Corrupted by Innocence

ANGELA

I gently place a small rose on the gravestone at my feet, my fingers tracing the engraved words that honor a life lost in a tragic accident I can barely recall.

Two hundred years is a long time to live, and memories—both good and bad—tend to fade.

A small smile graces my lips as I bow my head to the departed soul before me, wishing them a peaceful journey into whatever lies beyond this harsh world. I have no idea what that might be.

The approaching dusk hastens my quiet moments among the dead. I move from one gravestone to the next, offering each the same respect.

Each one receives a crimson rose and a small bow, a silent wish for their safe passage to an afterlife, if such a thing exists.

I don’t claim to be innocent, even though that’s the image I’ve chosen to project. The lives lost, the gravestones around me, are a sad but necessary reality.

Victims of greed and power, each one met a merciless end at my hands for their disregard and dismissal of my worth.

I’m far from innocent, a fact each of these poor souls realized in their final moments as I delivered my deadly justice with a smile.

My footsteps echo softly on the damp earth, each step bringing me closer to the newest gravestone.

A deep sigh escapes me as I kneel before it, my hands shaking as I lay my last rose by her final resting place. A sob tears through me as I remember the woman who lies here.

My love, I miss you.

My lips tremble with the pain in my heart, the horrors that befell her at my hands. I read the tombstone in silence.

Morgan L. Smith, my dearest love, you hold my heart and soul. I will cherish you forever. Rest in peace.

I read the words again, anger simmering within me at the false sentiments I used to craft this tombstone.

Morgan was my world for nearly three years. I woke up to her, came home to her, and made love to her in ways that would make grown men blush.

And throughout those years, Morgan accepted me, all of me.

Until she didn’t.

She pleaded with me to stop dispensing justice, telling me I couldn’t be the jury, judge, and executioner. But she didn’t understand. I wouldn’t be disrespected by a race I had outlived twice over.

Morgan believed she was doing the right thing, but I couldn’t accept her constant disapproval.

And when she asked me to turn myself in?

I snapped.

I don’t regret it, and I won’t apologize. She may have been my everything once, but no one stands in my way. I am the only one who can choose my destiny.

Which is why I have a new target, one I will break so thoroughly he will bow to me willingly when I’m done.

A wicked grin replaces the small smile on my face, and my eyes gleam with anticipation at the tombstone next to Morgan’s. The slate is blank, the grave yet to be dug; it awaits its occupant.

Xavier Knight, I’m coming for you.

XAVIER

I fight the urge to growl at my dad as I cross my arms over my chest, my tattoos stretching across my bare arms. I’ve screwed up one too many times, and now the entire PR team is on my case.

Unfortunately, Dad’s solution is marriage.

Yeah, screw that.

“Xavier! This is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I dismiss my dad, trying not to think about the freedom I’m losing by agreeing to this crap.

Just two hours ago, I was at a downtown club, drinking without a care in the world. I might be the heir to Knight Enterprises, but with no responsibilities and unlimited funds, I couldn’t be luckier.

That all changed tonight, when the club was busted for being part of an underground drug ring.

It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except everyone knows it’s one of my favorite spots. Now, everyone’s wondering if I’ve been high since the club opened.

For the record, I haven’t touched the stuff. Booze is enough for me.

Seven headshots are slid across the table by my dad’s young PR assistant. He offers a tight smile, as if apologizing for the task he’s been given.

I scowl at him, not knowing how else to react, and lean forward to examine the women who look like they’ve stepped out of a magazine.

Knowing my dad, they probably have. I appreciate that no one tried to give me these women’s life stories because, honestly, I don’t care. Looks are all that matter to me.

Well, looks and obedience.

Each one screams bimbo—big hair, lots of cleavage, and striking eyes.

I immediately discard the redhead. Nothing against gingers, but I know her from a previous...encounter. She’s kind of a bitch. I don’t remember her name, but she was okay, if a bit desperate.

Dad said we have to make this marriage look real for a year or two, with contingency plans in case I screw up.

And oh, I’m definitely going to screw up.

The second headshot reminds me of my mom, and there’s nothing I want less than to look at someone who resembles her all day. I toss that one aside too.

The third and fourth headshots must be twins. They have different hairstyles, and one is blonde while the other is brunette.

I grin at the thought of choosing one and getting both. Everyone seems eager to jump into bed with me, and I know that if I get them to dress the same, I could have both in my bed.

Unfortunately, that’s the exact opposite of what this marriage is supposed to achieve. If I want to inherit anything, I’ll have to give up my public indiscretions.

The fifth headshot catches my eye, but there’s a defiance in her gaze that I’m not too keen on. She’s not the type to follow orders. She looks like she’d challenge every instruction I give her, and she seems to have a strong mind.

In another world, if I were a different kind of man, I’d pick her without a second thought. She’s the kind of woman you’d want to marry.

But the thing is… I don’t want a wife.

The woman in the sixth headshot is stunning. Just looking at her makes my cock hard, and I shift in my seat to hide my arousal. Her bright, mischievous green eyes are looking back at me in a way that makes me want to find her, bend her over, and fuck her right there, no matter who’s watching.

But that also means she might get under my skin, and I can’t let that happen. As soon as the contract is up, I’m cutting all ties, giving the wife her money, and diving back into the life I’m being forced to leave behind.

No, she won’t do either.

Then I see the woman in the seventh headshot, and I know instantly she’s the one. She’s not as beautiful as the others, but the innocence that seems to radiate from her, that small, shy smile on her lips, the hint of fear in her eyes? It’s exactly what I’m looking for.

She looks so pure.

So ready to be corrupted.

So ready to be mine.

I tap the seventh headshot with a smirk. “This one. I want her.”

It’s like a perverse version of The Bachelor, and I fucking love it.

Maybe marriage won’t be so bad after all.