CHAPTER 14

Lia’s POV

The touch was brief—just our fingers brushing against each other for a fraction of a second as we both grabbed for the handle. But it hit me like an electric shock, that same impossible current I'd felt when we'd shaken hands earlier. Heat and awareness and something that made my breath catch in my throat.

I jerked my hand back like I'd touched a hot stove.

"Sorry," I mumbled, not looking at him, my face suddenly burning.

"My fault," Dante said easily. He picked up the jug and poured juice into my glass first, then his own, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't felt what I'd just felt. Like touching me was completely ordinary and unremarkable.

Maybe it was. Maybe I was the only one feeling anything.

That thought should have been comforting. It wasn't.

I picked up my glass and took a sip, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart.

Then I felt it—a stare. That specific, uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

I looked up.

Rob's eyes were on me. Fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach drop. He wasn't looking at his plate. Wasn't looking at Celeste, who was saying something beside him with an animated smile. He was looking directly at me, his gaze sharp and assessing and cold.

I froze, my glass halfway to my lips.

His eyes moved from my face to Dante and back again. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was calculating something. Working out an equation he didn't like the answer to.

I forced myself to look away, setting my glass down carefully. My hands weren't entirely steady.

Across the table, Celeste laughed at something Victor had said, bright and carefree, completely oblivious to the tension. Victor was being polite and engaging, but I could see that he'd noticed the way his youngest son was staring at me. His expression remained neutral, but something flickered in those sharp blue eyes.

The rest of breakfast dragged on forever. I pushed food around my plate and drank my coffee and nodded along to the conversation when I needed to and tried desperately to look like a normal person having a normal meal.

Finally—mercifully—it ended.

Everyone began standing, the scrape of chairs against the floor breaking the quiet tension. Victor excused himself to take a phone call. Celeste stood and stretched gracefully, saying something about wanting to see the gardens. Dante rose and moved toward the door, sparing me one brief, unreadable glance before disappearing into the hallway.

I started to stand too, planning to escape back to my room and hide for the rest of the day.

"Lia."

Rob's voice stopped me cold.

I turned. He was standing a few feet away, his expression blank and hard.

"I need to talk to you," he said. Not asked. Said.

My stomach tightened. "Okay."

"Now," he added, then turned and walked toward a door on the far side of the dining room without waiting to see if I followed.

I did. Because what choice did I have?

He led me down a hallway I hadn't been in before, past closed doors and expensive art I didn't have time to look at, and finally into a small sitting room. It was beautiful like everything else in this house—dark wood furniture, tall windows overlooking the gardens, paintings on the walls—but I barely registered any of it.

Rob closed the door behind us with a quiet click.

Then he turned to face me, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight.

"I know what you're doing," he said flatly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Don't play stupid, Lia." His voice was cold, clipped. "I'm not an idiot. I saw you."

"Saw me what?" I asked, genuinely confused. My heart was beating too fast. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes narrowed. "With Dante. At breakfast. The way you were looking at him. The way you were acting."

The accusation hung in the air between us.

I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing, too stunned to immediately respond. Was he serious? Was he actually standing here accusing me of something after what he'd done yesterday?

"I wasn't—" I started.

"Stay away from him," Rob interrupted, his voice low and hard. He took a step closer, and I instinctively took a step back. "I'm warning you, Lia. Stay the fuck away from my brother."

Something hot and angry flared in my chest.

"You're warning me?" I repeated, my voice rising slightly. "Are you serious right now?"

"I know how much of a slut you are," he said, the words coming out cold and cruel. "So keep your distance from him. I mean it."

Slut.

There was that word again. The same word he'd used in our bed when I'd wanted him to touch me. The same word that had been echoing in my head for days now, making me feel small and ashamed and wrong.

But this time, something was different. This time, instead of curling inward, instead of believing him, I felt anger.

White-hot, clarifying anger.

"I'm not a slut," I said, my voice shaking. "You are."

The words came out before I could stop them, sharp and clear and true.

Rob's entire face changed. His eyes went dark—not hurt dark, not ashamed dark. Dangerous dark.

"What did you say?" His voice was low. Quiet. The kind of quiet that was worse than yelling.

Fear spiked through me, cutting through the anger.

"Nothing," I said quickly, taking another step back. "I didn't—"

He moved fast. Faster than I expected. His hand shot out and grabbed my upper arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.