Page 80 of Shattered Queens: Veronica
“You drugged me?” My voice is a ragged whisper.
Miles doesn’t flinch. A look of pure disgust hardens his jaw. “Isedatedyou. You’re the one who’s been drugging yourself.”
The shame hits me like a physical blow. It’s a reminder of the secrets I was keeping. “You lied to me. You manipulated me.”
“No, Princesa.” He delivers the line with a terrifying, flat calm that stops my heart. “I did exactly what I was hired to do. I protected you.”
The brutal reality settles in; the last few weeks weren’t real. We were in a bubble of lust and wants.
“Take me home,” I demand.
“No,” he says coldly. “You want to know the truth?” He doesn’t give me a moment to respond. “The truth is that Eric Harrison knows about your habit.”
“I’m not a fucking addict, Miles,” I snap; the sting of his dismissal fuels my anger.
“No? Well, how the hell would I know?” He crosses the small room. His hand snakes out to catch my chin, his grip so rough it forces a wince from me. His thumb digs into my jaw, an agonizing reminder of the strength he usually keeps in check. “You did such a fantastic job of hiding it. Tell me…how many times have you gotten high and let others fuck you?”
The accusation hurts. “Probably as many times as you’ve used those women in the sex club,” I throw back, my voice trembling with the weight of our shared fury.
He recoils, his eyes flashing with a brief, violent spark before they shut down. “We’re on our way to Colombia. We land in an hour.”
He turns and stalks out; the heavy thud of the door seals the cabin. I release a shaky breath, my skin still burning where he touched me.
An hour later, I drag myself out of the plane’s bedroom, my limbs still heavy from the sedative. I walk past Miles, my gaze fixed straight ahead. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a glance as I exit the plane and step into the humid, tropical air. I move to the SUV waiting for us in the private terminal.
We ride in a silence so thick it feels suffocating. I turn away from him, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the lush, vibrant jungles of Colombia blur into a sea. The weather is perfect. To me, it's just a more beautiful cage.
We arrive at his childhood home, a sprawling estate nestled deep within the jungle. It’s breathtaking—the stones and vines that look like they grow directly out of the earth. A woman stands by the heavy front doors, watching us approach. She looks to be around my mother’s age; her long dark curls cascade down her back. Her presence is commanding, but as we draw closer, I see her eyes. They are dark, sharp, and entirely unwelcoming. There is no warmth in her gaze, only a cold stare telling me exactly where I stand. I’m not a guest here. I’m an intrusion.
The car stops, and I step out. I don’t wait for anyone to open the door for me. I see Miles’s jaw clench. The woman, Tia Susana, runs to Miles and holds him in an embrace. She’s practically claiming him. I approach them, and he introduces us. She doesn’t bother to hide her disdain for me but shakes my hand.
“Welcome, Veronica Kayde.”
“Muchas gracias, Dona Susana.” She doesn’t seem to like my response. I swear I see a ghost of a smile on Miles’s face.
“Vamos.” He directs us toward the house.
The exterior of the house didn't do the interior justice. Inside, it’s beautiful, filled with paintings I recognize with their familiar brushstrokes. I walk toward them, admiring the art in silence.
"I’m pretty tired," I say, finally turning back to Miles. "I’d like to rest."
"Let me show you to your room." He places his hand on my lower back. I miss his touch. “There is no alcohol in the house. I had it disposed of.”
I don’t say anything; there is no point. I just let him guide me up the stairs to a large bedroom with a balcony, overlooking the emerald jungle. "Everything you need is here," he says. "If you need something else, let me know. We can go to town and get it for you."
"Thank you."
He turns to leave but stops, pivoting to stand directly in front of me. He takes my face in his hands, so tender, the opposite of the man I saw on the plane. He leans in, resting his forehead against mine; we simply stand in silence. The only sound is the jungle outside. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls away and walks out, leaving me alone in the quiet.
The next couple of days are spent exploring the property. I call the group that was supposed to celebrate New Year’s with me and apologize for standing them up. But I don’t need to; Miles had already canceled for me. My brothers and cousins reach out, but I’m ignoring them. Miles can tell them I’m alive.
It’s not like he and I are talking. We are actively avoiding each other, except for at dinner. Which I hardly eat—sitting across from someone who doesn’t want me here just adds to my anxiety. Tia Susana has no problem showing me how much she hates that I’m here. I see the dirty looks she gives me, hear the dismissive tone in her responses, and notice the way she looks at her nephew. I know she raised him after his parents died, but the way she looks at him—it’s unsettling.
I find myself looking around the house for some alcohol. I know Miles told me the house is clear of it, but my anxiety is high. I usually have a drink or two, or more, to calm my nerves. The more I crave it, the moreI have to admit to myself that I have a problem. The hour-long walks around the property have helped. It gives me something to do. I make my way to the garden. Over the last few days, it has become my only solace. I sit and talk to the cattleya orchids; they are beautiful, an assortment of colors scattered around. During dinner, I asked who tends to them. Miles informed me that a gardener comes just for the flowers; apparently, Tia Susana lacks a green thumb. I wouldn’t be surprised if her bitter energy simply withers anything she touches.
I confess my day to the orchids. Silently, I admit to missing my banter with Miles. I miss sitting beside him while I eat and the way we laughed as the project came together. Most of all, I want to tell him how much I hate him for still caring enough to protect me. I knew he was watching me with Vaun, and I chose to be reckless because I was hurting and wanted him to hurt too.
“Beautiful,” Miles whispers as he steps into the garden, his presence heavy. “This is a familiar sight.”
