Chapter 4

I slipped back to my room without making a sound and lay there staring at the ceiling.

So Kieran had planned it from the beginning.

He didn’t like me. Not my personality, not my place in his life, not the thought of being tied to me for the rest of his life. Men like him cared too much about pride, status, and always coming out on top. Being matched to me was the one thing in his life he couldn’t twist into a victory.

But if he ended it first, people would talk. A beast walking away from a human never looked good. He would be the one blamed for throwing me aside.

So he wouldn’t be the first to say it.

At first, the plan must have been simple: let Adrian keep me calm, then wait for me to leave on my own when the trial year ended.

Except Adrian had changed his mind.

He wanted to keep me.

So now Kieran was stuck with me, unwillingly.

He could live with it, he had said. He could get used to me. He could make do.

But I didn’t want to be something a man merely made do with.

When I was little, the clothes I got in foster care were always wrong somehow—too big, too small, in ugly colors no one would ever choose. The adults told us to wear them anyway.

The food was the same too—lukewarm casseroles, canned vegetables, boxed mac and cheese gone cold. Still, we were told to eat it and be grateful.

So I did.

I made do for years.

But I wasn’t a child anymore.

For the rest of my life, I didn’t want to be endured.

If Kieran wanted out that badly, then I would be the one to end it.

The next morning, I sat at the breakfast table, distracted, turning my coffee cup in slow circles.

I still didn’t know how to say it. Should I tell him now, or wait until the trial year was almost over?

Then laughter broke across the room.

I looked up just as Adrian came downstairs.

Even half awake, he looked severe and put together, all broad shoulders and sharp lines. Kieran was pointing at the mug in his hand, laughing so hard he had to lean back in his chair.

“Jesus, Adrian,” he said. “What the hell is that? Did you drag it out of a kindergarten art sale?”

I followed his gaze.

It was a cream-colored ceramic mug, slightly uneven in shape, with the glaze thicker on one side than the other. Near the handle, there was a tiny painted crescent moon with two little stars beside it.

Supposed to be, anyway.

From a distance, it looked more like a crooked yellow smudge.

Heat rushed straight to my face.

I got up at once and hurried over. “The glaze ran a little,” I muttered, reaching for it.

Adrian stopped beside me without protest and let me turn the mug in his hand so the messy side faced inward.

Behind us, Kieran was still laughing.

Then Adrian glanced at him and said calmly, “Lil made it for me. Christmas gift. You get one too?”

Silence.

Kieran’s smile vanished completely.