Exposed. Claimed. Powerless.
Yet God help me—part of me thrums with it. The attention. The focus. The possession. It burns through the shame, through the confusion, straight to something dark and shamefully alive inside me.
I don’t know if it’s need or madness, but I can’t deny it.
His mouth is still close, the heat of him coiling around my shoulder. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice silky. “Tonight, I’ll remind you.”
The crowd moves around us, a blur of voices and motion I barely register. Andrei’s breath still lingers at my neck, ghosting over skin too warm, too exposed. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t trust myself to.
I stand perfectly still, shoulders tight, jaw clenched—trying not to react, even as everything inside me coils and burns.
You’re mine.
Tonight, I’ll remind you.
The words echo through me, impossibly loud, even though he said them like a secret. Like a promise.
My fingers tighten around the delicate stem of my champagne glass. I haven’t tasted it. I don’t want to. My mouth is dry for other reasons—rage, shame, heat. None of it makes sense. Or maybe it makes too much sense, and that’s the problem.
I can feel his eyes on me, even as he steps back, vanishing into the crowd again like he was never there at all. He doesn’t need to linger. He’s made his point.
Everyone saw.
My skin prickles under the weight of their attention. No one meets my eyes. No one dares. They look past me, around me, but never at me. Not now. Whatever curiosity they had has been burned away by Andrei’s claim. I’m not untouchable—I’m owned. And no one wants to touch what he’s laid claim to.
I take a step back, then another, retreating toward the edge of the terrace. The night air is cooler here, cleaner, but it does nothing to quiet the storm under my ribs.
I should hate him.
I do hate him.
Except, I also can’t stop thinking about his hands. His voice. The way he made me feel things I shouldn’t—can’t—want. I don’t know who I am anymore, wrapped up in this nightmare in silk.
I close my eyes and press my palm to my chest, trying to slow the pounding beneath it.
It doesn’t work.
Somewhere inside me, something dangerous stirs. Something that isn’t fear. It’s need.
I don’t know if it’s mine or his, if it’s born of desire or desperation, but it’s real. And it terrifies me.
The night stretches out in front of me, glittering and endless.
Andrei’s promise hangs in the air, thick and invisible.
Chapter Eighteen - Andrei
No words are spoken.
I grip her wrist tightly—not gently—and lead her through the halls with swift, deliberate strides. She doesn’t resist, but I feel the tension in her arm, the quickened beat beneath her skin. The party fades behind us, muffled by layers of stone and expensive silence. Music and laughter blur into noise, irrelevant. Meaningless.
She tries to speak.
I hear the breath she draws, the question forming on her tongue—but one glance over my shoulder is enough.
She goes quiet.
My jaw is locked. My pulse hammers. The fury in me simmers just beneath the surface, hot and sharp, waiting for a reason to boil over. Every step echoes with it. I don’t trust myself to speak—not yet. Not when I’m still seeing it play in my head, over and over like a loop I can’t shut off.
