Page 107 of Ruthless God

Leyla rolls her eyes but does as I ask, relaying my apology. Then she turns back to me.

“Where were you?”

“Nowhere.”

The answer leaves my lips too fast. It’s too obvious, really. Leyla’s lips curl slightly, not buying my lie for a second.

“We saw you at the grave with Mr. Irons.” Her head tilts. “Were you with him?”

The weight of the question settles heavily in the space between us. My breath hitches just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. But Leyla catches it anyway.

“You should be careful.” Leyla’s voice is calm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. “He’s dangerous.”

My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face neutral.

“How do you know that?”

She shrugs one shoulder, casual, but the words that follow land like a brick in my stomach.

“He bought us, didn’t he?”

Fuck. It’s hard to argue with her logic.

I open my mouth to say something, anything really, but she keeps going.

“But Agnes is the one who told us he’s dangerous.”

That gets my attention.

I straighten slightly. “What else did Agnes say?”

“To stay out of his wing of the house and to never go to the basement.”

My brows pull together. “Where’s the basement?”

She shakes her head immediately.

“I’m not dumb.”

I blink, caught off guard. “I didn’t say you were.”

“Then don’t ask me to tell you something that I know will get me in trouble.”

She glances down at Polina, who’s still clutching my hand. Her gaze hardens.

“Take the crybaby back to her room. Before we all get in trouble.”

And then she closes the door. Right in our faces. A rush of irritation spikes through me. But underneath it? Something deeper. What the hell is in that basement?

After settling Polina in her room, I return to mine, shutting the door behind me. For a moment, I just stand there. Claudius said he wants me to move my things into his room. The horny side of me is cheering. The cautious side? It’s asking me what the hell I’m doing as I pull clothes off hangers.

With each trip, I carry over the dresses, the tops, the pant, the shoes. All the things Claudius bought for me. Each step into his room feels like I’m crossing a line I can’t uncross.

By the time I go back for the last load, my room is bare.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, when something falls out. A notebook. I crouch, picking it up, flipping it open. Mybreath catches as I stare back at the list. The one I made before I left Dallas.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the words I scribbled what feels like a lifetime ago. How could I have forgotten about them so easily? It’s like everything has faded to either before Claudius or after. And my friends fall in the before.

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