Landre
I hadn’t slept right since that night at the bar. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that boy, whatever was his name, hovering too close to Dionne, whispering into her ear like he owned her. My stomach twisted with rage, this sickening fear that he’d already taken what was rightfully mine to protect. The boy’s every glance, every casual touch I’d witnessed that night, came back to me in sharper detail each time I thought of it, feeding the illusions that twisted my mind. Some part of me whispered he’d already defiled her, and that thought made my blood boil.
Rowena’s voice echoed in my memory, her calm but sharp tone from our last conversation seeping back in. She’d hinted at a truth that cut deeper than she’d likely intended. “Those boys who roughed you up at Marcus’s place,” she
