I drop my gaze, unable to handle the intensity in Ryder’s eyes. His words sound too sincere, and I can’t afford to believe them. Hope is dangerous. I learned that lesson growing up in my father’s house, where every warm moment was inevitably followed by cold fury.
“You don’t need to pretend,” I whisper, watching water droplets roll down my skin. “I know why I’m here. I know what this is.”
Dominic’s arms tighten around me. “Do you?” His voice rumbles against my back, vibrating through my spine. “Because I’m not sure we do anymore.”
The bath water ripples around us, creating small waves that break against my skin. I want to believe them. God, I want to believe that the tenderness they’re showing isn’t just another form of manipulation. But believing means vulnerability, and vulnerability has only ever brought me pain.
“When this is over...” I start, then stop, because I don’t know how to finish that sentence. When this is over, what? I go back to my father’s house. Back to law school applications, and charity galas, and ducking when he raises his hand?
Liam’s fingers trace a pattern along my shoulder, leaving trails of fragrant oil that glisten in the low light. “When this is over, we talk. About what you want. About what we want.”
“And if they don’t align?” My voice catches.
“Then we figure it out,” Ryder says, as if the answer could possibly be that easy.
The warmth surrounding me isn’t just from the water. It’s from their bodies, their touch, their unexpected concern. I’ve never felt this protected, this secure—not even before my mother died and my father changed. The irony that I feel safest with the three men who hunted me for sport isn’t lost on me.
“I don’t understand,” I admit. “You wanted revenge. You wanted to hurt him by...” I gesture vaguely at myself, at my nakedness.
“Plans change,” Dominic says quietly. “People change.”
I can’t let myself hope. Hope is the thing that destroys you when it’s snatched away.
19
DOMINIC
Iguide Cora through the ornate corridor toward the dining room, her small hand in mine. Behind us, Ryder and Liam follow closely—too closely for what would have been my comfort three days ago.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Last week, I would’ve sooner burned down my penthouse than invite three people to live in it. My space is sacred. Private. Mine. I’ve ended relationships over someone leaving a toothbrush in my bathroom. Yet here I am, mentally rearranging furniture to accommodate three new residents.
“You okay there, Vega?” Liam’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, though nothing feels fine anymore.
This was supposed to be simple. Hunt the Mayor’s daughter. Break her. Make her father watch her humiliation at the feast. Revenge served ice cold for what he did to my waterfront project.
Now? I’m leading Cora into a room where her father will enter soon enough, completely unaware he’s about to see exactly what his daughter has been doing for the past forty-eight hours. The thought twists my stomach in a way that revenge fantasies never have before.
I glance back at her. She’s wearing the black dress attendants provided after the bath, her hair arranged to hide the marks on her neck—marks I put there. She looks beautiful, vulnerable. Trusting.
Mierda.
She doesn’t know her father attends every Hollow’s Hunt feast. Doesn’t know we planned this final humiliation specifically for him.
“Wait.” I stop walking, turning to face the three of them. “There’s something you should?—”
I catch Ryder’s eye, see him shake his head. He thinks she should find out during. Maximum impact. That was the plan, after all.
But now I know about the bruises—know he’s hit her. Used his power to control and hurt her. The same man who self-righteously blocked my development project has been abusing his own daughter.
I’m not a good man. Never claimed to be. But seeing her father’s face when he realizes what we’ve done to his daughter suddenly doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like using her all over again.
“What is it?” Cora asks, her eyes searching mine.
