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I shrug. “Who else would I say?”

Bella frowns. “I don’t know…your brother? Your parents? Literally anyone except your fake wife?”

I sigh. “I put you down because you, more than anyone else, understands what it means to be…you know.”

Her mouth twists. “Like us?”

I nod. “Cenzo and my parents know what I am and what I do. But⁠—”

“But they don’t know the extent of it,” she exhales in an almost weary voice. “If you told them all the gory details, you wouldn’t be able to pretend they don’t see you as a monster anymore.” Her blue eyes lift to mine. “You wouldn’t still be able to think that they don’t see you as different.”

I smirk. “And you said you didn’t know why I put your name on the form.”

Bella rolls her eyes, turning away as she bites back another grin. My gaze lingers on the curve of her cheek. The line of her jaw. Her dark lashes as she looks away. The dark hair brushing against my marks on her throat, which I notice she’s covered with a lot of makeup today.

The thing is, Bella is fucking beautiful.

Truly.

I mean, it’s easy to lose sight of that beauty underneath all the black eyeliner, homicidal raccoon sweatshirts, and general air of enter at your own risk that surrounds her. But it’s there, and it’s had my full and undivided attention for longer than I care to admit.

There are women who try to make themselves invisible to men. Arianna Sartorre, for example, who can usually be found either in shapeless clothes or wearing the men’s school uniform.

And believe me, I get it, probably better than most. You spend enough time hunting the kind of men I hunt, and you stop wondering why a woman would want to remove herself from the male gaze.

Yeah, maybe it is “not all men.”

But believe me: it sure is a fucking lot of them.

Bella doesn’t do that, though. She doesn't dress like she’s trying to disappear.

But she doesn’t edit herself, either.

Maybe that’s what I can’t stop looking at. There’s something insanely attractive about a woman who is utterly disinterested in making herself easier for others to swallow.

Still, the way she dresses, the chip on her shoulder, and the eternal middle finger she gives the world are, in a sense, armor. It's like the deadliest poison dart frog in the rainforest being bright neon. She’s not hiding. She’s warning.

And I can’t stop wondering what the fuck is underneath all that armor that she’s so worried about anyone getting close enough to touch.

I clear my throat.

“The nurses charged my phone.”

Her eyes flick back to me.

“Congratulations?”

“I saw you texted me.”

Bella goes completely still.

“No, I didn’t.”

My mouth twists into a small smile. “Mm, pretty sure you did.”

She shrugs, suddenly extremely interested in her chipped black nail polish. “Nope. Maybe your phone was hacked.”

“Ahh,” I nod slowly. “So that's what happened. I was hacked. By someone who wanted to know if I was up at one forty-six in the morning.”