Page 33 of His Eternal Claim

Because her soft brown eyes… those eyes never smiled. Not in this picture. Not with me when she left, sobbing, calling me a monster. Not even when I made her tremble. I trace her face with my thumb.

A muscle tightens somewhere I can’t name at the sight of a man beside her. I know him.

He’s Vane Davenport’s son. Adrian Davenport. One I’ll kill very soon.

So, she thinks I was lying when I said I’d kill for her. She thinks sending me this invitation to her engagement, clicking a picture with another man, smiling at him, wearing his ring will save her from me?

And the audacity, for the engagement to be on the same day as my fucking wedding.

Well played, Dolcezza.

For a moment… I just stare. At the ring on her finger. At the bastard standing beside her like he has the right. Like he earned the privilege of breathing the same fucking air as her.

A low laugh escapes me. My thumb strokes the edge of the photograph.

Then my grip tightens hard enough to bend the fucking paper.

She’s smiling.

Trying to taste the lie.

Trying to understand how my sweet little ghost thought this would end.

Because Selene knows me.

She’s seen what sits beneath the suits.

Beneath the billions.

Beneath the carefully polished mask.

She’s seen the monster.

And she still thought she could provoke me?

And that… that’s when I know someone’s going to die.

But rage is sloppy. Messy. Temporary. This? This is worse.

This is eternal.

My eternal claim on her.

I lean back in my chair. Look up at the ceiling. And smile. Cute.

Real fucking cute.

She thinks this is rebellion.

Poor girl.

She still doesn’t understand.

Distance means nothing when obsession has your fucking name carved into its bones.

I grab my phone. Dial her number. Once. It rings. And rings. And rings. No answer. Something dark shifts in my chest. Something far uglier. I hit call again. This time… she picks up on the second ring.

“…Hello?”