“Is that the best they could buy?”
“Thought Barron had better taste.”
“Maybe Wolfe’s standards slipped.”
My stomach twisted. The collar burned against my skin.
I wanted—God, I wanted—to disappear.
To sink into the marble. Into the walls. Into anything that wasn’t the burning stare of the world. But I stayed standing. Breathing. Because Wolfe hadn’t told me to stop. Because even humiliation was obedience. Because even shame was survival now.
Royal leaned down again. Closer this time. His breath stirred the loose strands of hair at my nape. “That’s it, make it pretty,” he whispered. “They’re already deciding how much you’re worth.”
Wolfe shifted beside me. Subtle. Commanding. The small motion pushed me two steps closer to him. Under his shoulder. Under his shadow. I stayed there. Grateful. Broken. Invisible again—but only because he allowed it.
The whispers kept coming. They would never stop. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Because no matter how many diamonds they draped me in—everyone here already knew. I didn’t belong to the silk. I didn’t belong to the ballroom. I didn’t even belong to the brothers who stood beside me. I belonged to the leash. And they could all see it.
The ballroom blurred. Laughter. Clinking glasses. Silk swirling against marble. I kept my head down. Hands pressed to my sides. Breathing through the pain wrapped around my ribs. Breathing through the silk that clung to bruises not yet healed.
The collar chafed at my neck under the diamonds. Wolfe spoke low to someone near the entrance. Formal. Controlled. A titan conducting business under chandeliers.
Royal drifted closer to a group of investors. His lazy grin cutting sharper than any blade. Loyal lingered near the far wall. Silent. Watching me from under his lashes.
I stayed still. The obedient figure behind them. The breathing shame stitched into their shadows. More whispers floated past. Sharper now. Hungrier.
“Selene must be laughing herself sick.”
“First the sister. Now the pet.”
“Maybe the Lawlors like their toys broken.”
I didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But inside—the leash twisted.
A slow, sharp knot pulled tight against my spine. The name stung more than I expected.
Selene.
A ghost that never really left. A knife still lodged in the cracks Camille left behind.
I swallowed hard. The collar bit deeper..
The conversation shifted. New hands shook. New glasses clinked. But the chill didn’t fade. It deepened. Spread. Across my shoulders. Down my spine. A wrongness blooming cold and thick in the back of my throat.
I kept my head bowed. I didn’t search the crowd. Didn’t dare. But the hairs along my arms lifted anyway.
The air changed. The way it used to when Camille walked into a room angry. Or when Wolfe stepped close enough to shatter. The crowd shifted, subtly.
A ripple.
A reaction.
And in the corner of my eye—a flash of gold.
Not the way Royal wore it. Not the way Wolfe’s cufflinks caught light. Different. Rougher. Sharper than the silk and glass around it.
My throat locked. The mat burned against my knees in memory. The cold leash tightened. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe differently. Because Wolfe was standing only a few feet away. Because Royal was watching. Because Loyal was already bleeding guilt into the floorboards.
But I felt it. The prickle at the back of my neck. The weight of eyes that knew too much. A shadow stitched into gold satin and the scent of something sweet rotting underneath.
