“Sleep now, kardhoúla,” he whispers against my hair.
And it’s like my body knows its master because my limbs get heavier and my eyelids drift shut.
I don’t even realize I’m actually falling asleep until it’s too late, and by then, I just accept it.
I accept him. And our future.
What other choice do I have?
Chapter Twenty-Seven-Atlas
We’re sailing out of Bodrum’s harbor, the distant coastline softening behind us as the sun glints off the water like scattered diamonds.
The yacht slices cleanly through the sea, a symbol of power I once wielded effortlessly—until this tattooed minx entered my world like a storm in silk.
She’s seated across from me, her delicate fingers curled around a crystal goblet of fresh juice, the gauzy blush of her dress fluttering in the sea breeze.
And I—well, I’m ruined.
Earlier this morning, she handed a small, velvet-wrapped box to Mr. Li, all grace and subtlety.
“A gift for the General’s daughter,” she said, offering perfume and a delicate bracelet made by a French artisan with a lineage older than most dynasties.
A thoughtful, calculated move cloaked in kindness.
Li smiled with surprise—genuine, sharp-eyed surprise—and thanked her warmly. I watched the moment unfold, and something inside me shifted.
She’s not just the daughter of power.
Cecilia understands diplomacy in her blood.
She’s silk wrapped around steel—born of kings, molded by sharks, and gifted with a mind that doesn’t miss a single angle.
She could be running an empire of her own. Hell, she probably will.
And somehow, impossibly, she’s mine.
I shouldn’t have brought her this far. She should be halfway to New Jersey or nestled in the Manhattan penthouse I’ve never shown anyone else.
I should have placed her in a fortress of glass and steel with my men circling the perimeter.
Because the deeper I dig into Dimitri, the more rot I uncover.
He never actually raised me, so my feelings and suspicions aren’t disloyal.
After my father’s death, he sent me away to American boarding schools—detached, calculated.
Not out of care, but out of convenience.
Or maybe fear.
I was the rightful heir, the beloved son of a prince brought low by betrayal, and I think now Dimitri saw that as a threat.
He played the kindly uncle. But behind that facade?
I’m beginning to suspect he was the one pulling strings. Whispering poison into the right ears. Turning loyal allies against my father.
The fall of an ex-communicated royal house requires more than scandal. It requires sabotage.
