That sadness returns to him.
Right in front of my eyes, Oliver softens.
He leans his weight back onto one boot, the tension on his face fades, his shoulders relax, and he looks down at me.
His answer comes gentle, somewhere between a murmur and a whisper, “You will never know just how much I do care, Liv. How much I’ve always cared, and all the things I’ve done to protect you.”
I rinse him over with an unkind look, “Then never curse me with your hatred—because that must be the lowest level of hell.”
Oliver doesn’t stop me as I shove by him and stalk for the atrium, but he follows—and as a girl squeezes herself up against the edge of the corridor, as if to let us pass, he stops.
I recognise her.
The same girl from the queue in the village, the one with doe eyes, dull hair like mine, and smarts enough to drop a glove in Oliver’s path.
I pause at the mouth of the corridor and turn a frown over my shoulder.
Oliver steps back into the wall as he lifts his hand in a lazy gesture for her to pass.
Her smile is small before she mutters a thanks I barely hear over the chatter in the atrium.
Oliver watches her go, blatantly checking out her ass as she disappears down the corridor.
My eyes narrow. “You are disgusting.”
Oliver turns a darkening look on me. “She’s eighteen and elite. I don’t see the problem.”
My upper lip curls. “Done your research on her already?”
There’s nothing nice about his grin. “A true hunter knows his prey.”
Disgust rolls through my belly.
Oliver takes a step closer—and looks down at me. “I told you, Olivia. We all make sacrifices. That sometimes means not being with the one we love—and so we make do with what we have. Right now,” he adds, cocking his head, and dark tendrils brush over his brow, “I am afforded a few more months of freedom. I will take them for the luxury that they are.”
He shoulders by me.
My eyes narrow on his back as he marches into the atrium—and makes a beeline for Serena.
He pulls her into his arms and plants a firm kiss on her lips.
She’s stiff against it.
The air of the village bites like glass—sharp and clean down my throat.
It’s no difference to the gaze that slides to me every other moment.
Turns out, Dray is joining us.
He and Oliver seem to have no problem just inviting themselves along with us.
Now I wander behind Serena and Oliver, arm in arm, like they have no issues in their twisted relationship.
Serena stops on the snowy cobblestone to consider the new window display at Chloé’s.
Dray keeps my pace to the window and patience has him pausing at my side as I consider the blush of the silky dress draping the mannequin.
The sort of dress that would kill on someone like Asta, with a pilates body and barely-there breasts.
