Page 64 of Beautifully Damned
She blinks fast, holding back tears before taking the flowers.
“Come in,” she says softly, taking his fucking hand, pulling him in with her fingers wrapped around his.
I follow them, fists curled. I catch Elena at the table, sniffing her stupid bouquet with a dreamy look on her face. I don’t say a word. Just look at her once, and she must sense the absolute malice dripping off me. She drops the flowers like they burned her and scurries off.
Now it’s just us.
Three at the table. Dinner spread like a celebration. Ayla gets up, smiling that soft smile again as she places a couple kebabs on his plate. She turns to go back to her seat, but doesn’t serve me. I grab the plate from her hand and scoop every last kebab onto mine. No more for Emir.
I hope he chokes on her cooking. Because I’m already choking on all this rage, and if he looks at her like that again, I’ll make sure this night ends with something far messier than dessert.
The entire dinner, Emir barely touches his plate, and I barely touch mine. He hides behind polite conversation and smiles Ayla’s way like I’m not sitting right here. And she plays along with him—surface-level talk, safe and civil. But I see the way her fingers tap against the glass, the way her shoulders sit stiff, and I know she feels the weight of my stare.
Despite the assortment of food on the table, all I do is tear my bread apart and bring it to my nose, slow breaths in—keeping myself grounded, keeping myself from reaching across the table and killing him. Because Ayla would never forgive me then, and I can’t afford any more of her hatred.
But there is something about this Emir that itches at the back of my skull. If he was the guard with her that day in the stable, it was too dark for me to know….but I’m sure I’ve seen him before. I just can’t place it.
And finally, fucking finally, dinner’s done. I push back my chair and say, “Dinner’s over. It’s time for you to leave, Emir.”
He glares at me, eyes full of hate. Envy. Like he wishes she were his. I reach for Ayla, grab the back of her head, and kiss her. She fights me, but for one second, I swear she kisses me back.
The kiss is long enough for him to see himself out. Long enough for me to remember what it felt like to touch her, to taste her, to have her near me without that damn wall of cold silence. Long enough to remember how much I miss her.
?Chapter XLI?
Roman
I tear my mouth from hers, but I can’t meet her eyes. Something about them makes my chest feel carved open.
I turn on my heel and head upstairs, my pulse still hammering in my ears. I pass my own door without slowing. Instead, I push into hers. The air is cooler here, softer. I press my face into her pillow and breathe in until my lungs ache. The scent drags heat straight to my gut.
Emir will never have this. If he tries, I’ll put him in the ground and still find a way to kill him twice. He might have been the first to touch her lips, but I’ll be the last one she remembers. The one who burns himself into her bones.
I force myself up from the bed, stripping off my blazer and tossing it to the floor. My shirt clings to my back, my skin prickling with restless heat.
She walks in and stops cold. Her eyes narrow, sharp enough to cut. And those goddamn flowers—his flowers—are still in her hands.
She comes closer, stopping just short of brushing against me. “Why did you do that?”
I start pacing, shoulders tight, the muscles in my neck pulling like rope. She follows me with her gaze, confused, maybe even daring to be indignant. How can she not understand? How can she not see I just put that bastard in his place without firing a shot?
I turn on her. “I wanted him to know you’re not free game.” My tone is flat, but the heat behind it could strip paint.
Her brows pull together. “We aren’t a happy couple, Roman. So don’t use me for a show.”
My body moves before the thought finishes. I close the space between us in two strides and pin her to the wall. My hands clamp around her arms, firm enough to feel the pulse under my fingers. Those flowers are crushed between us, her knuckles white from gripping them.
“You think I kissed you for theatrics? No. I kissed you so he remembers that you’re mine.”
She lifts her chin. “I’m yours in name only. That’s it.”
“Names matter. My name matters. You wear it now. And he’ll die before he forgets it.”
She flinches, and I see exactly what I’ve always known. She’s light. I’m the thing that swallows it whole.
Hisflowers hurt my eyes. I take them from her hands, fling them to the floor, and watch the petals scatter across the wood. Something slips free from the stems, landing by my boot, and I crouch to investigate.
Two plane tickets. Panama. And a note that seals Emir’s fate.
