I’ve spent my whole life around people who say ‘yes’ to me. People who bow their heads. People who are terrified of the shadow I cast.
And then Atara Ross comes along and treats me like a negligent parent who can’t read a fucking map.
I stand by the window, watching the rain start to fall again. Tomorrow, I’ll see her. I’ll be the 'proper' Lorcan. Cold. Controlled. I’ll thank her, maybe give her a reward she can’t refuse, and that will be it. Box closed.
But as I look at the reflection of my own eyes in the glass, I know I’m lying.
I don’t want to close the box. I want to see if I can make her eyes look at me like that again, with that fire, that heat, that utter lack of fear.
I want to see if I can break her and see what’s underneath.
“May the gods fucking help me,” I whisper to the empty room.
I go to bed, but I don’t sleep. I just wait for the sun to come up over the Atlantic, so I can see the girl in the teal dress again.
I don’t even know if she’ll come. I don’t know if she’ll tell me to go to hell.
But for the first time in ten years, I feel a spark of something that isn’t rage or duty.
It’s curiosity.
And in my world, curiosity is the most dangerous thing of all.
3
Atara
I told him no.
Well, I didn’t tellhimno. I told the terrifyingly polite man in the suit who knocked on my door with a handwritten note from a Mr Lorcan that I was “unavailable” for breakfast due to a previous commitment.
The commitment is me, a tub of overpriced room-service tray, and an aggressive internal monologue about why Mark is a parasite. It isn’t a lie, technically. I am very busy being miserable.
But now, I’m just restless.
I’ve showered twice. I’ve paced the length of this suite so many times I could probably map the floorboards in my sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see those grey eyes looking at me. Not with kindness,Lord no,I don’t even know what was in those eyes, but somehow, they are ingrained in my head.
“He’s just a guy,” I mutter to the empty room, flopping onto the bed. “A guy with an intimidating personality and a very expensive tailor. And a daughter who nearly fell off a cliff. Focus on that, Atara. Don’t think about sexy eyes or lips.”
I pull the duvet over my head. The wind is howling outside, rattling the window frames. It’s a lonely sound, the kind that makes you want to curl up against something warm.
Something tall, with eyes that rake down my body.
I think I’m going crazy.
I don’t know how much time passes before the sound reaches me. It’s a soft, heavyclick—the sound of my suite door opening. I sit up, or I try to. My brain is foggy, caught in that heavy state of half-sleep where the world feels made of cotton.
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
I try to reach for the bedside lamp, but my arm doesn't move. I tug at it, and a sharp, metallicclinkechoes through the room. I freeze. I pull my other hand.Clink.
The cold metal of handcuffs bites into my wrists, pinning my arms to the mahogany headboard. I’m lying flat on my back, and as the shadows in the corner shift, I realize I’m naked. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on my skin, my nipples peaking, sensitive, and aching.
I’m not scared. That’s the weird part.
Then, he’s there.
He’s taller than I remember, broader. His shirt is gone, and the tattoos on his skin seem to move in the dim light—dragons, Celtic knots, and names I can’t read. He doesn't say a word. He just stands at the foot of the bed, watching me.
