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She walks in behind the cloaked person like she’s walking into a funeral. I can’t deny the pang of satisfaction that hits me when I see her wearing the black dress I brought her. She’s been wearing everything I brought her since she returned because it was either that, or those hideous habits. Or the clothes she returned with. But tonight was her choice.

She’s setting her plan in motion. Face set and back straight.

My little devil.

Here to wreak havoc on my father’s empire.

“There’s Jordan.” Blake’s gaze is fixed on her too, watching over her.

Then our eyes meet, only for a brief time before she disappears into the crowd. I watch with intent as she meanders her way through, not one person sparing her a glance, but everyone anticipating the bride’s arrival.

She stops dead in her tracks when she spots Samuel, though, turning on her heel and walking the other way. But my muscles stiffen when her hand lands on a random clergy’s shoulder like she’s flirting with him. A man who looks old enough to be her dad.

They exchange a short conversation before she strokes his tie, then grazes her palms over his shoulders. My blood turns to molten rock as I watch her place his hand on her waist and blinks her eyelashes up at him.

What in the fuck does she think she’s doing?

Asher clears his throat. “Kain.”

“I know,” I grind out as the wooden banister creaks under the weight of my grip.

Mine.

He’s touching my love.

And she’s letting him.

I rip myself away from the banister; pushing through the stragglers as I rush downstairs and shove my way through the crowd. All I’m seeing is red. Nothing else matters right now except getting to Jordan.

People part as if on demand. All semblance of control left the minute I saw her hand touching him, so I don’t give a fuck who sees my next move. I grip the prick’s blazer and drag him backwards.

“What the—” he mumbles, his face pinched with confusion. I pay him no mind as I round him, crouch down, pick Jordan up and throw her over my shoulder. I flatten the fabric of her dress over her legs so as to not reveal her ass to everyone that would most likely enjoy looking at it.

Dirty perverts.

“Put me down!” she hisses, knocking a fist into my back.

I’m shaking. Every step feels like I’m stepping on hot coals as I take her out of the ballroom.

I know exactly what she’s doing.

I shove open a random door with my free shoulder, glancing around to make sure no one has followed, and the sound of the ball muffles several octaves as the door shuts behind us. I stalk over to the black, wooden table and drop her onto it, pinning her in place by placing my fists on either side of her on the cold surface.

I trap her furious gaze with my own, heaving breaths out of my nose.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, unable to mask the anger. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“It’s called moving on, viper.” She folds her arms across her chest.

“Moving on?” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Just before your wedding?”

Her stormy eyes darken. “There will be no wedding.”

“No. There won’t be. Because you’re mine and I’m taking you out of this shitshow.”

She blanches, her arms relaxing. “You’re not taking me anywhere. I told you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“It’s not a fucking choice anymore, Jordan.”