Page 92 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

Was it because he thought I was too fragile or too damaged to let himself go?

I watched him walk away and I cursed myself. I was a strong woman. At least, I always thought I was. I needed to take matters into my own hands.

I pushed open the door to my room, turned the light on, and stepped inside. Then I closed the door behind me and gave a little scream before I made my way to the bathroom. But as I passed the dressing table, I noticed the note that Alex had written for me this morning was on there, along with the rose, but... Oh... My... God.

The rose had no petals.

Every single petal had been plucked out, and when I looked at the wastepaper basket on the floor, the petals were all in there.

Sickness washed through me and bile burned my throat at the realisation that someone had been in here. My body shook, fingers quivering as I reached down to touch one of the petals, and then I reared back, as if the petal had given me an electric shock.

Who had come into my room and done this?

Was it a staff member?

Did one of them have feelings for Alex, and they were showing their disgust at me being here by leaving me this message?

Or... was it him?

Coming in here to remind me that I was still his target.

I was sure it was the latter and so did my gut.

Alex had sworn he was gone. That he wouldn’t hurt me. But I still wasn’t convinced. And I knew I couldn’t spend a minute longer on my own in this room. I needed to get out.

I put the rest of the rose in the bin and stalked over to the door, turned the light off and went back out into the hallway. Then I marched across to Alex’s door and started to bang on it.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

EMMA

Alex opened the door, looking truly startled to see me standing there.

“Emma? What’s wrong?” Concern was etched into his beautiful face.

“I’m not sleeping alone tonight. No way.” I shook my head and stalked past him into his room.

He stayed where he was, holding the door open as he turned to look at me with both surprise and unease. “Has something happened?”

I stopped and stood at the foot of his huge king-size bed, not sure where to start.

“Someone has been in my room.”

He frowned, closed the door, and came to stand in front of me. “The staff would’ve been in there to clean. But no one else has access. You don’t need to worry.”

But I was worried. Worried, confused, and very pissed off.

“Cleaning is one thing. But the rose you left me, that was decimated. Why would anyone do that?”

The way his frown lingered showed he didn’t get where I was coming from or understand the magnitude of what I was implying.

“Maybe it fell on the floor and got caught up in the vacuum cleaner, I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” He took a step closer. “Emma, you’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

I stepped back.

“No. I’m not. Something happened in my room and I’m not exaggerating or making it up...”