As we descended the stairs, I exchanged a wary glance with Roman. His fingers brushed mine—just briefly—but it was enough.
“What is this show?” he whispered in English.
I swallowed hard. “I’m afraid I know. We’re about to witness a Timebound or a Timeborne being mercilessly tormented.”
Roman’s jaw tensed.
“Malik told me about this,” I continued. “He said it’s part of the annual event. The crowd thinks it’s just an act, but it’s real. The pain, the suffering—all of it.”
A low growl rumbled from Roman’s throat. “You do know I have questions about the nature of your relationship with Malik, don’t you?”
“With Malik? Why?”
His dark gaze cut to me, unreadable, but I felt the heat of his jealousy.
“Because you belong to me, not him,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet possession. “I hope I made that clear upstairs.”
A shiver skated down my spine. God help me; I loved the way he said that.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I said, breathless.
Before he could respond, a jab to his back made him flinch.
Roman hissed. “We’re doing as we’re told,” he snapped at the guard.
“Just making sure.” He waved his blade lazily. “Go to the right. Head toward the back of the crowd. The stage is in the largest ballroom.”
Roman sneered. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As we moved, my gaze dropped to his back.
Blood seeped through his doublet, dark and spreading.
Roman caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, amore.”
We navigated through the remnants of debauchery—scattered clothes, overturned goblets, and discarded food. The air reeked of spilled wine and sweat. I felt painfully exposed, my torso bare beneath the dim glow of the chandeliers, as if I were part of the entertainment.
I snatched up a woman’s abandoned top, hurriedly fastening its tiny buttons, hoping it would be enough to mask both my vulnerability and our deception.
We slipped through a set of French doors.
I leaned toward Roman, my lips brushing his ear. “We have to find Malik and get out of here.”
“Keep an eye out,” he murmured. “I need to find Tristan.”
I froze mid-step. “Tristan? The Tristan? The guy I used to date?”
A sick feeling churned in my stomach.
Roman sighed. “It’s a long story. Let’s say… he’s Balthazar’s son.”
My breath hitched. “You mean I was dating a demon’s son?”
Before Roman could answer, someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled forward, catching myself.
Roman’s grip found mine. “Come, Olivia. There’s much to discuss, but not here. Right now, our only priority is escaping this hellhole.”
His hand remained clasped around mine as he maneuvered us through the throng.
