But, of course, he decided otherwise.
In the infuriating way he had perfected, Malik materialized directly in front of me, cutting off my escape.
“Olivia.”
His voice was edged with something almost…pleading.
Before I could turn away, he reached out, took my chin in his hand, and tilted it up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
His emerald eyes shimmered, a hypnotic pull I should have resisted.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to speak.
Malikexhaled softly. “I understand that you’re mad at me. I apologize for letting my dark side come out.”
His words were gentle, but they carried a hint of manipulation.
I wasn’t falling for it.
“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not—the fact is, you did it.” My voice was cold, even as my pulse roared. “I no longer feel safe around you.”
A shadow passed over Malik’s features. He let out a pained sigh. “It will never happen again.”
I almost laughed at that.
But then his expression shifted—serious, controlled.
“We must be allies, Olivia. Tonight is important.”
And just like that, reality came hurtling back.
“How can I be your ally if I don’t trust you?” I tried to pull away from his iron grip, but he held firm.
Then, just as suddenly, he released me. His fingers trailed along my cheek, the ghost of a caress.
“I told you I’d never do it again, and I meant it.” His piercing gaze searched mine. “You have to trust me. Now, come—talk with me.”
Could I trust him?
It seemed I had no choice.
Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to lead me into the front room.
We settled on opposite ends of the silk-covered sofa, an invisible chasm stretching between us.
The decor here clashed with the monster who inhabited the space. Exquisite paintings adorned the walls, their colors rich and masterful. Delicate, hand-painted vases and ornate fans sat on bookshelves and tables, each a piece of quiet artistry. A serene Buddha statue rested in the corner, its presence almost mocking in contrast to the man who lived here.
It was a masterpiece of a room.
It was a deception, like everything else about Malik.
I perched on the edge of my seat, barely breathing, waiting for him to speak.
“Tonight’s ball is a regional event,” he said at last. “People from all over will be attending. Some will travel from nearby cities—others from as far as Rome.”
His face was unreadable—no kindness, warmth, or disgust—just a cold calculation.
“Okay,” I said carefully, nodding, encouraging him to continue.
