Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
His hand shoots out to my wrist. “You're my wife.”
“I'm your nothing,” I sneer, yanking against his hold, but he doesn't release. “Your perfect little trophy to parade around so people don't ask questions about what you do in the dark.”
His eyes widen, fear flickering across his features before arrogance smothers it. “You threatening me? Young Love?”
My mind spirals, snatching my breath before I can shove it away.
Handle your shit, Ivanya… you're better than this.
It's been six years since the burning man came back and saved me from evil. I still owe him my life, only now, he doesn't go by the burning man, he goes by the name Emeric. I haven't seen him since he left me and Nonna, but slowly, more arrived. Luce, Leon, Jord, Punk.
“Ivanya, it has been many years, my child.” I don't move. Afraid that if I do, I'll break by thanking him for saving me. Thank him for taking me away from the vile things that were happening to me. And then I'd look weak. If there's anything I don't want, it's to look weak. Not to him. Not to Nonna. Not after all this time that they put into sharpening me like a weapon.
I absorb his words like they're gospel, because they are.
“With every chapter of the four books of L’Abattoir Codex were honored by you, I watched in admiration as you not only learned, but you owned. Book One: Psychological Warfare, Book Two: Corps de Violence, Book Three: Advanced Manipulation, Book Four: Emergency Protocols for Emotional Contamination. You were born to serve Lavage de Cerveau, my Ivanya, and I am honored to have you as I've watched you spread your violence through the streets of Europe. The children will speak of you as they do me. Le Boucher Sans Loi—”
“Everything okay?” Her gaze bounces between us, pulling me out of memory lane. So fucking close. So close to this moment.
“Perfect.” Parker smooths his suit jacket, mask sliding back into place. “Just having a private conversation with my wife.”
Lucinda doesn't believe him. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense, how her hand hovers near her clutch.
“The cake's ready,” she says carefully, ignoring Parker.
I brush past him without another word, following Lucinda back toward the noise and lights. She leans close as we walk.
“What happened?” she whispers, a smile wide on her face.
I match her mask. “Nothing I can't handle.”
“Ivy—”
“Drop it, Luce.”
We emerge into the main room where someone's dimmed the lights. A massive cake sits on the center table, candles flickering, and the crowd breaks into an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday that makes my skin crawl.
Asher stands near the back, Camille plastered to his side again, but his attention locks on me immediately. Something passes between us, silent and loaded. His jaw clenches. My fingers brush the hidden pocket where the diamond waits.
The singing ends. Everyone expects me to make a wish, blow out the candles, smile for the cameras already pointed my way.
I close my eyes.
When I open them, Parker's watching from across the room, glass raised in mock toast. The threat in his expression is clear. Just how much does he know? Has he made me?
I stuff the questions away for later and blow out the candles.
The party continues for another two hours. Endless conversations, forced laughter, champagne I don't drink because I need my mind sharp. Camille clings to Asher near the bar. Punk vanishes somewhere upstairs.
People don't start to leave until midnight, and I drift into the kitchen, needing distance from all of it.
It’s empty and dark except for moonlight through the windows.
I pour water from the tap, pressing the cold glass against my forehead, and try to remember how to breathe.
Footsteps behind me. I don't turn, already knowing who it is by the hesitant footsteps. As if he’s contemplating his next move.
“We're not done talking.” Parker's voice carries none of the drunken slur from earlier.
I shrug. “There's nothing left to say.”
“I disagree.” He moves closer. I track his reflection in the window. “You think I don't know what you are? What you've been doing behind my back?”
Kind of been counting on it.
My phone vibrates again, and I swipe it up and check the text.
Have you grown weak, Ivanya?
My teeth grit together at the taunting tone
I place the phone down, face down, and turn with the knife in my hand.
He brushes me off, pulling me closer until I’m almost drunk on his breath. Laughter cackles from him as he stumbles further into my space.
“Tsk, tsk, so the cat is finally out the bag…”
My fingers curl in my fist, his eyes fall to the movement, as if watching every single flinch.
“How long?” I ask, brow curled
He leans against the counter directly opposite, unbothered. “The whole time, Young Love….” that nickname crawls over my skin.
“You knew who I was when we married, yet you did it anyway?” It's almost too good to be true. Why would he go along for the ride?