“And what about me?” I asked, throat tight.
Aunt Mabel held my gaze. “You need to stop punishing yourself for wanting.”
The words hit hard.
Because I had.
I had built a life around being the woman who didn’t need, didn’t crave, didn’t slip. The one who stayed on message. The one who fought for the right causes, said the right things, stayed safe enough to be respected.
And yet here I was, sitting at this table with a hunter across from me, heat pooled low in my body, a hunger I could no longer pretend wasn’t mine.
Cassian’s voice cut through the moment, low and steady.
“She’s not punishing herself,” he said.
Aunt Mabel’s brows lifted. “Oh?”
“She’s challenging herself,” he continued, eyes on me.
My pulse jumped.
Aunt Mabel’s mouth curved. “That’s one way to frame it.”
Cassian didn’t look away. “It’s accurate.”
I swallowed, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt beneath the gaze of two people who seemed to see straight through my carefully managed exterior.
Aunt Mabel stood then. “Dessert,” she announced. “Because this table is starting to feel like a therapy session and I refuse to play that role without sugar.”
She disappeared into the kitchen.
I exhaled slowly, grateful for the break, then realized the break meant something else, too.
It meant Cassian and I were alone at the table.
The room felt smaller without my aunt’s voice filling it.
Cassian watched me for a moment, expression calm.
“You didn’t ask her his name,” he said.
I stared at my plate. “I noticed.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I lifted my gaze. “Because I don’t want to make this about him.”
His eyes darkened slightly, interest flickering.
“And what do you want this to be about?”
The question tightened something inside me.
“Me,” I said quietly. “For once.”
Cassian’s gaze held mine, steady and intent.
“Good,” he said.
