Page 24 of Beautifully Damned
“I wasn’t,” she snaps back, but there’s hesitation under her bravado. “I was… baking. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Yeah,” she says, tilting her chin. “That I’ll be leaving soon.”
The tray of baklava in front of me suddenly looks like a funeral offering. I grab a piece of baklava and shove it in my mouth. I don’t even like baklava, that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have offered me them first.
“Eat,” I growl around the flakes in my mouth.
She blinks. “What?”
“I said eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
She slowly picks up a piece, watching me like she thinks I’m losing my mind. She takes a small bite, and it’s immediately toomuch for me. Her lips shine with syrup. Her lashes flutter. She hums a little. I grip the edge of the desk.
A knock on the door sounds.
“Come in,” I growl.
Elena steps in with a tray and a smug smile. Two coffees, perfectly foamed, and a single slice of toast.
She sets them down on the coffee table without a word. Then she turns, walking out. I hate being coddled. Hate when people notice things about me. But somehow… in this moment, I’m grateful. Because madness is eating me alive.
I pick up the toast. Bring it to my face.Inhale, trying to make it subtle. I peek at Ayla from the corner of my eye. She’s watching me with that wary curiosity.
“Why do you do that?” she asks quietly after a sip of coffee. “Sniff bread?”
I set the toast down, fingers curling.
“None of your business.”
She huffs out a breath. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re softening them,” I say, redirecting. “My men. Turning them to mush.”
“They were just eating some baklava.”
“They’re trained killers.”
“They’re also human,” she mutters, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Or is that not allowed here?”
“They won’t help you escape, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I snap. “Not back to your littleEmir.”
She stiffens.
“Emir, right?” I add. “That’s who you’re celebrating returning to?”
She doesn’t respond. I shove the tray away and lean forward, so close I see the flutter of her lashes, the pulse at her throat.
“Keep baking all you want,” I whisper, tone like smoke. “Just remember: sweetness won’t save you when this game ends.”
?Chapter XVI?
AYLA
