CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27

DORIAN

“Potential boyfriend.”

The words wouldn’t leave my head.

I walked fast down the corridor, my hands curled into fists at my sides. I could still see Ezra’s face when he said it—too quick, too defensive. And that boy, Eros, the way he’d leaned close, laughing like he’d earned Ezra’s smile.

I wanted to put my hand through a wall.

“Calm down,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re not this man anymore.”

But the more I said it, the less I believed it.

I locked myself in the empty office near the choir hall and paced the floor.

“Potential boyfriend,” I repeated, my voice harsh.

I pictured Ezra’s wide eyes, his curls falling over his forehead, the flush in his cheeks. My jaw ached from clenching.

I wanted to spank that soft, round ass until it was red. I wanted to bend him over the confessional and make him understand he didn’t get to say things like that—not about me, not about anyone else.

My breath hitched. I stopped pacing. “God forgive me,” I said aloud. “Forgive me for even thinking it.”

I sat at the desk, head in my hands. The air felt heavy, like temptation itself was pressing down on me.

The door opened suddenly. Father Barnes peeked in. “Dorian? You look tense.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing my hands down.

“You don’t look fine,” he said with a small smile. “You look like the devil himself has been chasing you.”

“Something like that,” I muttered.

He stepped in. “You need rest, Dorian. You’ve been carrying too much.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Prayer,” he said softly. “Go to the chapel. Psalms have calmed stronger men than you.”

I gave a curt nod, and he closed the door again.

So I did.

I went to the chapel, the candles burning low. I knelt hard on the wood and opened my Bible.

“Psalm 23,” I whispered. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

I repeated it again. And again.

But all I saw behind my eyelids was Ezra, kneeling not to pray but to—

I slammed the Bible shut. “No.”

I stood, restless, pacing down the aisle. My chest burned. I needed something else.

The piano sat in the corner, half-forgotten. My hands itched.

I sat and pressed the keys. Low, steady notes filled the air. I let the music bleed out of me, hard and fast. Hymns at first. Then darker notes. Louder. Angrier.

My knuckles slammed against the ivory.

The door creaked open. Sister Mary leaned in, smiling kindly. “Father Vale? That’s beautiful.”

I forced my voice calm. “Thank you, Sister. Just… practicing.”

She nodded. “It’s good to see music moves you.”

When she left, I dropped my hands and pressed my forehead to the keys. The sound vibrated against my skull.

“Ezra Monroe,” I muttered. “What are you doing to me?”

I went back to my quarters, stripped off the collar, and stood in front of the mirror.

The tattoos on my chest stared back at me. Old sins written into my skin. I pressed my hands flat against them, breathing hard.

“Potential boyfriend,” I repeated one last time, my voice low.

The thought of Ezra with someone else made me sick.

I wanted to claim him.

I wanted to ruin him.

And I hated myself for both.