Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Clarice had always looked at me with want, much in the same way Selena just had, even when Melanie was still alive. The subtle glances, the way her lips curved into a smile whenever I was near—there had been no mistaking her desire. And Melanie. Melanie was my first wife, the one who believed in loyalty and devotion to the Impío faith without question.
Even she hadn’t been enough.
I stared at the picture for a long moment, the memories rising to the surface. Melanie had been soft, too soft for this world, for me. Her submission had never felt complete and never met the expectations I had of her. When I carved her open I did so with the genuine belief whatever was missing from her would slide into place.
Clarice, on the other hand, was different. She was sharp, knowing, and ambitious. She had wanted to be my wife even when her friend held that title. She thought she could use her charm, her beauty, to manipulate me around her finger.
She thought wrong.
“They were a pair,” Ambrose commented quietly, his eyes flicking toward the photograph.
“Indeed,” I replied “She can keep it. I’ll make sure Lolita knows who they were, and what place Clarice still holds.”
Ambrose nodded.
He knew well enough not to ask questions, but I wouldn’t have cared if he did. Ambrose was more than just a servant; he was a fixture in the family’s history. A man with wisdom beyond most, his understanding of the Impío faith ran deeper than even some of the higher-ranking members of the Isle.
He and Isaac had both watched over me from an early age, guiding me through the complexities of the estate and traditions along with my father. I trusted him implicitly.
"How is dinner coming along?"
"Chef Benedicte is finishing up now," Ambrose replied smoothly, his voice steady as always.
I nodded, checking the time. "Tell Lolita to head down to the dining room in—," I paused, tapping my fingers against the desk. "Ten minutes."
He gave a polite bow of his head. “As you wish.”
He lingered for a moment, and I leaned back, half-focused on the movement around the estate. “Anything else to report?”
“Only that preparations for tomorrow’s meeting are on schedule. I’ve spoken with your brother. He’ll ensure that all the necessary arrangements are made.”
I gave a short nod. “Good. Everything needs to go perfectly.”
“It always does,” Ambrose replied, his tone respectful yet confident. He had been with my family long enough to know the unspoken demand for precision.
Once he left the room, my thoughts settled on a past I seldom reminisced about. Clarice and Melanie. It seemed an age ago now. Time had dulled the memories, but not the lessons they had taught me about myself. There were no lingering attachments or sentimental values associated with them. Had I known of Lolita’s existence back then, they never would have been anything other than fleeting amusements.
Lolita was always meant to be mine.
The one and only.
I recalled the moment I learned of her—when my aunt Beatrice, a prominent figure on the Isle with an unparalleled intelligence network, informed me of the girl.
She’d been searching for her for years, ensuring that when the time came, I would know exactly where to find her. That I would act‑‑and I had. Without hesitation, I made immediate plans, and now she was here where she belonged. Everything was falling into place as it was always meant to.
I finished my work, scanning through the last of the documents. Once everything was in order, I shut down the computer, locking it away in the drawer. The anticipation of seeing her again pushed me to move swiftly, my steps echoing down the hallway as I made my way toward the dining room. When I entered, Lolita was already seated. She was dressed in a simple pair of soft pajamas—nothing extravagant, just something comfortable. I couldn't help but smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction She was beginning to settle in, to feel at home.
That was exactly what I wanted for her, to be at complete ease within my presence and wherever she went on the Isle.
I approached the table, taking my seat across from her. "Feeling better?" I asked, my eyes catching the slight flush in her cheeks. She smiled, a little embarrassed, her dimples making an appearance, which delighted me even more.
"Yes," she replied, her voice soft but genuine.
"No cramps?"
She paused for a moment as if truly considering it. "No, actually."
I leaned back, pleased. "It’s the smoothie," I explained. "We worked to make sure you would have relief during this time."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she gave me a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."
I waved it off. "No need to thank me. I’m going to take care of you, in every way, deliciae."
She didn’t reply, but I could see her internal conflict play out for a moment as her gaze softened.