“He looked scary.”
“Not scary at all.” Another lie coats my tongue with a bitter taste. “Just very tall. Come on. Time for sleep.”
I push to my feet. Tyra’s weight is a perfect anchor against the adrenaline crash.
I carry her down the short, dimly lit hallway to the nursery. The soft yellow walls offer a false sense of security. The air smells like baby powder and clean laundry. I set her down in the center of the tiny bed.
I tuck the heavy pink blanket under her chin. I smooth the messy dark curls away from her forehead.
She grabs her ragged grey stuffed wolf. Her eyes droop shut.
“Sleep tight, my brave girl.”
I retreat slowly. I keep her in my line of sight until the white door clicks shut behind me.
The silence of the East Wing Suite crashes down hard.
I press my spine against the hallway wall. Gravity drags me down the smooth paint until the hardwood floor stops the fall. I pull my knees tight to my chest.
Twenty minutes ago, the grand foyer was the frontline. Now, three highly trained predators occupy my private sanctuary. They pace the sitting room. They check the window locks. They breathe my air.
I close my eyes.
The physical memory of Rafe is a violent ache in my bones. The emerald silk is useless against the phantom friction of his calloused palms. I can still feel the weight of his cock pressing into my stomach through his tactical gear, a hard, demanding promise of what he’d do if he let himself go. He didn’t just want to search me; he wanted to shove me backward onto the mattress, rip the silk right down the middle, and bury himself so deep in my soaking pussy that I’d be screaming his name for the rest of the night. My clit throbs with a heavy, localized heat, my own juices slicking my inner thighs as I lean against the wall for support.
The terrifying truth is simple. He could have done it, and my body would have welcomed every second.
I shove the dangerous thought away. I force my eyes open.
No room for weakness. No room for losing focus.
I walk into the master bathroom.
The space is blindingly bright. White marble covers every surface. Harsh vanity lights illuminate the massive mirror above the double sinks.
A stranger stares back at me from the glass.
My dark hair sits in a wild, tangled mess. My lips are swollen and bruised red from biting them. A chaotic flush stains my neck and chest. My pupils are blown wide.
I look thoroughly, undeniably ravaged.
I turn the heavy silver handle. Ice-cold water blasts into the porcelain basin. I cup my hands. I splash the freezing water onto my face. The brutal cold snaps my brain back into alignment.
I grab a plush white towel. I dry my face aggressively.
Dominic treats me like a convenient prop. The obedient, beautiful sister. The background decoration for his corrupt dinners and illegal dealings. He buys me expensive dresses. He provides a sprawling compound. He puts the Costa name on display whenever it benefits his political image.
He expects quiet compliance. He expects smiles on command.
He severely underestimates me.
His ego assumes a woman cannot understand complex offshore banking accounts. He believes coded shipping manifests are beyond my mental capacity.
His arrogance is his fatal flaw.
That exact blind spot gave me the key to his private study. It bypassed his secure server. It allowed a complete copy of his bloody empire to transfer onto a tiny piece of metal.
I am going to burn his entire world straight to the fucking ground.