Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

“What does that mean?”

“Are you going to abandon that nonsense about leaving?”

“No! You can’t make me stay here against my will, Kirill.”

He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger, looking as cold as a statue. “News flash, I’m already doing that, and if you keep defying me, I’ll take this further.”

“Further…how?”

Is there something worse than keeping me as a prisoner and confiscating my freedom?

“You’ll never leave this place until you stop being stubborn for no reason.”

“No reason?” The emotions flow back into my words again, and I jut a finger at his chest. “How is being cast aside because Your Majesty is having an arranged marriage called no reason?”

He engulfs my forefinger, and the rest of my hand in his, then spreads my palm on his chest. More accurately, on the steady rhythm of his beating heart. My own heartbeat picks up and refuses to be brought back down.

His expression sharpens, and a tinge of strange emotion ignites in his light eyes for a fraction of a second. “That’s where you’re wrong. I never cast you aside. You’re doing that yourself.”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to be the other woman.”

“The only other woman in this equation is Kristina.”

“But she’s the one who’ll be your wife!” My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

Why do I get riled up this easily? Why can’t I be as detached as he is while he’s ripping my chest open?

Just why?

“Is that what you want to be? My wife?”

My lips part, and his words do a strange thing to my bleeding heart. The gaping wound slowly closes as if it’s been touched by a magic wand, and that’s fucked up, because I know for a fact that he’s just throwing me a bone right now.

I always knew Kirill excelled at mental torture. I just didn’t realize I’d be on the receiving end one day.

This is just too cruel.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I sniffle.

“When have I ever lied to you?” He steps closer, killing the distance between us, and wraps his hand around my waist even as I push at his chest. “Answer the question, Sasha, do you want to be my wife?”

My fight wanes, partly due to his words and partly because I’m breathing his cedar and woods scent with each inhale. I didn’t realize how much I missed it and him until right now.

My fingers curl into his jacket as I take his face in. He’s so close that I see my reflection in his glasses—vulnerable and stupidly hopeful. But I still hold on to him, to the damn optimism and the smokescreen of happiness.

This is all I have left, and believing in the half-full part is better than wallowing in misery.

“If I say yes, will you make it happen?” I whisper.

A smile lifts his lips. It’s not cruel or condescending. It’s not sadistic or cunning. It’s…triumphant. Happy, even.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen this expression on Kirill’s face, and I don’t know why that makes me want to smile back.

His free hand strokes my cheek, and I instinctively lean into his touch, then it lowers to my neck, and he wraps his fingers around it as he whispers in my ear, “Fucking mine.”

He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me. “I’ll be back.”

I stare, dumbfounded, as the door closes behind him.

Once he’s out of sight, I run toward it and bang on the stupid metal. “You can’t keep locking me up, Kirill! Let me go!!”

No reply comes. I continue hitting the door for a few more minutes until my fists and legs ache. Then I hit my head against it.

What the hell was I thinking?

The fact that I even suggested being his wife is an anomaly in and of itself, but to also be rejected so subtly makes me want to scream.

Kirill is definitely a master of manipulation, because I can already feel the mental toll of this situation.

Damn it.

Damn it.

What if he keeps me here forever, and then I have to live through being his mistress?

Oh, God.

I won’t be able to survive that.

I straighten. No. I’m getting out of here no matter what.

The next time he returns, I’ll attack him and run away. If he doesn’t want that, then he shouldn’t have imprisoned me.

The question is, however, what if he doesn’t come back anytime soon?





Just when I think I’ll start hitting my head against the door again, it opens.

Exactly two days later.

I jump up from the sofa and grab my chosen object of attack—a heavy vase—and run to the door. My feet come to a halt when Kirill walks in with an older man while rolling a suitcase.

The vase remains suspended in midair. Obviously, I lost the element of surprise, but that’s only because I’ve been taken completely aback.

Kirill is dressed in a dashing tuxedo, his hair is styled to perfection, and his eyes shine with a rare gleam behind the spotless glasses.

My arm loses strength, and I let it and the vase fall to my side. “What’s…going on?”

“Wait here,” Kirill tells the man who’s dressed in a smart suit, has a small belly, and is wearing strong aftershave that I can smell from here. He’s also carrying a briefcase like some sort of accountant.