The beautiful, terrified girl with mascara running down her face was supposed to marry this man. This man with his banked anger and his golden eyes and his small army of men with guns.
The thought rises up before I can stop it, and maybe something shows on my face, because Devyn's expression shifts again.
"You think you're protecting her." His voice is still soft. Still quiet. But there's an edge to it now, sharp enough to cut. "How...noble."
I should stay quiet. I should stay small. I should do what I've always done, what I learned to do in a house where anger filled every room and the only way to survive was to become invisible.
But something happens instead.
Maybe it's the adrenaline. Maybe it's the sheer impossibility of this situation, the fact that I'm standing in a book I fell asleep reading, being interrogated by a fictional mafia king about a bride I watched escape through a secret door.
Maybe it's the memory of Marilyn's smile this morning, and Heart's ultimatum, and every single time I've swallowed my own voice because it was easier than fighting.
Or maybe I'm just tired.
Tired of being the one who backs down. Tired of being the one who stays quiet. Tired of being someone that people look at and see nothing worth taking seriously.
I lift my chin.
"I'm not telling you anything."
The words hang in the air between us.
I have no idea where they came from. That's not me. I don't talk back. I don't challenge. I don't look dangerous men in the eye and refuse to give them what they want.
Except apparently, I do.
Apparently, in this world, in this story, I do.
Devyn doesn't react. Not visibly. His face remains perfectly still, perfectly composed. But something happens behind his eyes. A door opening. A calculation being made.
And then Devyn Chaleur smiles.
It's not a nice smile. It's the smile of a man who's used to getting everything he wants, and who's just found something that refuses to be gotten.
It's also, unfortunately, a devastating smile.
The kind that transforms his whole face, softens those sharp angles, makes him look almost human. Almost approachable. Almost like someone you could trust.
Which he isn't. Obviously. He's a mafia king with an army and a runaway bride and a legendary temper, and I amnotgoing to be distracted by a nice smile.
Handsome smile.
I meant handsome. No, horrible. Horrible smile.
And he's someone else's groom, let's not forget that. His bride literally just ran away, so any attraction I might be feeling is completely inappropriate and also probably a symptom of whatever was in that tea—
But his bride ran away. So technically he's single now. Available. Ready to—
Oh my gosh, Bailey.Stop.
"Très bien," Devyn murmurs.Very well."Then you'll pay the price for your silence."
He reaches out. Catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilts my face up toward his.
His touch is warm. His hands are steady. No tremor, no hesitation. He touches me like he has every right to, like my personal space is just another thing he owns.
And my stupid, traitorous bodylikesit.
