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She giggles, brushing past me in the nude. “Is my baby seeing another woman? Are you smitten with her? Some cheap hooker from the slums? Some Black bitch who bit Klein’s dick off? You know he’s still in the—AHHHHH!”
Celeste screams bloody murder as I grab her by the back of the neck and drag her across my penthouse. She stumbles backward with no choice but to come along. Her long arms and legs flail in her struggle to regain her balance, or to free herself somehow.
Though I never let her.
I drag her to the penthouse door, wrenching it open and shoving her into the hall. The door slams shut in her face.
It’s not until I make it to the bathroom that I remember her clothes. She’s still standing on the doormat outside, shivering with a sick gleam in her gaze, waiting for me. I toss the clothes at her and tell her to never show her fucking face in my penthouse again.
Or next time Iwillend her.
The threat falls on deaf ears, like so many others. One day, I will make good on it.
Celeste might be the only person more fucked in the head than I am. She’ll find her way back, discover another means to worm herself into my life.
I’ll have to change the locks again. And fire my housekeeper and security team. The only possible people who could’ve let her in.
I set to cleaning up and disinfecting my bathroom. I am not only a neat freak, I’m a clean freak as well.
Celeste had her bare pussy and ass in my thirty thousand dollar roman tub. Who knows where it’s been?
For the next hour, I scrub the bathroom down. I air out the room to rid it of the foul stench from the bath bombs she used and candles she burned.
My cleanliness has been a part of me since I was a small child. I didn’t like being dirty; I didn’t likemess. Even as I stayed up late and watched the gory horror movies playing on the television screen, the messy disregard annoyed me. My fascination was more for the violence being enacted.
Even when I wandered down the echoing hall of my father’s castle and stumbled upon the blood and gore that was real… it was a thought on my mind.
Cleanliness.
I conduct myself this way even during my urges. My special dungeon sparkles by the time I’m through.
The bathroom is no less pristine when I tear off my rubber gloves and toss them in the trash. The urge to light every belonging Celeste has left behind on fire strikes me. From her shoes to her make up bag and the box of chocolate strawberries.
Instead, I hurl it down the trash shoot.
Dusting my hands off, I return to the penthouse in time to see my phone lighting up.
The alarm I set for myself.
At half past eight, it’s almost time for the dueling to begin at the Velvet Piano. My plan is to show up conspicuously late and behave as casual and noncommittal as possible. Lyra is so skittish around new people in her life that if I show up with too much enthusiasm, it’ll turn her off.
I open the latest spy app I’m using to monitor her.
Today at the Korean BBQ spot, I used a small opportunity to my advantage. Lyra got up to ask the server for another spoon and left her phone on the table. In the minute and fifteen seconds she was gone, I linked her phone with mine using an impressive, albeit unsettling, spy app that records people.
Now I’ll be able to not only track her movements and watch her in her bedroom, I’ll be with her everywhere she takes her phone.
For instance, right now, Lyra’s backstage at the Velvet Piano. I turn up the volume as Maximillion walks up to speak with her.
“Hey, Butterfingers, you ready for tonight?” he asks.
Lyra looks up from where she sits with her phone in her hand (offering me a view of her from below).
“I’d call you a dick, but when it’s that small, does it really count?”
I can hear the fake pleasantness in his tone, even without seeing him. “That doesn’t change that you’re a loser. I was telling Francine I’m not sure why Erma even hired you. You can’t play piano. You can barely walk and talk at the same time.”
She glares, though another retort seems to elude her. At least in the two seconds Maximillion gives her to respond.
