“Well,” he says, almost dry, “that was a hell of a broadcast.”
I don’t look up. “How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
“Dom,” my voice cracks. “Kian . . . he’ll hurt him for this. Make him pay for my mistakes. I should have just played along, should have—”
“Hey.” Kane’s voice is unusually gentle. “Dom’s survived worse than his father’s temper tantrums. Been working for him long enough to know that. And anyway,” his mouth twists with grim amusement, “pretty sure Kian still needs him alive. You can’t marry a corpse. Not great for optics.”
A laugh escapes me, but it sounds more like a sob. “Since when are you an optimist?”
“Since never. I just do math. And right now, you’re still useful.”
He offers a hand. I take it.
My knees tremble as he helps me upright. “It needed to be said,” he adds, voice low. “Someone had to crack the city’s polished veneer.”
I look at him, surprised. Kane shrugs, something bitter crossing his features. “I didn’t grow up here. The dream they sold me only works if you follow their rules, take their orders, stay on the right side of their lines. Sure, I’ve got it better than most, but—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “I didn’t do this for anyone else. I’m not some champion of the people or whatever you’re thinking. I did it because I’m sick of their games and control. Because I’m selfish and angry and tired of pretending.”
“That may be so.” Kane’s lips quirk. “And maybe this won’t change anything at all. But at least you didn’t smile for the cameras and let them turn you into a perfect little doll.”
The ring catches the light one last time as we walk away. A symbol of everything I’ve probably just lost. But for a fleeting moment, I told the truth. In a city that thrives on lies, that has to count for something.
Even if I did it for all the wrong reasons.
Ipace the lengthof the penthouse for what must be the hundredth time, heels tapping against marble floors that gleam too bright. The interview loops in my head—every word I flung like a blade, every polished lie I carved apart. By now, the footage is everywhere.Whispersilk’s probably breaking records with their headlines.
Raze stands at his post by the door, arms folded, expression unreadable. His size should make the room feel safer, but instead the walls seem to press in, the air too dense to breathe. He hasn’t said much since swapping shifts with Kane this afternoon, after we dropped me off from the studio. The weight in his silence isn’t apathy but worry, and that makes something twist inside me.
“Have you . . .” My voice comes out thin. “Have you heard anything? About Dom?”
“No.” Raze’s reply is quiet. “But that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Kid’s got more lives than a guttercat.” He huffs a short laugh. “Remember when he tried jumping between those rooftops at The Den? Thought for sure he was dead, but there he was, hanging by his fingertips and grinning like an idiot.”
I actually smile at that. “You yanked him upby the collar.”
“Then threw him right back over.” Raze’s eyes crinkle. “Sometimes the only way to teach Dom a lesson is to let him fall on his ass.”
A brittle laugh slips out. “Have you seen the interview?”
“Saw enough.” He shifts his stance, bruised knuckles catching the light. “You told the truth.”
“Truth gets people killed here.” I don’t mean it to sound so bitter, but Kian wouldn’t simply let this go. He’s not wired for mercy. There has to be fallout.
“Sit down.” Raze’s tone cuts through the fog settling over my thoughts. “Eat something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not a suggestion.” He moves to the kitchen, his massive frame somehow graceful as he raids my fridge.
“I can cook, you know,” I mutter.
“Sure. Like when you tried to seduce Dom with that chocolate cake? Even the disposal gagged.”
I slump against the counter, watching him work. “That recipe was cursed. Not my fault.”
“Mhm. I’m sure purple was the intended outcome.” His knife glides cleanly through a tomato. “Dom wasn’t much better. Used to make these flaming cocktails, called ‘Dragon’s Breath.’ Exploded on contact. Literally.”
