Page 54 of The Beautiful Dead

When the world came back into focus, I noticed a second document was stapled beneath it. A change had been made to her will. I didn’t even know she had one. The amendment was dated two weeks after we arrived. Was this why Brielle wouldn’t let me see her? The sickness that had only just abated grew stronger, the air suffocating as a web of lies revealed itself around me.

My pulse spiked, my breath coming in shallow, gasping bursts. The signature—it wasn’t hers. The angles, the pressure, the slant were wrong. It was a forgery. A fucking lie.

A hollow laugh ripped from my throat, raw and jagged, as my eyes skimmed the attached addendum.

Patient has suffered a severe stroke, which has affected motor control. Signatures may not match.

Tears scolded my cheeks at the gravity of the situation. Brielle was about to take everything from us. I slumped to the floor in a heap, pages scattering onto the ground around me.

I picked up the amended will. A $100,000 trust fund—meant formeupon graduation—would now be rerouted to Brielle upon my mom’s death.

I clenched the papers in my hands; I had to get out. I stuffed everything into my bag and staggered toward the door, my mind spinning, my body trembling.

But when I turned—he was already there. Leaning against the desk. Watching me. Waiting.

The dim glow of a lamp cast long, jagged shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the eerie calm in his gaze.

My breath hitched. Had he been here the whole time?

“You didn’t even check the room first.” His voice was low, amused. Dangerous. “Anyone could’ve been waiting for you.”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, my mind scrambling. “How did you?—?”

“I know you,piccolo agnello.” He straightened, stepping forward slowly, his presence swallowing the space between us. “I knew you’d come here.”

My pulse skittered. Had he… followed me? Had he been watching? The thought should have sent me running. Instead, heat curled in my stomach, confusion warring with the dark thrill crawling under my skin.

Domino reached out, brushing his knuckles against my cheek, smearing away a stray tear with his thumb. “You look so pretty when you cry.”

I swallowed hard. “I?—”

His fingers curled around my jaw, tilting my chin up. His intense gaze devoured me, tracing the raw edges of my breaking composure.

“You’re falling, aren’t you?” he murmured, lips ghosting over my cheek.

A shudder ripped through me.

“You don’t have to fight it,” he whispered. “Let it happen. There’s nothing you can do now.”

I should have stepped back. I should have pushed him away. But I couldn’t.

Because he was right.

I was falling.

And the worst part?

I wanted him to catch me so I could drown in his darkness.

CHAPTER 12

DOMINO

Remi’s pulse fluttered beneath my touch, a fragile rhythm just beneath the surface. So easy to break. So easy to stop. I dragged my fingers down the soft column of his exposed throat, feeling his heat, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was asleep. Defenseless. Utterly unaware of the way I devoured him with my eyes. The way I craved him—his mind, his body, his soul—until there was nothing left that didn’t belong to me.

The need to consume him, to fuse myself with him completely, overrode all logical thought. I could do anything to him right now, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late. I could wrap my fingers around his throat, squeeze, feel that flutter slow beneath my grip. I could carve my name into his skin, branding him so no one could ever question who owned him. I could slip between his legs, push inside him, split him open, and fuck him awake.

Would he fight me? Would he whimper? Would his body give in, instinctively opening for me before his mind could even catch up?

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