“Everyone in the Rosta coast knows the rules: stay in your lane, bow to the Dacians, and never cross the Morozov.”—Sh.“Excuse me?” I asked, just to make sure I’d heard him right.He didn’t blink still. Just let his eyes rake over me again. I suddenly felt underdressed. I didn’t dress to impress, just a simple dinner dress with a low slit. His grey eyes finally stopped assessing me. “If you’re going to sneak around after my brother like some starved little omega,” he flatly, “at least have the decency to do it outside my home.”My throat dried instantly.I wasn’t sure what burned more, his words or the way he said them, low and unimpressed, as though I was some stain he couldn’t wait to just have scrubbed off his balcony.“I wasn’t—” I started, but he flicked his wrist, silencing me. Dropped the cigarette. Crushed it beneath his heel. Then walked right past me. He didn’t bump into me. Though our bodies didn't touch, his scent hit me anyways.I swallowed the moment whole, breath
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