Page 64 of Violent Pawn

“She’s mine. Go find your own.”

Blyat, I’m so fucking stupid. Nero is exactly what he looks like—them. He’s a pretty boy who believes he’s owed whatever he wants. When I let the belief fester, he took advantage.

Buried emotions claw my throat and fingers tear at my necklace, needing it off me. Needing to fucking breathe. I’ll never be owned. Nero has reminded me why a relationship isn’t possible.

After not paying attention to which direction I flee, the cool night air yanks me outside and washes the perspiration from my sticky skin. I pass the line of soldiers fencing the building and head for the venue’s garden off to the side. Anywhere away from the dozen men who all cast concerned expressions at my random and sudden appearance. Out here, the roses and other flowers won’t judge me, so it’s where I find solace. Even if the roses look identical to the ones Nero brought to The Nutcracker performance.

“Fuck, I’m an idiot.” My whisper is caught by the wind and drifts beyond. Maybe if it’s out in nature, it can eventually return and remind me.

I don’t remember finding a spot for my breakdown, but I do. The chilled bench seeps through my dress. Perhaps it’s a good thing. If I freeze to death, it’ll match my cold heart that’s been thawing since Serafina’s wedding when Nero put himself in my path to eventually possess me. I’ll take a dead heart before embracing that concept.

“Ana?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It’s Vanessa, not Nero—mercifully. Her dress blends with the roses as she takes a seat beside me without an invite. “Without lying, what happened? Zeno intercepted Nero from following you, and he looked…well, murderous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nero look at Zeno in such a way.”

“You should go back to your party.” Maybe it’s not the right response, considering the topic she’s brought up out here, but it’s preferable to answering her question.

“It’s not a good party when my best friend runs away from it.” Vanessa rests her hand over mine from where they’re clutched on my lap. “You’re one of the most important people to me, and loving Zeno doesn’t change that. You could have a breakdown during our wedding ceremony, and I’ll still come running. What happened?”

“It’s stupid.” Old trauma long locked away that stopped bothering me in recent years, when my life got better with her reign and became controlled only by me. Nero’s actions are the reminder I needed. Tomorrow, this will be but a memory.

“Stupid things don’t make you cry. With all your excuses to push me away failing…what’s actually wrong?”

“As I said, it’s stupid. Nero got all…”

“All?” She squeezes my hand after a moment of my silence.

“Possessive.”

“Ah. What exactly did he say?”

I cast her a glare. I wouldn’t have to relive this if she’d leave well enough alone. “That I was his. It’s pretty hard to not see the possessiveness in that.”

She exhales loudly, aware of what Nero’s actions really are to me.

Minutes pass, the wind blowing between us before she asks, “Do you like him?”

“What’s that have anything to do with it?”

“It decides what to do about it. Nero doesn’t know what happened to you, and it doesn’t seem like he meant his words to be controlling. Remind yourself of that. If you like him, perhaps tell him about the rest of you.” Her lips press together, as if stopping herself from adding more. She lifts to her feet and straightens her dress. “You once gave me advice about Zeno. Let me do the same for you.”

Tell Nero what happened to me? My palms dampen, and my heart clenches at the mere thought of unpeeling every layer still intact and inviting him into my hellscape.

My gaze shifts from her to the building. “I’m not dealing with him in there.” No matter what path I take, in front of people who can overhear, who can see the drama—fuck that.

“Don’t even do it tonight. Take time and think on it.”

Only after she turns to leave does her unanswered question float back to the surface of my mind. Do I like him? She’s not digging for the truth, so I could let her walk back to the party and never answer it. It’d be safer for both of us.

Yet I scramble to my feet, my voice jumping the few feet she’s walked. “At first, no, I didn’t like him. Hell, I think I hated him. We were both the single ones of the group, and he kept using that excuse to be near me. At Sera’s wedding, my Nutcracker performance, Christmas Eve when he tricked me to his father’s place. We slept in his bed and got…close in the morning. Until I freaked out on him—because Papa fucking broke me.” The wind dulls, even nature not concealing the truth of that statement.

“On Christmas, he tried to trick me with mistletoe, but I turned it around on him because I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself kiss him. Couldn’t let us go there. But then we did. He came to my room. I did it. Did what I promised I wouldn’t. I let him kiss me. Blyat, Van…it was the best fucking kiss I’ve ever had. The kind I didn’t realize existed. I swear, it had the ability to change me—and that’s what scared me. He was so understanding about my needs that night. No idea how he knew, but he did. Then, New Year’s Eve, when he compelled me away from the club and brought me up to Sparrow Hill. We talked, kissed, and watched the fireworks.

“He isn’t what I expected. He’s…he’s not like them. He’s kind. Understanding. But after that night, I barely responded to his messages.” I was the asshole this time. The equivalent to him running out on me the morning following Christmas. “I tried so hard to. I wanted to, but⁠—”

“You’re afraid.” Her soft voice, speaking the truth, slices right through my rambles. “He’s getting close, and you’re scared to want him. Add in tonight’s possessive comment and you’re running.” She pauses, hair falling over her forehead as she tilts her head. “For what it’s worth, you two look great together, but don’t let that rush you into anything you’re not ready for.”