Page 108 of The Cuddle Clause
I nodded vaguely, fingers curling tighter around my clutch. “Yeah. It’s… life-altering.”
Seraphina turned her body slightly. “I told Dwight I was going to wear my scar out. I earned it, might as well show it off, right?”
Her eyes dropped to my neck, and I saw the exact second she realized something was off.
She tilted her head. Her lips parted.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “Where’s your scar, Maggie?”
Roman took a half-step forward, his entire body coiled.
I forced a laugh. “Oh. I’m… a fast healer.”
The words felt ridiculous the moment they left my mouth, but I kept my tone breezy and light.
Her eyes narrowed. “That fast?”
I shrugged. “Guess I’m not as fragile as I look.”
I barely had time to turn my head before Seraphina’s hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Let me see,” she hissed, yanking my hair aside so fast, my neck snapped sideways.
“What the hell?” I tried to shove her off, but her nails dug in, and she was already clawing at my neckline like a woman possessed.
“There’s nothing there,” she shouted, voice cracking into something wild and victorious. “He never bit her! Look! There are no scars!”
Everything stopped. The violins trailed off into silence, the clinking glasses froze mid-toast, and for one brief, breathless second, it felt like the entire pack turned to stone.
And then they turned on us. Eyes locked on my neck. On Roman. On me.
Roman’s voice cracked beside me, low and urgent. “Maggie. We need to go.”
I was still mid-shove with Seraphina, but he was already pulling me, his hand locking around mine. Warm. Commanding.
There was no time to think. We ran through the crowd, past the pillars, dodging gasps and whispers and at least one full-on growl. Someone reached for Roman’s arm, but he shoved them off without missing a beat. We burst through the grand doors and out into the night, the cold air slapping my face.
Roman didn’t say a word as we sprinted to the car. His fingers shook as he unlocked it. I slid in and slammed the door shut just as voices spilled out behind us. He hit the gas. The tires squealed as we pulled away from the mansion and sped down the road.
My pulse refused to slow down. My chest ached. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
He glanced at me once. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I snapped. “What the fuck just happened?”
Roman exhaled through his nose, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We’ll fix it.”
“Stop saying that.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “You always say that.”
He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.
I turned toward him, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “We are standing at the precipice of hell, Roman. You get that,right? We’re not in the ‘wing it’ phase anymore. We’re in the ‘torches and pitchforks’ phase, and you’re still acting like you’ve got some secret plan stashed up your sleeve.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said flatly.
I barked a humorless laugh. “God, do you hear yourself? You sound like a guy trying to fix a leaky sink with duct tape. You’re not even trying. You’re just reacting. Always reacting.”
Roman’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
