely, there must be a valid reason for his actions. Although his forceful tactics were abhorrent, there was a peculiar sense of comfort in being compelled to confess…

As much as I hate to admit it, I feel a rush of thrill course through me, knowing that I am finally receiving the attention of the devil himself. But, I quickly shake off these disturbing thoughts and let out a frustrated groan. I sink deep into the tub, letting the water envelope me, and take a deep breath to calm my scattered mind.

My eyelids closed, slow, like the descent of a feather. My heartbeats echoed in my ears, each pulse quiet as a whisper. My lungs filled with the last gasp of air, each second stretching out. As I sank down towards the water’s embrace, I wondered.

Is drowning painful?

Is it violent, a twisting pain in the gut that makes you scream and plead for mercy? Or is it a gentle peace?

A silent world, where the only sound you hear is your own heartbeat, the only feeling, the slow crush of your lungs begging for air?

My thoughts whispered secrets to me – secrets of pain and fear, of the darkness that seeps into your soul and turns it empty. I’ve been drowning for a long time now, swallowed whole by the tide of my own tears. No matter how much I try to claw my way to the surface, the pain always drags me back.

The darkness swallows me, over and over, until there is nothing left.

As my eyes flutter open, my heart races at the sight of a looming silhouette hovering above the water. With a jolt, I pull myself up and frantically scan the bathroom, only to realize that the shadow belongs to no one but myself.

I release a shaky breath, pushing back my dripping hair and wiping the moisture from my face.

‘It’s okay,’ I whisper to myself, ‘It’s all in your head.’

But the unease persists, refusing to subside despite my best efforts to soothe it. I close my eyes and count to ten, hoping to replace solace in the rhythmic cadence of my breathing. And finally, as my shoulders slump in relief, I am able to calm the chaos within me.

Still, I carry the weight of my demons with me, knowing that no matter how fast I run or how fiercely I fight, they will always be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to consume me.

As I fling the bedroom door ajar and venture into the room beyond, my breath is snatched away by the sight of Saint – shirtless.

His hair, wild and fluffy, threatens to fall into his striking eyes, which fix upon me with intensity. The loose joggers he sports cling tantalizingly to his hips, teasing off faint hints of the taut stomach beneath. His chest, riddled with scars – deep, jagged cuts crisscrossing his torso – calls out to me, beckoning my fingers to trace the wounds. Yet, fearful of breaking the spell cast by this enigmatic figure, I reluctantly hold back, transfixed by his presence.

The darkness of night had shrouded the world outside, leaving only the ethereal glow of the moon to peek through the windows. I had no idea how long I had been locked inside my room. All I knew was that every light in the house had been extinguished, save for that celestial luminescence.

Suddenly, Saint appeared, his gaze sweeping over my figure before settling on my eyes. My heart thumped violently within my chest as if begging to escape.

He smelled of cedar and fresh soap, a far cry from the putrid stench of death that clung to him before. His deep voice rumbled with intensity, sending shivers down my spine even as I tried to resist its hold.

‘You’ve been in there for a long time,’ he said, his husky voice stirring something within me that I couldn’t quite name.

“I was taking a relaxing bath,” I answer, not daring to look away. “Are you relaxed now?” He questions.

I purse my lips together and give a slow, deliberate nod, sweeping a cascade of curls behind my ear. ‘Well,’ I remark. ‘Looks like someone finally took a shower and washed off the stench of blood.’ Saint’s gaze fixed on mine, and I detected a faint twitch dancing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he replies.

Without warning, Saint strides forward, getting perilously close. I recoil slightly, but his body heat washes over me like a hot wave. I try to look away, but I can’t, and I feel his unsettling presence prickling the fine hairs on my neck.

‘And just what do you think you’re doing here, Saint?’ I snarl. ‘You should really watch your tongue when you speak to me. You wouldn’t want to know what I-.’ Saint’s eyes flash with anger. ‘Kill me,’ I mutter, trailing off.

He draws in closer until we’re mere inches apart. ‘Why do you always assume I might kill you?’ he asks.

I meet his gaze without flinching. ‘Because you’re a monster,’ I reply. ‘A beast that delights in others’ agony.’

His lips curl into a sly grin. ‘And you’d like nothing more than to plunge a dagger into my chest, wouldn’t you?’

I don’t hesitate. ‘You damn right I would,’ I snapped.

‘Interesting.’ He studies me with a cool detachment. ‘But just because you have bloodlust on the brain doesn’t mean I do too. Maybe I’m capable of a little more self-control than you give me credit for.’

I glare back at him, daring him to prove me wrong. ‘So what’s the truth, Saint? Are you planning to off me as soon as I turn my back?’

He shrugs with maddening nonchalance. ‘Maybe. Or maybe not. You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?’

“Maybe it is not an answer Saint.” I declare. He tilts his head to the side,

“No?”

“Then what do you want me to say?” he counters. This time it’s my turn to shrug. ‘An unambiguous answer,’ I reply earnestly.

“You wouldn’t want that Doe.” he clarifies and I shake my head. “Yes, I would. If you say that you don’t contemplate killing me when you see me, then what are your actual thoughts?’

A wicked grin spreads across his ghostly face as he takes another step forward, drawing me in with the heat of his body. His scent envelops me, stoking a hunger that burns deep within my core.

‘I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you at my mercy,’ he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to my ear. ‘To trace every inch of your body with my hands, hear your sweet cries of pleasure, and make you forget everything but me.’

The intensity of his words makes my heart pound as I look up at him, lost in the depths of his dark gaze. My body hums with desire, begging for his touch as he leans in even closer.

‘I want to kiss away all your scars,’ he whispers, ‘and replace them with my own marks of possession.’

My throat tightens as I struggle to catch my breath, overwhelmed by the raw passion blazing between us. I can’t resist the pull of his charm, even as my mind warns me of the danger ahead.

With a shaky breath, I contain myself.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words are held captive in the pit of my stomach, tangled in a web of nerves and uncertainty. He surveys me with a hint of mischief in his eyes, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. ‘What if I told you that I desire none of those things you mentioned?’ I banter, my voice steady despite the tremble in my bones. He emits a low chuckle, the sound barely perceptible to my ears.

‘You can try to hide it, Irena, but your body betrays you. You ache for the things you say you don’t want. With every rapid rise and fall of your chest, with your parted lips and widened eyes, you make it clear what you really crave. Your fingers fidget, tempted to do something you might regret later. Your voice is quiet and breathless, your cheeks flushed with heat. Just a single glance at you, and my own heart races with fervour.’ His words hang heavily in the air, electrifying my senses and setting my skin ablaze.

“You want me to fuck you. You just don’t know it yet. You’re in denial.” he proclaims.

Turning away from Saint, I fold my arms in a show of defiance.

‘Goodnight, Saint,’ I say, my words dripping with pent-up frustration and anger. His response is his eyes sweeping over my body and a playful sweep of his fingers through his hair as he makes his exit, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

I’m left standing alone in my room, the air thick with tension, my body hot and my pulse pounding like a stormy sea.

My gaze is fixed on the vivid wolfsbane in front of me. Its blooms sway in the gentle breeze as my thoughts turn to the idea of poisoning Saint. Yet, a small voice within me urges restraint, warning me not to take his life.

Surprisingly, my hatred towards him is undergoing a transformation.

Though still present, it’s not as fiery as before, its intensity waning. The reason behind this change eludes me.

Perhaps it’s due to what transpired last night, or maybe it’s my refusal to surrender and accept his viewpoint. Whatever the cause, the only viable solution seems to be self-annihilation.

I pluck the plant and blend it into a sauce to use as dressing on Saint’s plate.

It’s midday, but I’ve already prepared his dinner, setting the table with utmost care. When finished, I remove my apron and lay it in its place, neatly, in the kitchen.

As I enter the dining room, Saint is already lounging in his silk night robe, his toned abs on full display. Grey sweats cling to his waist, tempting me to run my tongue along the creamy skin below. But as I take my seat, I force the sinful thoughts aside, not wanting to give in to the electric tension between us.

Pouring myself a drink, I catch Saint’s watchful gaze as it lingers on me for a moment before darting back to his plate. The air crackles with anticipation, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Suddenly, Saint picks up his fork and knife, inspecting his food with a careful eye. I take a sip of wine, watching him study each bite with a focused intensity.

Our eyes lock in an unspoken conversation, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between us. His gaze lifts to meet mine, his eyes alight with mischief as he tilts his head. A sly smile curves his lips, a wicked dimple popping out to play.

I take a bite of my vegetables, my focus still fixed on him. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, puzzled by his sudden hesitation to eat.

‘Irena?’ His voice is soft, a question in his tone. My brow arches in response, curious as to what he could want.

‘Did you happen to do something to my food?’ He asks, his tone laced with suspicion. I shrug, teasing him with a knowing smile. ‘What makes you think that?’

Saint stares at the food and back at me.

He rises from his seat, takes his plate, and approaches me. Cutting into the steak he brings the piece of meat to my mouth.

“Eat,” he demands and I look up at him, through hooded eyes. “The only way I will eat is if you take a bite,” he explains and my heart quickens in my chest.

“I have my own dish,” I say. He shakes his head in disapproval.

‘Do me a favor and take a bite. Unless, of course, you did something to my food,’ he demands, his voice dragging out each syllable.

Our eyes remain locked in a showdown of wills, the tension heavy enough to cut with a knife. I stand tall, refusing to back down from his challenge.

‘No,’ I reply with a firm tone.

‘I went to the trouble of cooking for you, so you should at least have a taste.

And if you think I poisoned it, well, I guess you’ll have to take the risk to replace out,’ I retorted, adamant that my cooking skills deserve more respect.

Even though I did poison his food.

He stares at me, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness, but I hold his gaze without flinching.

‘Remove the fork from my face. I’m trying to eat,’ I declared with fierce determination, despite feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Though timid on the inside, I refused to back down.

Saint arched an eyebrow, taken aback by my sudden confidence, and backed away as he delicately removed the instrument from my face.

With a satisfied grin, I nimbly sliced into my succulent steak and relished the burst of flavours that tantalized my taste buds. Meanwhile, Saint begrudgingly stormed out, leaving me to savour my hard-won victory.

Whether he eats my food, chooses to go hungry, or opts to dine out, the responsibility for his decision rests solely on him if he doesn’t have faith in my cooking. Regardless of his choice, it ultimately works in my favour.