The Otherside Of Love || Sadistic Billionaire

Rafael’s POV

In the dim light of the corridors, we sneaked downstairs. I was walking ahead while holding Natalie’s hand as she followed behind me.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

“What if we find Laura in the kitchen?” she whispered.

“So what? I don’t care!” I whispered back.

She hit me on my shoulder and mumbled through gritted teeth, “But I do!”

She insisted that we shouldn’t let any of the domestic staff see us sneaking after midnight towards the kitchen.

The house was immersed in silence and darkness, indicating that all of its residents were asleep.

Once we barged into the kitchen, we broke into laughter. She promptly lifted her hand to cover my mouth and placed her other hand’s finger on her cherry lips, and hissed, “Shsh”

I sucked her fingers on my lips. I was addicted to every small touch from her. She pushed me and yelled without a sound, just moving her lips, “Hoolagine.”

I mocked her and said loudly, “Laur…”

She covered my mouth with both of her hands. I chuckled and mumbled from beneath them, “Why are you so afraid of her?”

She punched me in the stomach, like a little kid scribbling, which made me hold back my laughter. Then, she turned to leave after tossing out her words, “It’s my fault I followed you!”

“Woo, woo, wait,” I mumbled as I grabbed her elbow and turned her to face me. Then, I lifted her into my arms, and she exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

“I’ll feed you first,” I replied as I placed her on the counter. She rolled her eyes and sneered, “Do you really know how to cook?”

I nodded, winked at her, and started putting the ingredients together. I could sense her eyes following each movement I made. As I began cutting the onion at a fast pace, she blinked and asked with curiosity, “How did you learn to cook? I mean, as the heir of the Merrin family, I guess you could have the most professional chef in the country if you wanted!”

I could give her a simple answer, the one she was expecting to hear-the ideal answer. That I learned cooking as a hobby or at boarding school.

But the answer was bitter. It was something that I couldn’t tell her. How would I tell her that, by the age of eight, I learned to cook because of my stepfather, who forced me to serve his mistresses. My mother was a famous actress, who stayed out of home for several days every month, and I stayed in her husband’s care during this period. She loved him more than her son.

Moreover, my stepfather took this chance to bring over whomever he wanted. He didn’t respect my innocence and childhood, and what made things worse, he was beating me and insulting me before them just for their pleasure. All the women he brought home were sick, sick and drug-addicted. Sometimes, they even fucked in front of my innocent eyes.

They kicked me with their high heels and called my mother the most horrific, obscene words, just to fulfill their sick desires.

I hated myself, I hated my life. Especially when he was forcing me to prepare food for them when they were fucking. I was hearing their voices, their moans. Voices that hurt my ears as a child. As a little kid, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even tell my mother. He threatened me if I told her, he would kill us both.

The most beautiful moments of my life were when I visited my father one time, and he told me that I had a stepsister. She was two years old when we met. And I was ten years old. She made me love going to my father’s house. I adored her. But I was a broken child who never experienced love, even from the most two close to him, the so-called parents.

Love is a big joke.

Even though my stepfather died from a drug overdose when I was fourteen, the consequences of this violation of my childhood affected my personality. I hated women. I hated them the most and loved torturing them.

But what surprised me earlier was that I couldn’t treat Natalie as I did with the others. I couldn’t bear to see her in pain. I didn’t even use a quarter of my usual methods.

What was her fault for being stuck in an unhealthy marriage with me?

All the submissive women in my life came of their own volition, but in Natalie’s case, I tried to force her to do so, knowing that she had no experience.

I looked at her and smiled a bitter smile. I wouldn’t let her sign that contract, as I’d cancel our marriage if she wanted.

“So, is it a secret?” She raised an eyebrow and asked.

I was flipping the meat steak in the pan and glanced at her once in a while. I wrinkled my nose and answered, “I learned that in boarding school.”

“Oh, Gosh. And how didn’t I know about it?” she asked in surprise.

I went near her to grab another frying pan, pinched her cheek, and said nonchalantly, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Natalie. And cooking is the least of them.”

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, then asked, “So, you pamper and feed every one of them?”

I stared at her, not understanding what she meant. “Everyone of them?” I inquired.

She rolled her eyes, sighed, then cleared her throat and said, “Your submissives!”

I exclaimed with disgust, “NO. Of course not. I didn’t even sleep with them in the same bed.”

Her facial expression changed several times in a moment. I guessed she was turning my answer over and over in her head. But I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Why? Why are you treating me differently?” she asked with anticipation.

I paused for a moment. The question was hard to answer. Indeed, why did I treat her differently? Why? But I couldn’t answer. She kept glaring at me with her big eyes, waiting for the answer, so I shrugged my shoulders, pretending to be calm, and simply answered, “You’re my wife, so why would I treat you like the rest?”

She blinked with her long eyelashes, but didn’t say anything.

I started preparing the kitchen table for our small meal.

“Mmm, the smell is so good,” she inhaled and said.

I didn’t notice when she got off the counter, so I was taken aback when I felt her arms wrap around me from the back. I froze. I had never been hugged with such tenderness as she was doing now. I was fighting my inner conflict, trying not to push her away.

I turned around and gave a small smile. Her face was flushed, so I realized that she had taken this step with embarrassment. I caressed her cheek and guided her towards the table, saying, “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

I fed her bite by bite, just like when we were kids.

“Mmm, delicious. You’re indeed a good cook,” she mumbled between bites.

I winked at her, saying, “Am I only good at cooking? I can show you my other qualifications if you want!”

She blushed. I filled a spoon with salad and fed her. She laughed and said, “I warn you, don’t spoil me. If I get used to it, you’ll suffer a lot.”

“Get spoiled as much as you want. We have the money and the power,” I said, then I stared into her eyes and added in a serious tone, “But don’t ever fall in love with me, Natalie. Love for me is just an illusion and a disease of weakness.”

I sensed her trying to conceal the looks of shock and sadness from her face. She remained silent for a moment, then looked away. I got up from the table and stood behind her chair, gently squeezing her shoulders to help her relax.

After we loaded the washing machine, we went upstairs. We stood before her room. When I remained standing before the door, she asked, “What?”

“Can I sleep in your room?” That’s what I asked, but I was going to sleep in her room by any means. “I don’t take ‘no’ as an answer!” I added, emphasizing the word No, and teasing her before she could speak.