But that’s the thing with forbidden love. It’s the pain youchooseto carry. Pain, you welcome because it’s the only part of them you’re allowed to have.
She stirred a little. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake. I could’ve whispered her name. I could’ve crossed the space between us and broken everything.
Instead, I whispered it to myself like a prayer I had already been damned for.
Why is it that when you love someone you shouldn’t, it tastes sweeter? More dangerous? Why does it bury itself deeper in the bones, like something that won’t rot, no matter how much you starve it?
I don’t know what this is anymore. Love. Obsession. Madness. Maybe all three.
But I do know I can’t stay, and I can’t leave. So I just sit here, suspended in a moment I’m not allowed to have.
I promised myself I wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t dream.
I’m lying to myself.
I want her.
Not just the way a man wants a woman. Not just skin or mouth or the taste of her name when the lights are off and no one’s listening. I want all of it. Her thoughts. Her silences. The way she turns her head when she’s trying not to cry. The way she folds in on herself when the world’s too loud.
God, I want to pull her into me so tightly that the universe forgets where she ends and I begin.
But I can’t.For now. Even if I don’t know when“now”ends.
“You don’t need saving. You need someone to kiss you while the world burns inside your head. That’s me.” I whispered, “It will always be me.”
FIFTEEN
DORIAN
25 YEARS OLD
If someone had told me I would end up in a black suit, I would’ve laughed in their face. Yet here I was, staring at my reflection in the dusty attic mirror. The glass was cloudy, and the air was colder than it should be. Nagi hissed from her perch up in the rafters.
I turned to her. “You like it?” I asked.
As if a snake would answer.
“No words?” I smirked. “Fine. I like leaving women speechless.”
On top of the box lay the black mask Mother had given me. It was clear they wanted every face hidden. Just as clear, they didn’t want me there. But I was too damn useful to leave out.
I scooped up Nagi in my hand, she tightened around my hand, and I grabbed the mask and headed down the creaking stairs, straight to Lenore’s room. I didn’t bother knocking.
She stood in front of her mirror in a red dress—thatred dress. My mother’s dress. Her bare shoulders caught the light, and the dress cinched her waist so tight she looked thinner than she was. On her feet were red heels. Bare arms. No necklace. No shame.
I had never seen her breasts look full before.
Her hair was curled, her lips red like blood, and a black lace mask wrapped around her eyes. Through the cutouts, those blue eyes stared at her in the mirror.
“You look like a whore,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
“And you look like an idiot,” she snapped, not even turning.
“They’re not gonna let you go down like that,” I said, stepping in. I laid Nagi on Lenore’s bed and yanked the blanket off it, draping it over her shoulders.
“Better,” I muttered.
She peeled it off and dropped it to the floor. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dorian.”
