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“How?”

“Because I didn’t die.” Reaching up, she removed the mask, and I saw her face—older, sharper, more dangerous than before, but unmistakably hers. “I transformed. The entity tried to consume me, but I consumed it instead. And when I came back, I brought its power with me.”

“You own it.”

“I do.” Her smile was dark, seductive, and utterly terrifying. “I own the hunger. I own the desire. I own the darkness that the old House fed on. But I’ve changed the terms. This House doesn’t take. It gives. It offers pleasure, freedom, witness, and truth. And the only price is that you have to choose it freely.”

“Zinnia—”

“I didn’t come back to be possessed, Malachi.” Her voice was firm. “I didn’t come back to erase what you did or to pretend that we can go back to the way things were. I came back because I chose to. Because I wanted to. And because I’m done letting other people decide what I’m worth.”

I stared at her, my chest tight.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I said quietly. “I don’t expect you to love me. I just—I’m so fucking glad you’re alive.”

“I know.” She reached out and touched my face, her fingers warm against my skin.

“But if you want to stay, you have to meet me as I am now. Not as the girl you betrayed. Not as the sacrifice you tried to save. As the woman who owns the darkness and isn’t afraid of it.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you?” Her gaze was sharp, searching. “Because I’m not the same person I was. I’m not soft. I’m not forgiving. And I’m not going to let you own me just because you feel guilty.”

“I don’t want to own you.” Dropping to my knees, I looked up at her. ‘I just want to be near you. On your terms. However you’ll have me.”

Zinnia stared down at me, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled—dark, dangerous, and utterly devastating.

“Then welcome to my House, Devil.” Leaning down, she pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that tasted of blood, smoke, and freedom. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

The kiss deepened, and I felt the House respond around us. The velvet walls rippled like living tissue, the shadows lengthened and coiled at the stage’s edges, and the masked guests leaned forward in their seats, their hunger mirroring mine.

Zinnia pulled back just enough to speak against my mouth. “Stand up.”

I obeyed, my legs shaking slightly as I rose. She circled me slowly, her fingers trailing across my shoulders, down my spine, around my ribs. Every touch felt deliberate, calculated to remind me that she was in control.

“You mourned me,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A year.” My voice cracked. “A year of walking through the world like a fucking ghost because you weren’t in it.”

“And what did you do with all that grief, Malachi?” Her hand slid down my chest, her nails scraping lightly over the tattoos that marked my skin. “Did you fuck it away? Did you bury it? Did you pretend it didn’t exist?”

“No.” Meeting her gaze, I let her see the truth. “I carried it. Every day. Every night. I carried the weight of what I did to you and what the House took from both of us.”

“Good.” Her smile was sharp. "Because I want you to remember that feeling. I want you to remember what it was like to lose me. And I want you to understand that every time you touch me now, it’s because I’m allowing it. Not because you earned it. Not because you deserve it. Because I choose to let you.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Stepping closer, she pressed her body against mine, and I felt the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress. “Because the old Malachi would have already pushed me against the wall and taken what he wanted. The old Devil would have claimed me in front of this audience and made sure everyone knew I belonged to him.”

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“Prove it.” Her hand moved lower, cupping me through my pants, and I groaned despite myself. “Prove that you can want me without owning me. Prove that you can fuck me without claiming me. Prove that you understand the difference between possession and permission.”

“How?”