Page 83 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

“Good morning,” he says, his cultured voice betraying nothing of what passed between us.

Of course not.

To him, it was probably just another way to assert his control.

“Your Lordship.” I drop into a curtsy, grateful that at least I’ve had enough practice that I don’t stumble.

Besides, it allows me to avoid meeting his gaze.

When I straighten, I keep my gaze fixed somewhere over his left shoulder.

“Morning,” Izzy says casually, executing her own curtsy with even less grace—but far more confidence. She drops into one of the elegant chairs without waiting for an invitation. “What’s so urgent?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Ivrael’s mouth. “Lord Vazor will be arriving shortly with his daughters. They’ve agreed to assist with your court preparation.”

My stomach drops.

“Lord Vazor—the one who helped you arrange the attack?”

Ivrael’s eyes narrow, sparks flashing like stars in their depths.

I cross my arms, trying not to back away.

“The one,” he says carefully, “who will help ensure your survival at court.”

“Like you helped ensure the survival of your court members?”

“Lara,” Izzy hisses warningly.

But I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe it’s leftover shame from last night, or fear of what’s coming, but suddenly all I want is to crack that perfect aristocratic mask he wears.

To make him feel something, anything, as intensely as what he makes me feel.

“Tell me, Your Lordship,” I continue, my tone matching Izzy’s from earlier, “will they be teaching us which nobles we can trust? Or just how to look pretty while we watch them burn alive?”

In an instant, he’s across the room. I stumble back, but he catches my wrist—right above the ribbon.

His touch sends electricity racing up my arm, and I hate how my body betrays me, leaning into him even as my mind screams to pull away.

“Careful, princess,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear. “You’re not the only one struggling with control right now.”

The admission, however subtle, makes my pulse spike.

I force myself to meet his gaze, and what I see there steals my breath—hunger and frustration…

And something even darker.

Something that matches the storm raging inside me.

“I’m not struggling with anything,” I lie, my voice embarrassingly breathless. “I just want to know what game we’re supposed to be playing.”

His grasp slips farther up my arm, and his thumb traces small circles on my inner wrist. It takes everything in me not to shudder at the sensation. “This isn’t a game, Lara. This is survival.”

“Ahem.” Izzy’s pointed cough makes me jump. I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Ivrael releases me and steps back, his mask of cool control sliding seamlessly back into place.

The loss of his touch shouldn’t feel like falling—but it does.

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