Page 46 of A Forbidden Arrangement
Damon:
And we can’t rule out this tying back to the ones after your wife.
Bash:
She still keeping you in the dark on why she ran?
The hair on the back of my neck lifts. My head turns toward her room before I can stop it. She’s been here under my roof for days and still hasn’t given me the truth. Still doesn’t trust me enough. It’s been driving me insane.
I can still see her the way I first found her in that hospital bed, bruised, blood dried along her temple, a shadow of herself under fluorescent lights. Whoever put her there signed their death warrant the second they touched her.
We’ve been tearing apart every lead since. My brothers pulling strings, men working around the clock, names getting crossed off one by one, only to find that her attacker was already killed by someone else.
Now Calder’s found, dumped like trash in the harbor. Another dead end.
The frustration is a live current under my skin. I can control everything else: business, men, money. But this? This hunt? It’sslipping through my fingers. And she’s still silent. Still refusing to give me even one name, one reason why they’re after her.
But as long as she’s under my protection, she has time. I’ll wait her out.
Even if it’s fucking killing me.
Me:
We’ll leave her out of it for now. I’m not fucking this up by pushing her to tell me something she doesn’t want to.
Matthias:
It’s fine, we’ll find him on our own. You just work on warming up your wife so she stops hating you.
My grip tightens on the phone until the glass creaks. If only it were that simple.
I don’t tell them I wish she could just hate me. That would be cleaner. Instead, I still catch the fear in her eyes, even when she tries to hide it. She’s a normal woman, and I dragged her into a place where murder is a line item and loyalty is paid for in blood.
As long as they keep coming for her, I’ll become the thing she fears, if that is what keeps her alive.
Chapter 22
Dahlia
I’m already regretting coming down here.The wood floor creaks under my feet as I step into the doorway, giving me away before I can turn back. Xander’s head lifts, and those clear gray eyes snap to mine from where he sits at the island.
He looks good. Too good. Still in the black shirt from last night, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the collar open just enough to show a flash of his throat. His hair’s a little mussed, jaw rough with stubble, and now he’s wearing glasses.Glasses.
Is he doing this on purpose?
He leans back slightly, calmly watching me over the rim of his mug, and I can’t decide if I want to leave or demand to know why he looks like that at eight in the morning.
I barely slept last night. My mind kept going over it again and again, haunting me with the fact that I’d been the one who nearly kissed him. That Xander had been the one to pull back. I’ve tried to come up with a million excuses, from being drugged to straight-up insanity. But the truth is, in that moment, I wasn’t thinking. My mind went completely blank the second his warmth brushed across my face.
His touch had been gentle, every movement careful, like he was scared he might hurt me. A man who wears power likearmor, who’s killed people without blinking, handled me like something fragile.
And I’m pathetic, because I wanted him to pull me in and kiss me like his life depended on it, to erase everything else. Just for a second, I wanted to forget that he’s a monster. Forget that I’m trapped in his castle. Just let myself drown in him.
If he hadn’t pulled away, I would’ve kissed him. Would’ve dragged him closer and let everything else disappear. For that one second, I was ready to forget it all. Who he is. What he’s done. Chosen the man who scares the hell out of me, just to feel that alive again.
Heat creeps up my neck, and Xander smirks, like he can see every thought flickering across my face. The corner of his mouth curves, slow and knowing. I slide one foot backward, and his smirk deepens. A small dimple cuts into his cheek. I’ve never noticed it before. There’s a taunt in his gaze, a quiet dare to stay. To see what happens if I stop pretending I’m not affected by him.
It takes everything in me to move. My pulse kicks hard, and before I can think, I spin on my heel and bolt for the hall. I want to call it bravery, but really, it’s self-preservation. The longer I’m near him, the easier it is to forget why I shouldn’t be.
