And I think Dimitri wanted the throne without earning the crown.
“How jealous do you have to be,” I murmur to myself, “to destroy your own blood?”
Cecilia looks up at me, sensing it all with the uncanny intuition I’ve come to crave.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, tilting her head just slightly.
The sun turns her curls to molten bronze.
I don’t lie to her. I never want to.
“I’m thinking you’ve changed my life,” I answer, my voice low. “And I’m not sure I like it.”
Her brows lift, but there’s no hurt in her eyes—only curiosity.
Maybe a little challenge, too.
“You don’t like your life being changed?” she teases gently.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber swirl.
“I’ve always had control. Of my legacy. My name. My enemies.”
“And now?”
“Now,” I admit, “I want things I never planned for. And I’m starting to think I’ll burn the world down to keep them.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to read the stars through smoke. I don’t move. Don’t breathe. And then—finally—her fingers brush across mine, soft as silk.
“Maybe,” she whispers, “the world’s overdue for a little fire.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight-Atlas
My heart clenches.
God help me.
She understands. In a way no one ever has. This isn’t diplomacy or seduction. It’s something raw, something real.
Cecilia Bat—no. Cecilia Stavros.
Her name is mine now.
And the second I remind myself of that, heat flares in my chest—not just lust, but a violent wave of emotion I can barely contain.
Possession. Pride.
Something terrifyingly close to hope.
“I love you,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words land between us like a thunderclap.
Her dark green eyes lock with mine, wide, unblinking—and in that unguarded second, I see her.
All of her. The pain. The longing. The fear.
She doesn’t say it back.
