I still remember that stretched-out smile he wore whenever he did it.
Lucky for us, he was rarely around.
I steal a glance at Maleciandro, tilting my head just enough to study the weird scars that trace up his neck.
But he clears his throat, sharp, and my eyes snap back to his.
Gemstone silver. Unreadable.
He’s a monster shaped like some sort of Greek god.
A waste of divine architecture, honestly.
I barely looked twice when we met at that bar, too busy with Diana—and thank god for that.
If I had really seen him back then?
I might’ve dreamed about him… not knowing he’s the kind of nightmare you don’t wake up from.
“Done staring?” His tone is low, mocking.
I shake my head quickly and drop my gaze to the ridiculous puff of tulle wrapped around my legs.
My fingers curl into the fabric, grounding myself. Not the first time I’ve been dragged somewhere I didn’t want to be.
Won’t be the last.
And if what his aunt whispered is true—then maybe, just maybe, we’re on the same side. For now, at least.
“What are you planning to do with me?” I ask, forcing the words out under the heat of his stare.
If he expects me to read his mind with his needs, he’s more unhinged than I thought.
I flinch when he grabs my arm.
Firm, not brutal—but still, too sudden to make me startle.
He pulls me toward the wall and pushes me down onto a bench.
“If you tell me what I need to know, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of,” he says, eyes drifting lower.
To my chest.
Great.Another horny shit.
This dress makes it look like I’ve got two balloons taped to my ribs, and I donothavethatmuch going on underneath.
“And what is it you need to know?” I ask, shifting on the bench, suddenly hyper-aware of his gaze.
I’m used to men staring. The Konfetki was full of that.
But this feels different. Less sleazy. More… calculated.
“Let’s start simple,” he says, stretching his arms like we’re about to have a casual park chat.
Then sits beside me.
Beside me. Like, I’m not even a threat.
