“Legend.”
My voice comes out steadier than I feel, but he doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at that glass like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.
“Legend.”
His jaw tightens. That’s it. That’s the only sign he heard me at all.
Then, slow as fucking death, he lifts his head.
And his eyes…
Cold. Flat. Like looking into the eyes of a stranger who’s already decided you’re not worth his time.
My heart drops into my stomach.
“You’re late.” His voice is ice. No heat. No edge. Just…nothing.
I blink, thrown. “I—yeah. Sorry. Emmie was helping me with—” I gesture vaguely at the dress, at myself, suddenly feeling like an idiot for caring. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He rolls his eyes.
Actually fuckingrollsthem. Like I just asked him the dumbest question in the world.
He takes another long pull from his glass.
A slap would’ve hurt less.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
The words rip out of me before I can stop them, sharp and raw. A few heads turn nearby, curious, hungry for drama. I don’t care. Let them watch.
Legend finally looks at me. Really looks. And there’s nothing in those eyes. No fire. No possession. Nous.
Just ice.
“What do you want to say, Haide?”
The way he says my name—flat, clinical, like he’s reading it off a list—makes something crack in my chest.
I shake my head, trying to clear whatever weird fog has settled over this entire fucked-up moment. “I’m done fighting it.” The words tumble out fast, desperate. “You were right. About the bond. About us. I know you’re my mate. Ibelieveyou now. I—”
Movement to his left cuts me off.
Blond hair catches the light first. Then blue eyes, sharp and assessing, land on me with all the warmth of a blade.
Arabella.
She steps up beside Legend, close enough that her shoulder brushes his arm, and something dark and vicious claws up my throat.
Legend shifts. Not away from her.Towardher. His body angling, protective, like he’s shielding her fromme.
“What the fuck is going on?”
My voice cracks on the last word. I hate it. Hate the way it sounds small and broken when I need it to be sharp.
Legend’s eyes harden. His free hand moves, settling on Arabella’s waist, and the world tilts sideways.
“You don’t belong to me.”
