“To what?” I wrench against his hold. “More lies? More manipulation?”
His other hand cups my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. “To the truth about what your father has planned.”
“I know what he’s planned.” My voice shakes with rage. “He wants me dead, and you—his faithful fixer—are helping him.”
“Wrong.” His fingers tighten fractionally. “He wants you broken. Death would be a mercy compared to what he has in mind.”
“And this isn’t breaking me?” I gesture at the room with my free hand. “Shooting me with blanks? Locking me up like a pet? Playing sick games with me?”
His eyes darken, tracking the movement of my throat as I swallow. “If you think this is breaking you, you have no idea what Ano is capable of.”
The weight of his words hits me, but I refuse to show fear. “So what? You’re protecting me now? Playing the hero?”
“I’ve never claimed to be a hero.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, and my treacherous body shivers. “But I’m not your enemy, Eve.”
“No?” I bare my teeth in a sharp smile. “Then what are you, Remy?”
His words hang between us, and something inside me snaps. The rage that’s been building explodes, and I lunge forward, my palm connecting with his face in a sharp crack that echoes through the room. The sting spreads across my hand, but the satisfaction of marking his perfect facade is worth it.
I swing again, but his reflexes are too quick. His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping the second slap before it lands. His grip is measured—strong enough to restrain but careful not to leave marks.
“Let me go!” I thrash against his hold, hating how my skin burns where he touches me.
When I aim a punch at his jaw with my free hand, he captures that wrist again, and suddenly, I’m trapped against the solid wall of his chest. My breath comes in sharp gasps, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“You shot me,” I spit the words at him, twisting in his grasp. My body betrays me, responding to his proximity even as fury courses through my veins.
He dips his head, and his breath fans hot against my ear. “I saved you.” His voice is a low growl that vibrates through every point where our bodies touch. “The next bullet wouldn’t have been a trick shot.”
His fingers tighten around my wrists—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me of the strength he holds in check. But his thumbs trace gentle circles against my pulse points, the tender gesture a maddening contrast to our violent struggle.
“Bastard,” I hiss, but my voice wavers, caught between anger and something far more dangerous. His touch sends electricity skittering under my skin, and I hate how my body arches into him even as I try to pull away.
My legs buckle as Remy releases his grip, and I stumble forward and away from him until I hit the bed. The fight drains from my body so suddenly it leaves me dizzy and hollow. Something inside me splinters, and tears I’ve been holding back for days spill down my cheeks.
“Damn you,” I choke out, hating the weakness in my voice, hating how my body trembles. The mattress dips as I collapse onto it, my hands covering my face as if I could hide this breakdown from him.
Remy moves with that predatory grace I’ve come to know, his footsteps nearly silent on the plush carpet. The clink of crystal against wood makes me flinch—he’s setting a glass of water on the nightstand. I can feel him hovering and sense the tension in his body as he fights some internal battle.
From between my fingers, I watch his hands twitch at his sides. Those capable hands that have touched me with both violence and tenderness are now suspended in indecision. He wants to reach for me—I can read it in every rigid line of his body—but he maintains his distance.
The silence stretches between us like a living thing, heavy with everything we’ve left unsaid. The weight of betrayal, desire, and something far more dangerous presses against my chest until I can barely breathe.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but the words come out broken, unconvincing even to my own ears. They taste like ash in my mouth, bitter with the lie.
Remy takes measured steps toward the door, each footfall deliberate. His shoulders bunch beneath his perfectly tailored jacket, the only visible sign that my words have reached him.
He pauses at the threshold, one hand resting on the doorframe. “I know,” he says, his voice so quiet I almost miss it. Then, softer still: “I love you, Eve.”
“Love?” I laugh, the sound sharp and brittle in the oppressive silence of the room. Rising from the bed, I stalk toward him, ignoring how my body protests the sudden movement. “You call this love? Shooting me? Locking me up?”
Remy’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. His shoulders are rigid, tension radiating from every line of his powerful frame. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks… uncertain.
“I don’t say those words.” His voice comes out rough, almost strangled. “Not to anyone.”
“And I’m supposed to feel special?” I spit back, but something in his expression makes me pause.
“My parents—” He breaks off, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. The gesture is so uncharacteristically vulnerable that my breath catches. “They saw me as aninconvenience. A problem to be managed. Private schools and trust funds to keep me out of sight.”
