Crossings was getting desperate. The fire at theDomusmade that clear—the villain was brazen enough to strike at anything Malum valued. Anything he cared about. And now, this convoluted betrothal was center stage, a target painted for all to see.
A flicker of movement on the street caught his attention—a shadow—and although he couldn’t make out who it was, a trail of ice slithered down his spine.
He’d seen that shadow before, hovering outside of theDomus.
But of course, Crossings would have spies watching him… He had suspected this.
What the devil was he doing? Practically serenading Melanie from his bloody window? He’d put her in danger, and now, he needed to do something that would actually protect her. So, setting all that romantic sentiment aside, he made a snap decision.
“There is no us.” He spoke more loudly than before, more deliberately. The knowledge that they were being watched only reinforced the truth of what had to be done.
If there was even a chance that doing so would shield her from danger, he had to push her away.
“But—” Her little brows furrowed. “What about?—”
“We agreed this was only temporary,” he cut her off. “Fake. Nothing more.” He made his voice hard. He had to be convincing. Even as he spoke, however, he promised himself he’d make this up to her.
If she let him.
But not until Crossings was well and truly locked away—when the danger was gone.
“I thought—” She shook her head in disbelief. “I lo?—”
“Don’t make this into more than it is.” And then, in case Crossings’ hired thug needed more convincing, he added, “In fact, let’s just end it now, shall we?”
Melanie looked positively frantic now. “But I don’t understand!”
Disbelief and hurt flashed in her expression, and Malum had to force himself not to take it all back. Hanging on by a thread, but also because one or both of them might give away too much if this went on much longer, Malum grabbed the handle on the window. “Good night, Melanie,” he said.
And then, he very deliberately pulled the window shut.
His heart felt sick.
Tonight, he’d abandoned all pretense of resisting her. And in spite of what he’d told her, part of him could never regret it. Regret… her.
Us.
She’d been wanting reassurances and he’d given her the opposite.
She’d asked him about tonight, if he was sorry…
He’d thought he could justify his emotional lapse by labeling it regret or duty or guilt. But the truth was far less tidy.
He wasn’t sorry for tonight.
Not for the way she’d looked at him, her eyes wide with trust and something he dared not name. Not for the feel of her against him, her warmth imprinted on his skin. And certainly not for the way she’d made him feel—like a man who still had something to offer, something worth protecting.
No, he wasn’t sorry for any of that.
He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped back.
Malum stood in the nursery, moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. Ernest stirred in his crib, and a small, contented sigh broke the silence. But Malum didn’t feel content—not in the slightest.
He braced his hands against the edge of the cradle, his head bowing forward as an icy chill rolled through him. His own cruel words echoed in his mind, hard and unfeeling. He’d done it to protect her, he reminded himself. To keep her safe.
And yet…
The memory of her face—wide-eyed, searching—clawed at him. He’d hurt her. That much was undeniable. But he’d done what was necessary.
