His gaze flickers, dragging over me slowly. Not lustful—assessing.
Like he sees more than I want him to.
"Neither should you," he says simply.
I inhale through my nose, trying to steady myself.
Trying to remember who he is.
Trying to remember who I am.
"You kissed me," I say finally, the words like a dagger unsheathed.
A long silence.
Then—soft, dangerous.
"You kissed me back."
My fingers tighten around the dagger.
I want to argue. I want to deny it.
But we both know the truth.
We are standing on the precipice of something neither of us can control.
Something that will burn us both.
I lift my chin, swallowing the war inside me. "It won’t happen again."
A beat of silence.
Then—Rylan smirks.
Slow. Dark. Unforgiving.
"Liar."
His voice is silk and steel, soft and sharp enough to cut.
And, gods help me, I hate him for it.
Or I loathe myself because he’s right.
19
RYLAN
There are many ways to kill a man.
A blade to the throat is the simplest. Poison, slower but more insidious.
And then there is doubt.
Doubt can rot a man from the inside out, a slow, creeping decay, unraveling everything he thought was certain.
I tell myself I’m immune to it.