68

THEA

My fingers tighten around the leather straps of my purse.

I look her up and down, deliberately. Calmly. Taking my time like I’m shopping for a reaction.

“I could say the same about you,” I reply, my voice even. “Though somehow, this store does feel like your kind of playground. Lots of mirrors.”

Her mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite a sneer either. Just... acknowledgment. She tilts her head, the ends of her blonde waves cascading over her trench like they’ve been styled to land there. 

“Didn’t know you’re funny,” she says lightly, folding her arms. “That’s cute.”

I shrug, my heels clicking as I shift my weight. “Only on days that end in Y.”

Isla’s eyes rake over me—slow, pointed, invasive. It’s not the casual once-over women give each other. It’s deeper. Intentional. Hunting for something. And when she meets my gaze again, her eyes are glinting, and there's something I can't pinpoint in her eyes.

“You smell different,” she murmurs.

I blink.

“Excuse me?” I ask, trying to keep my heart from beating fast.

Her smile widens. “You didn’t used to. When I first saw you at the hallway, you were... ordinary. Now it’s like—” She inhales softly, like she’s genuinely trying to place it. “Something’s changed.”

I fight the urge to take a step back.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Perfume,” I say flatly. “Maison Francis.”

Her expression doesn’t falter. Not even a blink. Just those unsettlingly clear eyes locked on me, like she’s peeling layers off my skin.

“No, it’s not that,” she muses in amusement. “It’s you. Your skin. Your... energy.”

“Are you always this creepy or is this a me-specific thing?”

“I’m just curious.” Her tone stays level. Smooth. “You’re clearly more than you used to be. And yet...” Her gaze drops briefly to my leather purse. “Still reaching.”

I clench my jaw, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of biting back immediately. I let the silence stretch, cool and tense.

Then I smile.

“I’m not the one sniffing people in public and calling it curiosity.”

That earns me a flash of something in her eyes. Irritation, maybe. Or more amusement. Hard to tell with someone who’s perfected that mask of disinterest that only truly bored rich women and sociopaths wear.

She leans in just slightly. Her voice drops.

“Has he told you everything, Thea?”

My heart stutters.

Everything?

“Define ‘everything,’” I say carefully.

She steps even closer. We’re toe-to-toe now. I can smell her—something expensive and old, like roses crushed in an old cathedral. Her lips part, but her eyes are sharp.

“His habits. His... weaknesses. Me. His history.” Her gaze flicks to my neck, just for a second. Barely noticeable. But I notice.

The hairs on my arms lift.

Isla watches me like she knows. Like she’s daring me to flinch.

I don’t.

Instead, I straighten. “I know enough.”

She hums. “Do you?”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My throat feels like it’s trying to close, but I keep my expression smooth. This isn’t the time to show fear. Not to someone like her.

Not when I’m just beginning to understand the rules of the game Ezra dragged me into.

She steps back finally, with a satisfied look, like she’s just confirmed something for herself. Like she’s found a crack and now she knows where to push.

“You should be careful,” she says lightly. “You’re... delicate. Delicate things should keep to themselves.”

I smile coldly. “And you should be less obsessed. It’s aging you.”

Before she can answer, a sleek woman in a black pencil skirt rushes toward us. Efficient. Polished. Whispering urgently into her earpiece before turning to Isla.

“Ms. De Vries? Your car is waiting. And the press is setting up at the gallery.”

Isla holds my gaze a second longer before turning to her.

“Of course,” she says, then looks back at me, her tone sweetened to venom.

“As you can see, my P.A. is calling for me. I have a career. I’m busy. I’m not out here with a black card I got after fucking around. And remember, whores don't get kept as wives.”

My breath stills. Rage rises so fast and hot it makes me dizzy—but she’s already gone, heels clicking against the tiled floor like punctuation marks.

I don’t chase her.

I just stand there, heart thudding, fingers trembling slightly at my side.

.

.

.

It’s an hour to closing when I finally pull into the underground lot at Harrington & Vale.

The car’s a mess. Shopping bags crammed into every available inch like they’re trying to strangle me with silk and stitched privilege. The same bags I was excited to fill just a few hours ago. Now? They feel like props in a life I’m no longer sure is mine.

I struggle to shove one aside just to get the door open, the sharp edge of a box jamming into my thigh as I twist out with more effort than dignity.

A part of me wants to go straight home. Strip everything off—clothes, makeup, every ounce of curated composure—and pretend this day never happened.

But I don’t.

I head straight up to Ezra’s office, heels echoing down the almost quiet hallway like they’re demanding answers for me.

He’s inside, sitting behind his desk. Sleeves rolled to the elbows, fingers pinched around the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t look up right away, but he knows it’s me. I see the smirk forming before his eyes even open.

“Well, well,” he says lazily. “Shopping spree successful, I take it? My phone’s been moaning with debit alerts like it's in heat.”

I don’t smile.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it. “Is there something you’re keeping from me?”

That gets his attention.

The smirk dies. Slowly. Like a candle snuffed with two fingers.

His gaze lifts calmly. “What kind of something?”

“History. Habits. Weaknesses.” I pause. “Isla.”

The silence between us hardens.

He leans back, fingers steepled, eyes unreadable. “That’s specific.”

I nod. “Because she’s specific. She ran into me. Talked like she was trying to pick a fight and diagnose me at the same time.”

Ezra says nothing. Just watches me. Like he’s deciding which version of the truth I deserve.

“She said I smell different,” I continue, stepping closer. “Like something’s changed. She looked at me like I was a damn science experiment.”

His jaw flexes once.

“She said you haven’t told me everything.”

Still nothing.

“Ezra,” I say, low and deliberate, “I need to know. What am I missing? What else is in this world I’ve been dragged into with no manual? Because I’m starting to feel like everyone’s playing a game except me—and I’m the only one without a rulebook.”

He exhales slowly, stands, and comes around the desk.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “You are missing things.”

The honesty throws me off for half a second. I was expecting denial. Deflection. Not... surrender.

“Then tell me,” I say, softer now. “No riddles. Just… tell me please.”

He sighs as he stands and shoves his hands in his pocket, walking round the table. 

“I didn't expect you'd run into her for real. You should have told me your regret is in the form of a shopping spree and I would have rented the store for a week or so.”

I almost chuckle due to how sweet he is. I almost want to believe I don't deserve him but I swallow it, deciding the mood is for later. So, I ask, “What happened?”

His shoulders lift and drop with another breath. “She and I... we weren’t a love story. Her father wanted legacy. I wanted freedom. We bled each other dry.”

“And now she’s sniffing me like a bloodhound.”

He continues to walk toward me. “Because she can sense what’s changed in you.”

I freeze.

“What’s changed in me?” I ask slowly.

“It’s a first, Thea. And I can't be sure. I've read more books on mating that I've read in the last decade and from what I can deduce, I believe the last tether is forming.”

“Tether?” I ask, almost dumbly.

He chuckles. “The mark.”

I blink. “A mark? Like… werewolf?”

He lets out a guttural sound, almost like a growl, before shutting his eyes. “Don't mention those fuckers. And yes, a mark.”

I still and nod in understand before blurting, “Like, we'll be mated forever? Like…” werewolves in books. I didn't add.

He's a few feet away from me now.

“As if I would create a way out for us. We are stuck together, Thea. Me and you. I don't know how to undo it and even if I do, I won't because you are mine and…” He wanders off before silently adding, “I think I'm yours too.”

I don’t know what to say to that. My chest is tight. My brain is sprinting to make connections my heart is already ready for.

“Is she a vampire too?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

“Ezra.”

“Yes,” he finally says. “More manipulative. Less... grounded.”

“As if you are not manipulative too.” I say with a chuckle. “Well, she threatened me.”

His eyes flash. Not surprise. Fury. “What did she say?”