Page 123 of Sweet Ruin

“Look,” I say. “I’m not fishing. I’m just saying. Objectively. Like, in a court of law. If you lined up every woman in this room and made a jury vote⁠—”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Just listen,” I insist. “It’s a hypothetical.”

“No. It’s a stupid one.”

I slap my glass down on a nearby table, hard enough for the champagne to slosh over the edge and start bubbling on the tablecloth. “Fine. Then just say she’s pretty. You can say it. I’m not going to burst into tears in the middle of a mob party. I’ve made it through worse.”

He angles his body toward me, blocking my view of the rest of the room—and, I notice, of the hubbub that’s still surrounding Alisa.

“You want me to praise her?” he asks in his dangerous voice. “You want me to tell you how attracted I am to her? How stunning she is? How much everyone else at this party pales in comparison to her?”

I raise my chin to its fullest extent. “I want you to be a normal man for ten seconds.”

“I don’t do impressions.”

God, he’s pissing me off more than I ever thought possible.

“You’re being difficult on purpose,” I accuse.

He glares down at me, dark brows knitting together. “You keep asking me to look at something I have no interest in. I’m not wasting my time on that nonsense. You can lie to yourself all you want, Lilah, but you cannot force me to do the lying for you.”

Have you ever felt your worldview get shaken?

Lemme tell you, it’s a weird feeling.

It’s like… It’s like gravity all of a sudden pulls you down a little to the left.

Is your whole life completely changed?

No, not really. But you just feel off-kilter. Something is wrong and you aren’t quite sure why.

Maybe that’s the reason I don’t have an immediate retort. I feel defensive, but even that seems misplaced.

Because Kane isn’t attacking me. Not really.

He’s just refusing to participate in a story I’ve told myself for a long time.

If there’s a ranking, I’m at the bottom of it.

And if I ever accidentally find myself up a rung or two, don’t bother enjoying it, because it won’t last long.

Sooner or later, a Vivian will come along and take it.

I look at the tablecloth where my champagne is still fizzing into the linen. There’s a pale gold ring spreading out around it.

I’ve never said this out loud, not to Priya, not to Connor, not even to my own reflection.

I need people to agree in order for that philosophy to remain true.

If someone says, She’s prettier and I say, Uh, duh, obviously, look at her, then we’re on the same team, and I’m the one who said it first, so nobody gets to hurt me with it. I’ve been running that play since I was nine years old and my mother told me not to worry about it because Vivvy got the looks and I got the sense.

But Kane won’t play ball.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Kane reaches out, palms my hip, and pulls me flush against him.

“You don’t have to be a slave anymore, sladkaya,” he murmurs to me. “The cuffs are gone. The chains are off.”