The door slammed shut behind Tricia with a finality that shook her to the bone.
She didn’t look back.
Not at the villa. Not at Callista. Not at the sealed blood contract still trembling on the marble table in the center of the maze.
Christopher was waiting at the black car, engine running, door open. His jaw was clenched. His fists white-knuckled. But his eyes were on her—searching, sharp, worried.
When she got in, he didn’t ask if she was okay.
He knew better now.
“Did she touch you?” he asked instead.
“No.”
“She offer you the throne?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign it?”
She looked out the window as the gates of Villa Castelli groaned closed behind them.
“I told her to burn it.”
Christopher let out a slow breath. “Good.”
The rest of the ride was silent, save for the quiet clicks of en
