Page 55 of Sweet Madness

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice carrying a mix of relief and gratitude. But then she falls silent again as if she’s pondering whether to tell me or keep carrying that sadness she has carried for a while now as a secret. For no one to ever see the real her.

I see her now.

The truth is… she’s all I see.

“You’re safe here.” When her eyes widen in surprise with a hint of affection, I feel a strong pang in my chest. When she remains silent, I simply stare at her, trying to convey the truth of my words with my eyes.

After another long moment of silence, she opens her pretty pouty mouth. “The truth is, when I was a child, I had no real concept of what being famous was. I didn’t understand that my father was the most powerful man at that time and my mom was basically an icon,” she begins, her gaze drifting to a distant place as if searching for the right words. “To me, it felt crowded, yes, but it never hurt me. Dad, Uncle Benji, and eventually Mom never let anything touch me. And as crazy as it all was back then, I didn’t notice anyone else besides my family.” Ella takes a deep breath, her words sounding sad. “But then, as I grew older, the outside world my family tried so hard to protect me from starts to infiltrate the little bubbles of happiness and peace they created for me and my siblings. My family turns into a spectacle for the world, and with the blessings and happy moments, the darkness seeps in until I start to hate the noise of this famous life. Over the years, it becomes overwhelming. I feel like I’ve lost touch with the girl I used to be, trying to be the girl everyone else wants me to be. Everyone knows that I’m not Arianna’s daughter, and they love to remind me of that with every post on social media and gossip articles. They compare me with my sisters, who are biologically Mom’s. I try to ignore them and keep being me, but after a while, it gets to me. The words they blast all over social media are cruel and nasty. It’s not just the people who follow our family but the media as well.” Her voice breaks a little at the end, and my anger grows stronger. “I thought if I dressed and acted more like them, then?—”

“Then people would stop spewing shit, and it would stop hurting,” I finish for her, feeling anger coil deep in my bones as I imagine a young Ella surrounded by pink and happiness, reading shit online about her and comparing herself to her mother and sisters. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. She then turns her face away from mine.

Shit.

“Princess…” She doesn’t acknowledge me, but I see her shoulders tense. Without thinking, I reach out and gently turn her chin, making her face me. Her deep blue eyes, usually sparkling and filled with laughter, are now clouded with unshed tears.

“You hate criers, remember?” Her voice cracks as a tear slips down her cheek. My heart clenches painfully at the sight.

I stay silent, only watching as the tears fall down her beautiful face. Tears should be a crime on Ella Kenton. They fucking hurt me.

While I stare without saying anything, she closes her eyes briefly, and a tremor passes through her. When she opens them again, they hold a mix of sadness and fear—fear of being judged or ridiculed for being her and expressing her feelings.

Goddamn. Fuck the world that made her feel anything less than perfect. Me included.

“I think we both can agree that I’ve said a lot of dumbshit, moonshine. Now, look at me.” I order gently, my thumb brushing away the tears. “You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. You’re perfect as you are. Fuck the world and what they think, there’s no one like you, cupcake,” I murmur. “Don’t ever fucking pretend with me. I want yo—” I stop myself before I fuck up and say something I shouldn’t. Taking a deep breath, I continue. “I want you to be exactly who you are. No one else. Just Ella.”

“Shaw…” Her breath hitches as my heart starts aching at the turmoil etched on her face.

I always pride myself on my professionalism, but I can’t help feeling a strange twist in my chest. The sadness in this lovely creature’s eyes is undoing me.

Our eyes meet, and for a brief, electrifying moment, everything that holds me back fades away. In that heartbeat of a second, I see something flicker in Ella’s eyes—something that scares me.

Me a grown as fuck man who has seen more bad shit than good is afraid of a smaller, defenseless young girl.

I swallow hard, my gaze meeting hers with an intensity that mirrors her own. In that moment, as her eyes make a mess of the organ in my chest, I feel a surge of longing—a desire to bridge the gap between us, to let go of the boundaries that prevent me from going there with her. Boundaries that remind me we belong in different worlds.

She to the glamorous life of the elite, and me to this simple town.

Then, as the second flies by, my eyes fall to her pretty pink bow-shaped lips, and I lose all resolve. Without thinking, I lean in closer, the organ in my chest pounding as I brush a strand of hair away from her face. My hand lingers against her pink cheek, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. Our breaths mingle, warm and tantalizingly close.

Fuck, her scent drives me wild.

Ella’s nose touches the tip of mine as I hold her dangerously close. For a heartbeat, time seems to stand still. I can feel the magnetic force drawing me toward her like a moth to a flame. My mind races with the possibility of kissing her, of tasting the sweetness of her lips against my own and claiming the one thing that isn’t meant for me. Her.

But then reality crashes down on me like a wave against the shore. I am her protector, her guardian—duty-bound and honor-bound to keep her safe. Ella belongs to a world of wealth and privilege, while I am a man forged by hardship and pain. I know, deep down, that I don’t belong in her world, that our paths are bound to diverge.

Fuck.

With a heavy heart, I pull away, my hand falling back to my side. I search her eyes for forgiveness, for what I almost allowed to happen, for the line I crossed. “I lost control. I... I shouldn’t have done that, Ella. Fuck, I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice thick with regret. There is more I want to say, more I want to express. Instead, I just tell her I’m sorry.

“I’m not,” she whispers, making me even more confused while guilt claws at me.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I am her protector, her shield against any threat that dares approach her. Falling for her is not an option, not when our roles are so clearly defined. Her father, and my uncle, place their trust in me to keep her safe and nothing else. And while I used to be a rebel at heart, I can’t do this to her. To them.

But as I sit here, caught in the intensity of her gaze, I can’t deny the truth that whispers in the depths of my troubled mind. I am falling for her, against all reason and logic. And it scares me more than facing my past and everything that has kept my head barely above water all these years.

There is something about her that twists deep, drawing me in. This girl, whom I can’t allow myself to have, but one I somehow can’t let go.

How not to get swept up in this sweet, sweet chaos.