Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 131

I zip myself up and turn towards the door. I see her reflection in one of the many black framed mirrors in the office. She’s staring at my back, waiting for something. Some sign of hope. Something to cling to.

But I have nothing to give her right now. So, instead of pretending, I just walk away and leave her to my empty office.

Even when I was deep inside her, I knew that fucking her was a mistake. Still, I couldn’t help but think…

Some mistakes are worth making.

24

EMMA

It’s his cum that snaps me out of it.

It drips down the inside of my thigh, searing my skin like lava. As soon as he’s gone, I grab a handful of tissues and wipe it up violently. I’m going for the trash can when spite and anger take a hold of me and I drop the bunch of them into his messy desk instead.

Serves him right.

Serves me right, too. I should have known that entering the lion’s den was a mistake. Honestly, I deserve this shitty feeling in my chest. I mean, what kind of woman lets her ex hate-fuck her?

A woman with very low self-esteem, that’s who.

But you know what they say: hindsight is twenty-twenty. Before I walked into his office, I’d felt confident, almost in control. I’d come in here with a purpose. A mission. Let me see my best friend, goddammit!

It seemed like a simple enough request but of course I should have known: nothing is simple when it comes to Ruslan Oryolov.

It took mere minutes for him to twist my simple request into a fight that turned into a pathetic, one-way confessional. I cringe when I think about the things I’d admitted to him.

I miss you.

I just want to be near you.

I could freaking kick myself. How many times do I have to remind myself that he wants nothing to do with me?

No, that’s not quite true. He does want something to do with me—when it involves my body. He’s perfectly happy to fuck me silly. But he doesn’t want to talk to me. He doesn’t want to be with me. He called me his dirty little whore and, idiot that I am, I agreed.

Honestly, I deserve to have my feminist card revoked.

I storm out of his office like I should have done long before he pinned me to his desk and trapped me with those iron arms. I stomp through the house like a woman on a mission. The maids jump to the side the moment they see me. Little do they know, I’m the woman who’s lost the whole damn mission.

Lost the plot, too, at this point.

Idiot.

Bad guardian.

Bad mother.

Bad person.

Idiot. Whore. Idiot.

When I get back to the east wing of the house, I hear the children’s voices coming from the kitchen. I groan internally. My head is already pounding and those voices are nothing if not keyed-up right now.

The girls are running circles around the kitchen island while the chef maneuvers out of the way. Josh is curled up in the breakfast nook with a book in his lap.

“Auntie Em!” Reagan cries when she notices me. “Do you wanna play Tag with us?”

“Not right now, sweetheart. In fact, I think we should end the game right now before poor Chef Cadeau gets knocked right over.”

The French chef gives me an appreciative smile. “I am making macaroni and cheese for dinner as per ze children’s requests, madam,” he says in his slightly accented English. “And for you?”

Since I have zero appetite, I beg off dinner and join Josh in the breakfast nook. He’s frowning so hard at this book that I’m half-worried he’s about to take a swing at it.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“The girls have been screaming and running around all day. I have a headache.”

I sigh. “You and me both.”

Apparently, Reagan and Caroline have decided to ignore me because they’re still playing their spirited game of Tag.

“Girls!” I raise my voice just so I can be heard above the din. “Can we use our quiet voices now? It’s almost dinner time. I can see your dolls off in the corner. How about you play with them until dinner’s ready?”

They scurry to the corner where they’ve dumped their dolls and politely lower their voices a few notches. Thank God for small favors.

I cross my legs but I can still feel him inside me. I should have gone up to my room first and showered. I should have washed him off me. I hate that it didn’t even cross my mind before now. I hate even more that a part of me doesn’t want to lose the scent of him on my skin.

I spoke too soon about the small favors, though. “No! That’s my doll!” Caroline’s shrill voice is a drill to the side of my head.

“But I want to play with her. You never let me play with her!”

“Give her to me—”

“No! Get your hands off—”

“Will you both stop yelling?” Josh roars before I can intervene. “You’ve been fighting all day.”

They immediately loop us into their battle. “She won’t let me play with her doll!” screams Caro.

“She takes the clothes off!” protests Rae.

“Because I want to dress her myself. Like a mommy does.”

“Stop screaming!”

“You stop screaming!”

“ENOUGH!” The silence that follows my cry is immediate and prickling with tension. “Honestly,” I continue, “with the fighting, fighting, fighting. All day and all night. It’s driving me crazy. I want all of you to be quiet.”

Josh’s eyes are huge when he turns them on me. Even the girls look flabbergasted. Caroline’s mouth is hanging open and Reagan’s bottom lip is trembling.

I never yell at them. That’s usually Ben’s forte. But me? Even when I’m having a bad day, even when the kids are being their worst selves, I don’t yell. I discipline them, yes. But I’ve never resorted to unnecessary screaming or punishments. The fact that I’m doing it now is a direct result of the current state of chaos my mind has been submerged into.

I’m angry and frustrated at myself. I’m battling demons in my head and the kids’ squabble was just getting tangled up in my misery. That’s all there is to it.

Which is why I feel horrible.

I have no right to take my anger out on them just because I’ve lost control of my own life.

Idiot.

Bad guardian.

Bad mother.

Bad person.