Page 67 of Devil’s Reign

He scowls. “I’m not taking you, Melani, so let it go. And as for the information—it’s your choice if you want to keep it from me. But I don’t actually need you to tell me. All I have to do is listen to your conversation with your mother to find out.”

Everything stops. I stare at him, the words taking a second to fully arrange themselves into meaning. “You bugged my mom’s room?”

He shrugs, unrepentant. “I did what I had to do.”

It’s like my chest caves in all at once, heat clawing up my throat while the rest of me goes ice cold. I can’t breathe, can’t even blink, just stand there as the weight of his words slams into me, betrayal cutting so deep it hurts to stay upright.

But do I even have the right to feel betrayed? He never made me any promises. Never said I'm anything more than a prisoner to him. I’m the one who built him up in my head. Did he bring Mamma here because I didn’t want her worrying about me… or because he wanted to listen in on our conversations?

My stomach twists so violently I think I might be sick. I turn away from him without a word, but I barely make it two steps before his hand clamps around my arm.

“What’s this?” His eyes move over my face—searching, almost confused. “Why’s your face doing that?”

“I don’t know, Ivan! Maybe because I just realized what a sick bastard you are,” I snap, finally letting some of my emotions spill out.

His brows pinch together. “Because I won’t send you into a dangerous situation? Fuck that, Melani.”

I shake my head slowly. He doesn’t even realize what he did wrong.

“You bugged my mom’s room. You listened to our conversations. That was private.” My stomach hollows as I try to recall what we said about him. Thank God I didn't admit to being in love with him.

Would he have taken advantage of that admission? He probably would have.

“You’re mad because of that?” His tone shifts, something caustic underneath it now. “Why the hell do you think I didn’t lock you back up in your room after your botched attempt to escape? Because I heard your conversation with your mother and knew you had no real intention of running.”

I don’t need to listen to this bullshit. I start struggling, trying to yank my wrist out of his grip, but he doesn’t let up, so I glare at him. “Let me go, Ivan. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you justify what you did.”

“Believe what you want, but all the suites on this floor are wired. Every single one except my room and my office. I didn’t plant that one in there specifically to spy on you. I only listened once—after you tried to escape—so I could understand why.”

My anger starts to cool, and I hate it. I don’t want to hear his explanation. I don’t want to see his side of the story. It’s unreasonable, but I want to stay mad at him. Maybe that would make it easier to justify my own decision to use the keycard I stole to get out of here.

“Alright,” I say stiffly. “Let me go.”

His eyes narrow at my sudden change in tone. “This doesn’t change anything. You’re not coming with me to that meeting.”

The words feel like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. “Fuck you,” I snarl.

“You’re staying here, where I know you’re safe,” he replies firmly.

“I’m not some fragile thing you get to keep locked up, Ivan!” And what business is it of his whether I’m safe or not?

“Maybe not. But it’s been working pretty well, hasn't it? By your own admission, the reason you haven't tried to escape is that you know this is the safest place for you. The one place that Sciarra won’t think to look for you.”

Hearing my own words thrown back at me makes my stomach drop. I might have said it to him, but I said it to Mamma too. I’m not sure which conversation he’s referring to.

“The fact remains that you listened to something that was meant to be private,” I repeat, needing him to understand that’s not okay.

“Your mother made you want to run from me, so of course I listened,” he says, enunciating every word. “I understand you’re angry about it, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry I listened. I’d do it again if I had to.”

My heart pangs a little at that, and I have to inhale deeply to swallow my gasp, to swallow the lump rising in my throat as I stare up at his determined face. “I see.”

So not only is he not sorry about spying on us, but he’s not going to take me to that meeting either. The elevator keycard in my pocket suddenly feels heavy, like it’s burning a hole through the fabric. And for the first time since taking it, I’m glad I did. I need to get out of here. Right now. I tug my wrist again, and this time he lets go.

“You win then,” I say flatly. “I’ll stay here if that’s what you want. But I’m not telling you anything. If you really want to know, go listen to the recording in Mamma’s room.”

Done with this conversation, I turn towards the door, and he grabs my wrist—again. I glare back at him, exasperated. “What now? I said I’d do what you want, didn’t I?”

His eyes search mine like he doesn’t believe a word I said. Rightfully so, because I have absolutely no intention of sitting in my room like a kept woman while he chases the lead my mother risked herself to find. And if Mamma doesn’t see me soon, she’ll go on her own. That’s not happening.