His voice is calm. Clinical. Like he’s commenting on a scuffed shoe or a misplaced document.
Then he releases my chin and stands, stepping back with that efficient, graceful precision that defines everything he does. No wasted movement. No unnecessary emotion.
I’m still breathing too fast, chest heaving, blood running down my face in warm sheets, when I force myself to look up into his eyes.
For one splintered second—barely even a heartbeat—something flickers there.
Not pity. Not sadness. Not warmth. Nothing soft or kind. It’s colder than that. Sharper. A sliver of something dark and possessive, almost like… recognition. Like he’s seeing exactly what I just did to myself and a part of him approves. Like he’s watching a weapon sharpen itself and finding it satisfactory.
He turns his back on me, about to walk out, when he stills, glancing halfway over his shoulder.
“No man will touch you again,” he says flatly.
A pause. Brief. Absolute.
“You have my word.” And then he walks out like the conversation is over and the matter is settled.
The door closes softly behind him, and I’m left alone with the terrifying realization that in Rowan Capello’s world, mercy is a debt owed.
A debt that’s now carved into flesh.
10
RETH
Present
Ian knew I was at the club. He doesn’t say it right away. He waits until we’re all three crammed in the elevator—Sophia’s hand warm in mine, my jacket hanging off her shoulders, floors ticking upward—before he drops it, casual as a thrown knife.
“Club Lumière. Second floor, northeast corner, eleven forty-two.” A small pause. “You were sloppy.”
“You got lucky,” I mutter.
“Lucky?” Ian turns his head just enough to grin at me. “I clocked you the second we stepped off the dance floor. Hood up, statue pose, while everyone else is moving. You stuck out like a sniper at a tea party.”
“Maybe I wasn’t trying to hide.”
Ian stares at me for a beat, then lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “You followed this woman for years without her knowingyou existed.Hidingis your love language. It’s your entire personality. Stealth is your superpower.” He shakes his head. “And you got spotted by a guy who needed to piss.”
Sophia buries a laugh against my shoulder, her body shaking with it.
“It’s not funny,” I say.
“It’s a little funny,” Ian replies, eyes sparkling.
“It’sveryfunny.” Sophia squeezes my hand.
She looks up at me with that dangerous little smile—the one that says she knows she’s making my life harder and is enjoying every second of it. Inconvenient woman.
Perfect woman.
Ian’s not done. He’s warming up now, the way he always does when he smells blood.
“And yet,” he continues as the elevator hums higher, “despite being made by a man literally on his way to the bathroom, the plan still worked. Which means either you got extremely lucky…” he tilts his head toward me, “…or you counted on me to cover for you. Which is honestly worse. Because that means youtrustedme. Without asking. How dare you?”
I say nothing.
Ian points at me, looking at Sophia. “He counted on me. Look at him. Silent. Guilty.”
