EMMA
Damien’s name slithered into my mind like a stain I couldn’t scrub out.
I hadn’t spoken it. I didn’t need to. The moment it surfaced, Gabriel’s shoulders went rigid, the way a predator stills when it hears another nearby. That alone was answer enough—and it made something inside me crack wider.
“So,” I said slowly, my voice thin but sharp, “that’s why he knew.”
Gabriel didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. He just watched me the way someone watches a blade falling—aware that stopping it might cost them fingers.
“Damien didn’t just guess,” I went on. “He didn’t bluff. He knew things. About the estate. About your rules. About the way everyone reacts when you’re angry.” I laughed once, brittle and humorless. “He called this place a den. I thought he was being cruel. Turns out he was being
