Page 37 of Unholy Nights

"Good." She moves back to her chair. "Now, about the Christmas party. You'll be escorted by James Montgomery's son. He's a suitable match, and the merger with their company would be beneficial."

"But—"

"This isn't a discussion." Her voice turns to ice, and the tears threaten again. "You will be on your best behavior at the party. You will be polite and charming and do everything in your power to secure a future with this boy. Do I make myself clear?"

I can't seem to find my voice, so I just nod. Anything to get out of here, away from her. Anything to end this conversation.

"And Emerald? Stay away from Cohen. He's not as perfect as you seem to think he is. In fact..." She pauses, a small smile playing at her lips. "Did you know he was investigated for the disappearance of his last girlfriend? Nothing was ever proven, of course, but still... interesting, isn't it?"

I feel like I'm going to be sick. "May I be excused?"

She waves a dismissive hand, already turning back to her tablet. "Yes. And remember what I said. Everything you are belongs to me."

I somehow make it back to my room before the tears start falling. I somehow make it back to my room before the tears start falling. I collapse on my bed, sobbing into my pillow, the image of Cohen's face swimming in front of my eyes. Those beautiful gray eyes, that dark hair, those strong, tattooed arms that held me close last night, that made me feel safe. That made me feel like maybe he could actually care about me. That maybe he would be the one to finally, truly love me.

But my mother is right. What do I have to offer someone like Cohen? And what about his last girlfriend? What really happened to her?

I curl up on my window seat, pressing my forehead against the cold glass as snow starts falling outside. Everything feels wrong, twisted, broken. Like someone's taken all my certainties and shattered them into pieces I can't put back together.

"Little one."

I whirl around to find Cohen standing in my doorway, his expression dark as storm clouds. Before I can speak, he's crossing the room in long strides, pulling me into his arms.

"I heard everything," he says against my hair. "Every fucking word she said to you." A shudder runs through him like his body’s struggling to contain his fury. "You can’t even imagine the things I want to do to her for making you cry."

The anger in his voice, the barely contained violence, should frighten me, especially after what my mother told me. But only I cling to him tighter, his words a balm to my wounded soul.

"Is it true?" I whisper. "Am I just... weak to you?"

He pulls back enough to cup my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his hurricane-force gaze. "You are the strongest person I know. Your mother is desperate. She's losing control, and she'll say anything to keep you caged."

"But—"

"No." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "Everything she said was calculated to hurt you. To make you doubt yourself. To make you doubt me."

"What about... what she said about your ex?"

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Ancient history," he says. "And not what you think. I'll tell you everything when the time is right, but for now..." He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. "For now, just trust me. Can you do that?"

I should say no. Should run far away from whatever darkness lurks behind his eyes.

Instead, I whisper, "Yes."

His kiss tastes like victory and secrets, and I let myself drown in it. Because maybe my mother's right—maybe I am naive and weak. But in Cohen's arms, I feel strong. Feel real.

Feel free.

And that's worth any price.

Rage tasteslike blood in my mouth and feels like fire in my veins.

It's a living thing inside me, clawing at my insides, demanding to be set free as I slam my fist into the heavy bag, imagining Madeline's face where my knuckles connect. The impact reverberates through my bones, but the pain does nothing to stop the inferno inside me.

Every tear Emerald shed in her room last night is a debt I intend to collect from her mother. Every cruel word Madeline hurled at her is a promise that I'll repay her ten-fold. A hundred times over. A thousand. I'll tear her down to nothing, strip everything away, and leave her a hollow, broken shell of her former self.

Madeline thinks she can force my little bird back into her cage. Thinks she can bend her to her will. Thinks she can mold her into the docile, submissive daughter who will marry the man of her mother’s choosing and carry on the Delacroix legacy.

She's wrong. So very wrong. She has no idea what she's unleashed.

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