“Erin.” He says my name like a curse. Like a promise.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Up close, he's evenworse. The tattoos crawling up his neck, the brutal line of his jaw, and shoulders broad enough to block out the rest of the room. And fuck, he smells good—expensive and male andwrongfor how much I want to lean in.
My mother stares at me, silently begging, and I don’t know why.
I swallow hard.
God, Ihateplaying by these rules. Of all the people in all the places in the world…
“That would be lovely,” I lie.
“Excellent,” he says, also lying. He looks as thrilled as I feel.
“I’ll walk you through the estate.” He turns and starts walking fast, without bothering to see if I’m following.
I am, of course.
“Da used to let people come through for a tour,” Cavin says over his shoulder. “But he stopped. They made a mockery of it.” A beat. “Thought it was some kind of circus or the like.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate.”
Unfortunate? That’s unfortunate?
He doesn’t answer, just leads me down a marble corridor that looks like you could ice-skate on it.
“You’ve grown up,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t think the world’d let you.”
My chest tightens. Oh, he’s still the same, that lazy cruelty—half compliment, half dagger.
“And you’ve grown predictable,” I say lightly. “Still mistaking cruelty for charm.”
He glances over with a faint smirk. “Still mistaking honesty for cruelty?”
Come again?
“Well, I see you haven’t lost thatscowl,” I mutter. “Charming.”
“Not charming,” he replies. “Familiar.”
Silence… hot and sticky with history. Old wounds wrapped in heat neither of us asked for. And why is he standing so close to me?
Did I move, or did he?
I try to focus on the estate. It’s beautiful, yeah. Majestic even. But none of it matters because I’ve never been good at pretending.
And right now? All I can think is—I’m alone. With Cavin McCarthy.
And Ihatehim.
I hate him so much.
I hate that his family holds more power than mine.
I hate that he’s so fucking handsome.
I hate that he knows it.
