Page 19 of Unholy Nights

"I..." I swallow hard, glancing between him and my mother. Her eyes are boring into me, silently commanding me to say yes. The weight of her expectations presses down on my shoulders, threatening to crush me. But Cohen... Cohen's looking at me like he sees past all my mother's careful programming, past the perfect porcelain doll she's tried to make me into. His gaze strips away all the layers until I'm just me—just Emerald. And for the first time in my life, that feels like enough. "No," I whisper. "I don't."

The word comes out soft, barely more than a breath, but it feels like the biggest act of rebellion I've ever attempted. My pulse pounds in my ears, and that ache between my legs throbs in time with my heartbeat, like my whole body is coming alive with this one small act of defiance.

"That's it then," Cohen says, his tone final. "She won't be working with him."

My mother's perfectly manicured nails dig into the tablecloth as she glares daggers first at me and then at her husband. The look she gives me promises consequences later, but for once, the thought doesn't terrify me like it should. Maybe it's because of the way Cohen's presence seems to fill the entire room, making everything else, even my mother's fury, feel smaller.

"Emerald is my daughter and you have no right—"

"I have every right," Cohen barks. His voice is loud enough that I flinch. The staff turns and leaves before my mother canfire them for witnessing something they shouldn't, but I barely notice. I'm too caught up in the way Cohen's words seem to vibrate through me, settling deep in my bones like they belong there.

The silence that follows feels like those moments at one of Mother's endless charity galas when I sneak a glass of champagne and the room goes fuzzy around the edges and the ground shifts beneath my feet. My body feels weightless, untethered, like all the rules that have kept me bound are suddenly fraying at the edges. I think something just broke in this pristine glass mansion of ours, and I don't think all of my mother's rules and control can put it back together again.

"You don't understand,"my mother hisses. "Emmitt's company is offering to launch my new luxury cosmetics line, but he specifically requested Emerald's involvement in the auction as a condition of the deal."

I shrink in my chair, feeling about two inches tall. Ofcoursethis is about business. With my mother,everythingis about business. Even her own daughter is just another investment in her portfolio, another asset to be leveraged at exactly the right moment.

Cohen's jaw tightens, and I swear I can hear his teeth grinding. His fingers curl around his coffee cup like he wishes it was someone's throat. "So you're willing to sell your daughter to that piece of shit for a few dollars?"

"Don't be dramatic," my mother scoffs. "It's just business. So Emmitt wants to spend a few hours in Emerald's company. Is that so wrong? I've raised her to be docile, attentive, and innocent for this exact purpose."

Her words slam into me like a physical blow.This exact purpose. Like I'm a doll she's been crafting, keeping pristine until someone with enough money wants to play with me.

"I'm not going to let you ruin this for me, Cohen," she continues, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "This deal will catapult Delacroix Collective to a whole new level. If you interfere, youwillregret it."

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. I peek up at Cohen through my lashes, andoh. Something dark and dangerous flashes across his face before he masks it with cold. Not just regular cold—we're talking arctic levels of frost that would make my mother's ice queen persona look warm and fuzzy. I've never seen his face look like that, but I bet this is the expression he wears right before he destroys someone in court.

"Fine," he says, breaking the silence. "I'll drive her to his office myself. I'll stay for the meeting and oversee the arrangements. After all, we wouldn't want anything... inappropriate to happen."

The way he says "inappropriate" sends a shiver skittering over my skin. There's a promise in his voice, a threat that's not directed at me but that I feel in my bones anyway. For a second, I picture him standing between me and Emmitt's hungry stares, and despite everything wrong with wanting my stepfather's protection, my body relaxes just a fraction.

"That won't be necessary," my mother tries again, but Cohen's already shaking his head.

"It's either that, or she doesn't go at all. Your choice, Madeline."

Something passes between them, some silent battle of wills that I can't quite understand. But I know, somehow, that Cohen's winning. The oxygen seems to vanish from the room, and I'm caught in the crossfire of whatever war they're waging.

My mother's phone buzzes, saving us all from the suffocating tension. She glances at it and stands abruptly, but I don't miss the way her fingers tremble slightly as she grabs her tablet. "I have a meeting at the office." She gives me a look that promisesthis isn't over, her eyes glacial. "Don't be late for the photoshoot this afternoon, and for the love of God, change your outfit before you meet with Emmitt."

Before she reaches the doorway, she pauses and turns back, already scrolling through her tablet. Like the previous conversation never happened, like she hasn't just offered me up as a sacrifice to her ambition, she starts rattling off the day's agenda in that clipped tone she uses when she's organizing her world exactly how she wants it. She doesn't even look at me as she continues, too focused on her screen. "The photographers will be here in an hour. We need to get your hair and makeup done, and then we'll start with individual shots before the family portraits." She glances up at my stepfather. "Darling, you'll need to be ready by noon."

"Of course," he says smoothly, but his eyes never leave me. The weight of his gaze makes my skin prickle with awareness, and I have to fight the urge to squirm. It's like he can see straight through me, past all my mother's careful programming to something real and raw that I didn't even know existed.

I slide lower, trying to make myself as small as possible. One of the kitchen staff appears, setting a plate of fresh fruit and yogurt in front of me—my usual breakfast. The only thing my mother allows me to have.

Normalpeople probably get to eat pancakes. Or waffles. Or literally anything with actual flavor.

Cohen pushes back from the table, buttoning his suit jacket with one fluid motion that draws my eyes to his hands. Strong hands that I swear I felt on my skin in my dreams last night... I wrench my gaze to my yogurt bowl, my thoughts scattering like startled birds.

"I have a meeting at The Lodge this morning," he announces. "I'll be back for the photoshoot."

My stomach drops at the thought of him leaving. I try not to let it show, but my hands curl around the edge of my bowl, gripping it just a little too tightly while I stare at the strawberries slowly sinking into the yogurt so I don't have to watch him go. It's pathetic how much I want him to stay, howsafeI feel when he's here, even though he's probably the most dangerous person in this house.

He stops behind my chair, and I don't have to look to know he's there. It's like my body has developed some kind of Cohen-specific radar, and right now it's going haywire. His hand lands on my shoulder, warm and heavy, and I have to bite back a gasp at the contact. That deep ache between my legs pulses in response to his touch, like my body knows something my mind doesn't.

Oh god.Oh god oh god oh god.

"Be careful today, little one," he murmurs, so quietly I barely hear him.

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