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The symbolism wasn't lost on me.

This room, with its opulent beauty and carefully curated flowers, was a cage—the most beautiful cage ever constructed, but a cage nonetheless.

I turned to Sebastian, words failing me as the full weight of his intentions became clear.

The diamonds at my throat grew heavier, the dress tighter at my realization of what tonight truly meant.

His eyes glittered with malice as he took in my reaction, the muscle in his jaw twitching with barely contained rage.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked gently, despite the bruising grip he now had on my arm. "I had to rush the preparations when I learned about your meeting with my mother this afternoon. Did you really think I wouldn't know?"

CHAPTER 32

SEBASTIAN

Very few survived betraying me.

As Sabrina blinked up at me, I had to remind myself that she was an unwilling player in this sinister game I'd started.

Questions I should have asked myself months ago had dripped into my consciousness like poison. How had I been able to learn about the judge's secret daughter?

The judge's underworld criminal connections were almost as extensive as my own.

How had Sabrina's mother surviving his assassination attempt slipped his notice?

How had the existence of his daughter, who used the Badalamenti name, not gotten back to him at some point over the last two decades?

It wasn't like her mother had disappeared into some hole in the ground in some unknown country under an assumed name. The woman lived among society's elite in New York, for fuck's sake.

What if this entire time I assumed I was the puppet master, when I had really just been the puppet?

Could a woman as innocent, intelligent, and beautiful as Sabrina truly exist?

A woman who had so easily slipped under my armor—almost as if by design?

I had been so certain of my control. Now I couldn't tell where strategy ended and obsession began.

The quartet I hired began to play “La donna è mobile” from Rigoletto at my signal, the violinist's bow striking the first cruel notes. The melody floated through the cavernous ballroom, deceptively light and charming on its surface, yet vicious in its meaning.

Every note mocked female constancy. Every lilting phrase a warning.

The Duke of Mantua's infamous aria—about women's fickleness, their inherent treachery.

How fitting for this moment, as I beheld my beautiful liar, her skin luminous in the chandelier's glow, her betrayal still fresh.

I swept her into my arms and spun her around the ballroom, her ivory dress billowing around her.

The diamonds at her throat caught the light with each turn, fracturing them into a thousand tiny daggers that danced across her skin.

The warmth of her body seeped through the thin barrier of clothing, her curves molding against my rigid frame with each step. The scent of vanilla and jasmine filled my lungs, intoxicating me even as rage pounded through my veins.

"Sebastian, I can explain."

I pulled her closer, my palm pressing against the bare skin of her back where the gown dipped low.

The muscle in my jaw pulsed with barely contained rage. "I'm looking forward to it.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why don't you start with Mark."

My grip on her waist tightened involuntarily, fingers digging into the structured silk of her gown.