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“Perhaps you could come inside for a drink?” he offers. “We could talk. There are a few things I’d love to discuss with you.”

Translation: Please let me marry my daughter into the Kazuma family so I can sleep peacefully knowing your family won’t crush mine beneath its shoe.

“No.”

His smile twitches. Only for half a second. Then it returns. “Of course. Another time, then.”

“Maybe.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Later this week?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Wonderful.”

He looks absurdly pleased for a man who’s just been rejected three times in under ten seconds.

Alya steps up beside him, and he places a hand on her shoulder.

“You two should spend more time together,” he says.

“I think we’ve spent enough time together,” Alya responds sweetly.

Her father ignores her. “Perhaps next weekend we could arrange another dinner. Somewhere more private. Something a little more… intimate.”

“Dad.”

I shake my head, refusing to dignify any of it with an answer. He’s practically negotiating his daughter away, and the irony is fucking beautiful. He thinks I’m interested in her. Meanwhile, I’m standing here thinking about at least ten different ways I could fuck his son if I let my inner beast loose. Lucky for him, I still have self-control.

Instead, I say, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” they both say in unison. Then they step inside, and I look up.

I know which room is his.

Ilya’s light is on.

I stare at it and feel the shape of him rise in my mind with exquisite clarity: his mouth, his temper, the way his eyes burn when he’s furious, the way his whole body goes taut right before he says something vicious enough to make me want to pin him against the nearest surface and fuck him.

I lick my lips.

And suddenly a wicked smile takes over my mouth.

***

Remember how I said I had self-control? Turns out I may have overestimated myself. It’s weakening fast. I’m already inside the house, and, to be fair, this isn’t exactly my first time doing something like this.

I know the easiest window latch in the east wing and exactly how long the downstairs staff takes to finish their final sweep before retreating.

All very normal things to know about another man’s house.

Especially if that man is your favorite blond menace and keeps running from you.

He only gets away with it because I let him. Preferably, I’d keep him in my room, on my bed, under my hands, permanently within reach.