Chapter Thirteen: Love at Lethal Lope.

Violet Virgilson.

The air in Vincent Virenson's house was still thick with smoke-whether from the whiskey, the gunpowder tang of blood, or just the fire he'd set beneath my skin, I couldn't tell. My heartbeat hadn't slowed since he leaned in, whispering that I was under his skin. My walls had cracked, my resolve had burned, and my sanity was somewhere in ashes on the rug.

Silence pressed against the walls like a second skin. Every breath I drew carried the taste of him-danger, sin, temptation, and a promise I had no right to crave.

Then came the pounding.

A violent, relentless thunder against the front door that split the silence wide open.

I jolted, my chest seizing with dread. I should've been relieved-saved from the dangerous gravity pulling me closer to Vincent. Instead, icy fear wrapped its claws around my ribs. Whoever it was, it couldn't be good.

Vincent's head snapped toward the door, his predator's gaze sharpening to a blade. His entire body stilled, except for the flex of his jaw, and the faint flare of his nostrils.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Like hell I was staying anywhere. My nerves were screaming, my instincts shredding.

But before I could move, before I could even breathe, the door slammed open with the force of a storm.

And there he was.

Rudolpho.

My husband.

The man who once swore he'd love me until death. At this point, I wasn't sure whether that vow was a promise or a threat.

"Violet," he said, his voice sharp as a whip. His eyes flicked from me to Vincent, narrowing dangerously. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

My mouth dried instantly. Words tangled in my throat, unable to escape.

Vincent rose slowly, like a king inconvenienced by a peasant. He didn't flinch, didn't falter, didn't even glance at me. His gaze locked on Rudolpho with a cool, lethal calm that made the room feel too small.

"You're trespassing," Vincent said.

Rudolpho barked a humorless laugh, stepping inside like he owned the air I was breathing. "And you're harboring my wife."

Vincent's lip curved. Not a smile-too sharp for that. More like a blade. "I don't see a wife." His eyes cut to me, hot and merciless. "I see a woman making her own choices."

My pulse skittered. Oh, no. Not this. Not another battle of egos fought with me as the weapon.

"Choices?" Rudolpho sneered, his presence expanding like a storm cloud swallowing the room. "You think she has a choice, Virenson? You're forgetting something."

Vincent's tone dripped silk, but every syllable was lined with steel. "And what's that?"

"That I know what you've been hiding." Rudolpho leaned forward, his eyes glinting with malicious delight. "Your little underground games. Your illegal sport. Do you think the police wouldn't love to know where to start digging?"

The silence that followed could've shattered glass.

My heart thundered, rattling my ribcage.

Vincent's grin didn't falter, but I saw it-the flicker in his eyes. The dangerous recognition that Rudolpho wasn't bluffing.

"You wouldn't dare," Vincent murmured.

"Wouldn't I?" Rudolpho tilted his head, savoring every syllable. "One phone call, Virenson. And your empire goes up in flames faster than those barriers Violet keeps trying to build against you."

My stomach dropped. My skin went cold.

No. No, no, no.

Vincent could face assassins, enemies, wars-but the police? Exposure? That could ruin him. This wasn't a battlefield he could dominate with fists, cunning, or fury. This was law. And law had a way of stripping even kings of their crowns.

And damn me, but I couldn't let that happen.

"Stop," I said, my voice breaking through their duel like a cracked bell.

Both men turned to me. Vincent's gaze burned. Rudolpho's pressed like iron.

"Violet-" Vincent began, his tone darker than a midnight storm.

I cut him off, my throat tight. "Don't. Just... don't."

The fire in his eyes dimmed into something else-something rawer. I almost wished he'd stayed angry. His anger I could handle. That look? That silent plea? It threatened to undo me.

"Violet," Rudolpho said, and for the briefest second his voice softened, a wolf pretending to be a lamb. "Come with me. End this circus. Or I make the call."

The words landed like chains around my wrists.

I looked at Vincent.

At the dangerous man who had kissed me like the world was ending, who had burned through every barrier I'd ever built. He stood tall, proud, untouchable-and yet, in that moment, I saw something I'd never seen before. Vulnerability. Fear-not of Rudolpho, not of the police, but of me leaving.

And I knew. I knew what I had to do, even though the decision tasted like poison.

My chest ached as I forced the words out.

"So you're just going to go with him?" Vincent asked. His voice was low, deadly, almost disbelieving.

The question speared straight into me.

My throat closed. My body wanted to collapse.

"Yes," I whispered, then louder, steadying my tone though it nearly broke me. "Yes. He is my husband."

I swallowed hard, my lips trembling, but I kept my chin high. "And you? You are just a lover."

The silence that followed hollowed me out.

But the truth was a liar. Because under my breath, so faint I wasn't sure if I wanted him to hear it, I murmured, "A lover I wouldn't forget."

Vincent's eyes darkened, something dangerous and broken flashing there. My heart clenched so tightly I thought it might splinter.

And just like that, I left his house and his life, without looking back.

---

The door closed behind me with a thud that echoed like a coffin lid sealing shut.

I didn't dare turn around. If I did-if I looked at him one last time-I wouldn't be able to leave. I would crumble. And if I crumbled, Rudolpho would win. He'd drag Vincent into ruin, and I couldn't let that happen.

So I walked. My steps were steady, but inside I was fracturing. Every pace away from Vincent was a blade slicing deeper.

Rudolpho's hand pressed against the small of my back as if to herd me, like I was livestock. I wanted to slap it off, but my fingers felt numb. I wanted to scream, but my throat was locked tight.

The night air hit me like ice as we stepped outside. The world smelled wrong-too crisp, too clean. Nothing like the intoxicating chaos inside Vincent's house.

Rudolpho opened the car door, the gesture deceptively polite. I slid in, my body moving while my soul lagged behind, still in that room, still staring at Vincent's burning eyes.

The engine roared to life, and the car jerked forward. Silence blanketed us, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Rudolpho broke it. "Do you have any idea what kind of man you were just with?" His tone dripped with disdain. "Do you know the filth you were sinking into?"

My head snapped toward him, fury sparking through my grief. "Do you have any idea what kind of man you are? Because let me remind you, Rudolpho-you're no saint."

His jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "I'm your husband."

"Barely," I spat.

That shut him up for a moment. But not long. Rudolpho never could stand silence when he wasn't the one controlling it.

"You think Virenson cares for you?" he sneered. "You're just another conquest. Another notch on the belt of a criminal. He'll throw you aside once he's bored."

I laughed bitterly, though it sounded more like a sob strangled in my throat. "Funny. That's exactly what you did, isn't it? The difference is, Vincent doesn't pretend."

Rudolpho's head whipped toward me, his eyes blazing. The car swerved, tires squealing before he corrected the wheel.

"You dare compare me to him?" His voice shook with rage. "I gave you everything. My name, my wealth, my protection-"

"Protection?" I cut in sharply. "You call this protection? Dragging me away like a trophy? Threatening the man I-"

I stopped. The word had been too close. Too dangerous.

The man I loved.

But I couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not here.

Rudolpho smirked, sensing the words unsaid. "The man you what? Lust after? Fool around with? Don't delude yourself, Violet. Men like him don't love. Men like him devour."

"And men like you?" I hissed. "What do men like you do, Rudolpho? Chain? Cage? Control?"

He slammed his fist against the dashboard. The sound reverberated through the car, but it didn't silence me. If anything, it lit a fire under my tongue.

"You think I didn't see you?" I snapped, my voice trembling with anger. "All those nights you didn't come home. All those lies you thought I couldn't read. You abandoned me long before I ever looked at Vincent. So don't you dare stand there and act like the righteous husband now."

His nostrils flared. His jaw worked furiously. For once, he had no words.

Silence reclaimed the car. Not peace-never peace-but silence. The kind that thrummed with danger, like a bomb counting down.

I turned my face to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. My reflection stared back at me-haunted eyes, pale skin, lips pressed tight to keep from quivering.

In that reflection, I saw the truth.

I wasn't leaving Vincent because I wanted Rudolpho. I was leaving because I couldn't let Vincent fall. Because for once in my life, I was choosing to protect someone else, even if it destroyed me.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of Rudolpho. Not when he'd savor every drop.

I whispered to the glass, so faint it fogged with my breath, "A lover I wouldn't forget."

The words weren't for Rudolpho. They were for the man I'd left behind. The man whose eyes had seared themselves into my soul.

"Did you say something?" Rudolpho asked sharply.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "No."

The drive stretched on, every mile another nail in my coffin. By the time we pulled into the estate, I felt hollow. A puppet on strings.

Rudolpho parked with a sharp jerk and turned to me. His eyes gleamed with triumph.

"Good girl," he murmured. "You made the right choice."

I met his gaze, my voice steady though my insides trembled. "No, Rudolpho. I made the necessary choice."

I opened the door before he could reply, stepping out into the night. The cool air slapped my face, and I breathed it in like freedom-even though I knew I was stepping into a different kind of prison.

Behind me, I heard him chuckle. Low, victorious, cruel.

But over his laugh, in the hollow of my chest, another sound echoed louder.

Vincent's voice.

"So you're just going to go with him?"

Yes.

But my heart had stayed behind.

Chapter Fourteen: Lingering of a Lover.

Violet Virgilson.

The carriage ride back wasn't a return. It was a punishment.

Rudolpho sat across from me, smugness dripping from every pore, while I sat stiff-backed, forcing my hands to stay still when every instinct screamed to claw the door open and run barefoot through the streets.

His eyes gleamed, hard and satisfied, like a hunter with a wounded animal in his snare.

Vincent's eyes haunted me instead. Dark, desperate, wounded when I said those words. You are just a lover. The lie still burned on my tongue. The wound still bled in my chest.

"You did well," Rudolpho finally said.

My head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"You ended it. You came back with me. That's all that matters."

I leaned forward, voice like venom. "You think I ended anything?"

His jaw flexed, his composure straining. "You're my wife. Not his mistress."

I smirked bitterly. "Then maybe you should've remembered that before you threw me to the wolves."

He twitched, his hand jerking up-ready to strike me. But he froze, realizing where we were.

Because the carriage had stopped. At my mother's house.

---

When I stepped out, the sight of her on the doorstep nearly broke me.

"Violet!" she cried, rushing forward, arms open. "Oh, thank heavens-"

She froze when she saw Rudolpho looming behind me.

"Mum," I whispered fiercely as she hugged me. "You shouldn't have told him where I was."

Her body went rigid. Her eyes darted nervously to Rudolpho, then back to me. But before she could answer, Rudolpho's voice cut through like a whip.

"Mum, leave us."

My mother shrank back.

Rudolpho grabbed my chin, tilting my face to his, his grip bruising. "Next time you think to run, remember this." His eyes slid meaningfully to my mother. "There are always consequences."

I jerked free. "You're a coward, Rudolpho. Hiding behind women."

His hand swung halfway before he caught himself. Even then, the fury in his eyes nearly knocked the breath from me.

He turned on his heel, snapping, "Come. Enough theatrics."

And just like that, he herded me back into the carriage, leaving my mother trembling in the doorway.

---

That night, after he'd paraded me through his estate like a trophy, after his eyes had prowled and accused and threatened, I escaped to the garden.

And she followed.

"Violet," my mother whispered, wringing her hands. "I didn't mean to-I only told him because he said-he said he'd ruin us both if I didn't. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to marry him."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But you did it anyway."

Her eyes shone. "I thought I was protecting you. Please, forgive me."

I looked at her, my chest aching, torn between fury and the weary love that refused to die.

"Mum," I whispered, voice cracking. "You don't protect a daughter by handing her to a wolf."

She broke then, sobbing quietly into her hands, while I stood in the moonlight, heart heavy, lungs burning with the ghost of Vincent's kiss.

Because even in this cage, he lingered.

And God help me, I wanted him more than freedom itself.

---

Vincent Virenson.

The silence after Violet left wasn't silence at all.

It was war drums.

Every tick of the clock was her voice replaying: You're just a lover.

But her eyes-those eyes had betrayed her. They had screamed: Don't believe me. I'm lying for you.

And that was enough to damn me. Enough to keep me pacing the floor of my empty house like a caged beast, fists clenched, whiskey burning down my throat.

The boys avoided me. Smart. They knew better than to laugh when my temper was this sharp.

Still, Anders, bold idiot, asked at the racing spot one night, "Boss-you want us to... take care of the husband?"

I turned on him so fast he stumbled back.

"No," I snarled. "He doesn't get to die so easily. He gets to live knowing she'll never love him."

The boys went silent. Good. Let them feel the weight of it.

---

Nights were hell.

I lit cigars, I drank, I threw myself into races, fists, blood, sweat, but none of it dulled her.

Her lips. Her voice. That whisper, soft as smoke: A lover I wouldn't forget.

I was ruined.

---

One night, without meaning to, I found myself at Rudolpho's estate.

Lurking in the shadows, bottle in hand, staring at the windows like they mocked me.

And then-her.

Violet.

She appeared at the window, half-lit by moonlight. Her hand pressed to the glass like she was trying to claw through it.

And for one impossible heartbeat, she looked straight at me.

My chest split open. My fists clenched.

She wasn't his. Not really. Not ever.

---

Caroline found me at the racing spot two days later.

She slinked toward me, her smile sharp, eyes burning with something dangerous.

"You should forget her," she hissed. "She's poison. She'll ruin you."

I arched a brow. "Funny. You sound threatened."

Her face twisted. "She doesn't love you. She can't. She'll crawl back to him every time. Why waste yourself?"

I leaned close, my smile cruel. "Because she already has me. And she'll never love anyone else the way she loves me."

Caroline's eyes flared, venom sparking. She stormed away, leaving me laughing bitterly under the roar of engines and smoke.

Let her scheme. Let Rudolpho threaten.

They didn't understand.

This wasn't over.

---

I began to plan.

Every thought, every ounce of fire in me burned toward one truth: bringing Violet back.

Not stealing. Not forcing. Not chaining.

But reminding her.

Reminding her she wasn't his possession. She wasn't even mine.

She was the storm.

And I was the only bastard alive willing to stand in it, begging for lightning.

---

The night I made my move, the air itself seemed to tremble.

I would rip through gates, fight Rudolpho, damn the world if I had to.

Because when Violet and I met again, one truth would devour us both.

We weren't finished.

We would never be finished.

And lovers like us?

We didn't linger.

We consumed.

Chapter Fifteen : Reckless Redemption.

Vincent Virenson.

The roar of engines filled the air, sharp and wild like a pack of hungry wolves. Neon lights cut across the asphalt, painting everything in red and blue as if the night itself was bleeding. This was my hunting ground, my kingdom, my madness-and tonight, I wasn't here for the race. I was here because my veins burned with something hotter than gasoline.

Her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

No matter how fast the cars tore down the tracks, nothing outran her name in my head. Violet Valley Virgilson. Married, yet her laugh still echoed like a sin I hadn't confessed.

"Vincent," a familiar, syrupy voice cut through my thoughts. Caroline.

Of course. She always found me at my weakest, like a vulture circling a dying prey. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she came closer, her dress a shimmering trap under the neon haze.

"You've been distracted," she purred, brushing her hand against my arm. "Don't tell me it's that woman again."

I gave her a sharp look. "Careful, Caroline."

"Careful?" She tilted her head, lips curling. "I've seen the way you look at her. Like you're starving. Like she's the only meal left in the world." She leaned closer, her perfume thick, suffocating. "But she's not yours. She never will be."

Her words struck, but I masked it with a smirk. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"I'm not jealous." Her nails grazed my jacket. "I'm reminding you who's here when she isn't. Rudolpho owns her, Vincent. And you? You're chasing a dream that'll wreck you."

I stepped away, letting the distance cut her claws. "Maybe I like wreckage."

Before she could snap back, another voice sliced through the tension. Marco.

"Interesting conversation," he drawled, walking toward us with his usual smirk. Marco lived for chaos. He thrived on it. "What's the score tonight? Vincent the wolf still howling for another man's bride?"

I clenched my jaw. "Watch it."

"Oh, relax. I'm not your enemy." He pulled out his phone and waved it like a weapon. "But news travels fast. Rudolpho and Violet are at Mark's gala tonight. Big investors. Big show. And guess what? Rudolpho already introduced her as his wife."

The words were gasoline on fire. My stomach twisted, my blood boiled. My Violet, standing there beside him, smiling for everyone else, wearing his name like a chain.

"Don't," Caroline warned, reading the storm on my face. "Don't even think about it, Vincent."

But I was already thinking.

Marco's smirk widened, wicked and knowing. "You won't let him parade her around, will you? Not when you've got leverage. Not when you've got... proof."

I knew what he meant. The video. The one of Rudolpho tangled in sheets with another woman. Vicent Virenson never carried a weapon unless he knew how to fire it. And tonight, I was ready to pull the trigger.

Caroline grabbed my arm, panic flashing in her eyes. "If you do this, you'll start a war you can't win."

I yanked my arm free. "Wars are the only thing I know how to win."

For a moment, silence wrapped us, only broken by the screech of tires and cheering racers. My decision was made, carved in stone. Violet wouldn't end the night in Rudolpho's shadow. Not if I had to burn every bridge to drag her into the light.

I swung my leather jacket over my shoulders, eyes locked on the city skyline. The gala wasn't far. My pulse raced with the same reckless rhythm as the engines around me.

"Vincent," Caroline called, desperation cracking her voice. "Don't go. Don't do this for her."

I didn't look back.

Because when obsession turns into destiny, there's no brake strong enough to stop the crash.

Tonight, Rudolpho would learn what it meant to gamble against me.

Tonight, Violet would dance in my arms.

And God help anyone who stood in my way.

---

The gala glittered like a palace dipped in gold. Chandeliers spilled light across the ballroom, violins sang in the air, and the rich and ruthless mingled like predators circling prey. Money wasn't just currency here-it was perfume, power, poison.

I walked in like I owned it. Because tonight, I did.

Every step echoed confidence, arrogance, and something sharper-vengeance. My eyes swept the crowd until they landed on her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

She stood at Rudolpho's side in a gown that shimmered like liquid midnight, her beauty eclipsing every diamond in the room. But her smile-it wasn't real. I knew it. Her lips curved politely, but her eyes were caged birds, desperate for freedom.

And then, the dagger:

Rudolpho, puffed-up and smug, introducing her to Mark, the host.

"My wife, Violet Valley Virgilson," he declared.

The words stabbed, but I didn't bleed. Not tonight. Tonight, I was the one holding the blade.

I slid through the crowd, and conversations hushed as my presence sank in. Vincent Virenson was not the type you ignored. I reached Rudolpho just as Mark excused himself, leaving them alone-and vulnerable.

"Vincent," Rudolpho sneered, his arm tightening around Violet's waist. "What a surprise."

"Surprise?" I tilted my head, letting the smirk play on my lips. "No, Rudolpho. What's surprising is how quickly you introduce women as wives when they're little more than... distractions."

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "Careful."

I pulled out my phone. A single tap, and the screen lit with the video. Rudolpho. Half-naked. With someone who definitely wasn't Violet. The proof played silently, damning him with every frame.

Violet gasped softly, her hand tightening around her clutch. Her eyes darted between me and Rudolpho, disbelief and fury warring on her face.

"Where did you-" Rudolpho started, but I cut him off.

"Don't bother asking." My voice was cold steel. "The question is: what do you think Mark will say if I show him this? Investors don't pour millions into scandals, Rudolpho. They run. And when they run, you fall."

For the first time, Rudolpho paled. Sweat prickled his forehead, and his grip on Violet faltered. He was caught in my trap, and he knew it.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"Oh, I would." I leaned closer, my voice low, lethal. "But I'm merciful tonight. Leave. Walk out of this gala with what little pride you have left. Or stay, and watch your empire crumble before dessert is served."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Guests glanced our way, sensing tension but not daring to intervene. Finally, Rudolpho cursed under his breath. He released Violet's arm, his eyes spitting venom at me.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"It's already over," I shot back.

And just like that, he stormed out of the gala, leaving Violet standing in the wreckage of his downfall.

Her breath hitched, anger and relief colliding. "You-" she started, but words failed her.

"Yes?" I stepped closer, my smirk softening into something rawer.

"You humiliated him. In front of everyone."

I tilted my head. "Correction: I saved you."

"Saved me?" Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Do I look like a damsel in need of rescuing?"

"No," I admitted, eyes locking with hers. "You look like a woman who deserves better."

The orchestra swelled as if on cue, a waltz filling the air. Without asking, I extended my hand. "Dance with me."

She hesitated, torn between fury and temptation. But then-she placed her hand in mine.

The world vanished.

Her body fit against mine as if it always belonged there. Her scent was roses dipped in rebellion, her touch electric. We moved across the floor, gliding in rhythm, every step a battlefield of unspoken words.

"People are watching," she whispered.

"Let them." I spun her, pulling her back against me, lips brushing her ear. "Let them see who you truly belong to."

Her breath shivered, her pulse quickened, but her defiance still burned. "I don't belong to anyone."

"Maybe," I said, tightening my hold, "but tonight... you're mine."

Her eyes met mine, blazing with conflict-anger, desire, confusion. The kind of fire that burned and healed at once. For a moment, we weren't enemies. We weren't savior and victim. We were just... us.

The music faded, applause rippled, but I didn't let go. I couldn't.

And when I finally walked her out of the gala, the night air cool against our flushed skin, I knew one thing with dangerous certainty:

This wasn't just obsession anymore.

This was war.

And I was already too deep to surrender.

---

Violet Virgilson.

If my life were a movie, tonight would've been directed by Satan himself.

I stood in the middle of that dazzling ballroom, every eye burning into me, the echo of Rudolpho's retreat still hanging in the air. My so-called husband had stormed out, leaving me like a trophy someone else had just snatched. And who was holding the prize now?

Vincent Valentin Virenson.

Of all men.

The devil I should hate. The criminal I should fear. The one who-God help me-I couldn't stop wanting.

My fingers still tingled where his hand had held mine. My pulse still raced from the waltz we'd shared, each step a dangerous confession I hadn't spoken aloud.

I should've slapped him. I should've told him he ruined everything. I should've reminded him he was the reason my father was gone.

Instead, I let him lead me out of the gala, into the velvet night, like some heroine in a twisted fairy tale.

The cool air hit my skin, and I finally snapped out of my trance. I yanked my hand free. "What the hell was that?"

Vincent looked maddeningly calm, as if blackmailing Rudolpho and claiming me on the dance floor was just his evening workout. "That," he said smoothly, "was me saving you from a lifetime of humiliation."

"Saving me?" My laugh came out sharp, bitter. "You humiliated him, Vincent. My husband."

His eyes burned hotter than the city lights. "Don't call him that."

My chest tightened. "What else am I supposed to call him? He is my husband. And you-" My voice cracked, traitorous. "You're just..."

"Say it," he demanded, stepping closer.

I forced the word out like poison. "A lover."

The word hung between us, heavy, damning, yet intoxicating. I hated myself for saying it. I hated myself more for how my body reacted-heart racing, knees weak, mouth dry.

And then, softer, when I thought he couldn't hear: "A lover I won't forget."

But of course he heard. His eyes flickered with triumph, with something darker, something that promised he'd use those words against me later.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his tone low, dangerous, final.

"I'm not a child you can order around."

"No," he said, opening the sleek black car door, "you're a queen who deserves a throne, not chains. Now get in before I carry you in."

The audacity of this man. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, with a muttered curse, I slid into the car.

The leather seat felt too soft, too intimate, like it remembered other stolen moments between us. He climbed in beside me, shutting the door with a thud that sealed me into his orbit.

The city blurred past the windows, but all I could feel was his gaze on me-heavy, consuming, inescapable.

"You didn't have to do that," I muttered, staring at my reflection in the glass. "Expose him like that."

"Yes, I did," Vincent replied. "Because every day you stay with him, he breaks you a little more. And I don't tolerate anyone breaking what's mine."

My head snapped toward him. "Yours? I am not yours, Vincent!"

He leaned in, voice rough, eyes dark. "Tell that to your heartbeat."

And damn him-my heart betrayed me, pounding loud enough to be heard over the purr of the engine.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I whispered, "You're insane."

"Maybe." His lips curved into that dangerous smirk that both infuriated and undid me. "But insanity never felt this good, did it?"

My silence was answer enough.

The ride stretched on, tension thick enough to choke me. When the car finally pulled up to my home, I practically bolted out, desperate for air, for distance, for clarity.

But as I reached the door, his hand caught mine, firm and unyielding.

"This isn't over, Violet," he said softly, the kind of softness that was more lethal than a shout.

I turned, my eyes blazing, my body trembling. "It has to be."

He stepped closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You can lie to yourself, but not to me. Not after tonight."

And then he let go, just like that, leaving me standing at my door with my heart in ruins and my soul on fire.

Inside, I leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor, my dress pooling around me like the ashes of who I used to be.

Reckless redemption. That's what tonight had been.

And God help me, I wasn't sure whose soul needed saving anymore-mine or his.