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A micro-hesitation. Just a fraction of a second.

“Everything is being handled, printsessa,” he says smoothly, his face shifting back into that impenetrable mask. “No one touches what’s mine.”

I hold his gaze for a long moment, searching his face for the truth he’s keeping hidden.

Slowly, I turn back to the stove. The risotto needs stirring. I pick up the wooden spoon and move it through the rice, harder and faster than necessary, staring down at the bubbling broth.

The kitchen falls into silence, broken only by the soft simmer on the stovetop and the distant hum of the city outside. I think about this afternoon and the four of us raising our glasses and celebrating our freedom, unaware that my fiancé was already three steps ahead, sifting through their secrets.

I hope they still want to be my friends. I hope the only sisterhood I have isn’t ruined.

I look down at my hand. The diamond engagement ring catches the overhead light, sparkling brilliantly.

For the very first time since Zevran put it on my finger, a cold thought creeps into my mind. I wonder if there’ll always be a man in my life demanding receipts.

27

Zevran

She’s standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing a dress the color of deep water, and I physically cannot take my eyes off her. I’m sitting on the edge of the mattress with my forearms resting on my knees, cataloging every single detail.

Devouring her.

The graceful curve of her throat as she tilts her head to fasten an earring. The tiny, adorable frown of concentration when the clasp proves stubborn. The way she smooths the silky fabric over her hips with both hands, turning to inspect her reflection with a newfound confidence that’s been steadily blooming these past weeks.

She’s finally starting to understand that she is worth looking at.

I’ve known it since that filthy basement. She was covered in dirt, terrified out of her mind, holding a dead girl in her arms, and even then I couldn’t look away from her.

“How do I look?” she asks, turning toward me with a hopeful smile.

I take my time answering. I let my eyes travel down her body slowly, with heavy possession.

“You look like something I don’t deserve.”

She laughs, a warm flustered sound, and picks up her clutch. The massive diamond on her finger catches the bedroom light. Every inch of her belongs to every inch of me. And I’m about to let her walk out my front door without me.

I know what happens to women when they’re unprotected. When their vigilance wavers for even a second. I’ve seen enough women dead and broken on concrete floors. I pulled Cora herself from that exact nightmare.

I press my forearms harder into my knees, my knuckles turning white as my hands clench into fists.

She is so young, and she has survived every cruel thing this world has thrown at her by making herself small and invisible. Now she’s stunning in a designer dress with my ring on her hand, and she isn’t invisible anymore. She’s luminous.

She’s a target.

She turns, stepping right into the space between my spread knees.

“Ruslan and Demyan will be there the entire time,” she says, reading the dark storm in my eyes. “And I’ll have my phone right with me. I’ll call you the second we leave the party.”

“I know.”

“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” she whispers, caressing me.

She tips my chin up and gazes down at me with eyes that have seen far too much of the dark.

The primal instinct to lock her in this room and keep her hidden away from every terrible thing in this world throbs violently in my chest.

“Let me go,” she says softly.