LOGIN"If you won't be my man, Finn Dalton... then you'll be my dog. And a dog doesn't get to choose who he belongs to." I lay there, staring through her as if she were made of glass. The weight of her body on mine was nothing compared to the leaden hollow where my heart used to be. My arm screamed in pain, pain I gladly welcomed as a distraction from the sight of the monster she had become. "Get up," she commanded, her voice suddenly devoid of the frantic edge it had held moments ago. She stood, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress. "You have exactly one hour to look presentable. The board members are arriving, and Rhea will be here soon. You wouldn’t want her to see you like this, would you? Broken and bloody?" She walked to her vanity, picking up a heavy, ornate mask. It was a silver wolf with bared, snarling teeth. She tossed it onto the bed next to my head. "You're mine, Finn Dalton. No matter who or what you become - a cripple, a monster, or a liar - I love you anyway. Even your
The door swung open. I fell forward, collapsing onto a cold concrete floor, gasping for air that tasted like salt and bleach. It was only a temporary reprieve. Before the spots cleared from my vision, two sets of hands hauled me up, dragging my limp weight toward a heavy wooden chair bolted to the center of the room. They cinched zip-ties around my wrists tight enough that they bit into my skin, cutting off the circulation until my hands felt like leaden weights. Simone Rossi stood in the shadows, the glowing cherry of his cigar the only light in the room until the harsh overhead lamp flickered back to life. He looked at me with a detached, clinical boredom that sent terror down my spine. "You had one job, Finn," Simone said, his voice a low rumble. "You were supposed to put Rhea Dawson in the ground. Instead, you gave her a crown. And then... you had the audacity to lay a hand on my daughter." "I didn't..." The first blow from the collapsible baton shattered the sentence
My head slumped against the cool porcelain of the tub, the lights blurring into a thousand tiny diamonds before everything finally went black. The rhythmic dripping of the IV was the only sound in the suffocating silence of the master suite. I opened my eyes to the dim, blue-grey light of dawn. The last thing I remember was drowning in the cold memory of a bathtub in the dark. Now, I was pinned to the bed with a needle buried in the back of my hand. A clear plastic tube snaked away from my skin, tethering me to a tall metal pole. "Don't," a rough voice commanded from the shadows. I flinched, my head spinning with a sudden, sick vertigo. Nehemiah was slumped in the armchair pulled against the bedside. He looked like he had been dismantled and put back together incorrectly. His tie was undone, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. He had been fast asleep, but the second my sheets rustled, he was awake, his hand
I gripped the armrest of my leather seat, looking at the clouds. "Finn's apartment. I want to see Rita first. It's been too long." The hum of the jet’s engines was the only thing filling the cabin, a steady, vibrating roar that matched the frantic beating of my heart. Beside me, Nehemiah sat like a statue, his fingers flying across the keyboard, but I could still feel the heat of his touch on my neck. The air between us was a thin sheet of glass, transparent and fragile, waiting for the first wrong word to shatter it again. "Rhea," Nehemiah said, not looking up from the screen. "You need to prepare yourself. If Finn is telling the truth about the account, it means Rita is his insurance policy against the Rossi family." "She’s my sister," I snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended. "She isn't a policy." "To you," he replied coolly. NEW YORK CITY: SUNSET The sky over Manhattan was a bruised purple, the sun sinking behind the skyline like a dying ember. We touched
"I'll inject you with an adrenaline agent and pray for you to survive." It was a perfect line. A cold, poetic justice. But as I looked at Finn’s bloodied hand and the raw, desperate truth in his eyes, the ice in my veins cracked. I couldn't do it. Not yet. "Wait," I whispered, pushing the tablet away from Nehemiah’s hand. "Rhea, what are you doing?" Nehemiah’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss. "The board is waiting. The kill is right there." "Not this way," I murmured, stepping back into the light of the ballroom. We emerged from the library just as Jenna Rossi stormed toward us. Her face was a mask of calculated fury, her heels clicking like gunfire against the marble. It was clear she saw me as a threat to her property. "Finn!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the elegant murmurs of the crowd. "You disappear for ten minutes with her? Some charity case the Garcias picked up off the street?" Finn stood his ground, his face stoic, though I saw the flinch in his jaw.
"Representing the SYR Group: Mr. Finn Dalton and his fiancée, Miss Jenna Rossi." The name hit me like a physical blow. Beside me, Nehemiah’s hand settled on the small of my back—not just a gesture of support, but a warning. He could feel my heart rate spiking through the fabric of my dress. He knew. He’d always known that my hatred was just the scarred-over skin of a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. "Steady," Nehemiah breathed, his voice a low, dark vibration. "Remember the landfill, Rhea. Remember the darkness in the cabin." I tried. I summoned the memory of the trash fumes and the broken bones, but then I saw him. Finn stepped into the light, and for a terrifying second, the last three years vanished. He wasn't the monster from the alleyway; he was the boy who had sat beside me in sophomore year. He was the man who had held me while I cried over my father’s death. He looked older, his face etched with a haunting exhaustion that made my chest ache with a traitorous, familia







