I study her face.
She’s not blinking very much.
She’s not looking away.
She’s telling the truth.
And it hurts to believe her. Because if she’s not lying—then someone else fucked with the file. Someone else deliberately erased him.
Which means someone else knew I was watching her.
Someone else touched my obsession.
I reach up, brushing her hair away from her face, and she doesn’t flinch this time.
“Did he touch you?” I ask too calmly.
She nods. “He hugged me.”
My jaw flexes.
I force myself to nod. Then I press my forehead to hers.
“I believe you,” I whisper. “But I’m still going to put a knife to his throat until he explains why I didn’t know he existed.”
She sucks in a sharp breath.
And I smile.
“That’s not rage, Raven.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “That’s love.”
She doesn’t pull away.
That’s the most dangerous part.
Not her lies. Not her secrets. Not the half-brother I didn’t see coming.
It’s that she’s still here. Still breathing me in. Still letting me touch her.
And that means I still have her.
Even if I have to break the world in half to keep her.
I cup the back of her neck, my fingers threaded through the soft strands of her hair. She’s warm beneath my palms. Real. Shaking, but not from fear—no, I know her tremors. They’re the kind that come when control is stripped away.
The kind I taught her to love.
I press my mouth to her cheek, then lower. Her neck. Her collarbone. I kiss every inch of skin not already bruised by me.
A prayer.
A promise.
A brand.
“He touched what’s mine,” I whisper against her throat, voice like smoke. “That makes him a problem.”
She closes her eyes.
