Smoke and sin.
“Still,” he murmured, voice pitched for only me and Wolfe to hear, “I thought she’d hold out longer.”
A beat. A smile I could feel without seeing.
“Guess loyalty runs thin when the leash gets too tight.”
My throat locked. Not from anger. Not from shame. From knowing he wasn’t wrong. Because even kneeling here—even collared and bleeding silence into the marble—a part of me wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to tear the diamonds from my neck and the leash from my skin.
But I didn’t. Because Wolfe didn’t need my love. He needed my obedience. And Royal? Royal wanted my cracks. He wanted to see if I would bleed something different this time.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I stayed still. Breathing shallowly. Because survival here wasn’t about strength. It wasabout stillness. It was about showing them—showing him—that I could carry shame like a crown if it meant staying leashed.
Loyal shifted across the room. I heard his drink set down harder than it should have. A faint, sharp sound that cracked through the marble.
When I risked a glance—just a flicker under lowered lashes—I saw him. Standing stiff against the wall. Hands clenched at his sides. Eyes burning with something raw and broken.
Guilt.
Grief.
Something worse.
He didn’t move toward me. He didn’t call me away. Because he knew he couldn’t. Because Wolfe was still watching. Still claiming. Still deciding. And Loyal—Loyal would rather bleed inside his suit than cross that silent line.
I locked my knees harder. Bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Because if Loyal reached for me—if he moved even a step—I didn’t know if I would have the strength to stay still.
The music shifted again. Laughter tightened. Another server passed with champagne. No one took a glass this time. The world was tilting.
Breaking.
Waiting.
And then—Barron.
He reappeared like a shadow unstuck from the wall. Crossed the ballroom with mechanical precision. Not looking at anyone. Not touching anything. The ash of his anger dusted across the lapels of his suit. Invisible. Heavy. His jaw was locked. His eyes were dead.
He moved through the crowd without speaking. Without seeing. Without breathing anything that wasn’t rage stitched into bone. I watched him from the corner of my eye. I wasn’t supposed to. Wolfe hadn’t told me to. But I did anyway.
Because even now—even collared and bruised and obedient—there was something in me that couldn’t look away from ruin.
Barron stopped beside Wolfe. Didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Didn’t even look at me. But I felt it. The war in him. The grief he refused to call by name. And the guilt stitched into the silence between them—a silence I was kneeling in.
But the world around us shifted again. Heavier. Sharper. A kingdom bleeding under marble and gold. A dynasty crumbling under the weight of its own secrets.
And Wolfe?
Wolfe didn’t need to touch me to remind me who I belonged to. He just needed to breathe. And I would follow. Even if it meant burning in the ashes of everything they once pretended to be.
12
CLOE
The ballroom didn’t stop.It kept moving. Kept glittering. Kept lying. The servers kept circling with silver trays. The violins kept humming something expensive and empty. The investors kept laughing too loud. And I stayed kneeling inside the ruins no one could admit they were standing in.
Royal leaned lazily against the nearest pillar. Champagne glass half-full in his hand. Smile half-formed on his lips. The kind of smile that wasn’t amusement. It was warning.
Loyal stood stiff against the wall. Like he was fighting a battle no one else could see. His tie was loosened now. His sleeves rumpled. There was blood at the corner of his cuff I hadn’t noticed before. A smear. A stain. Maybe it was old. Maybe it was new. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
