Twisted (Never After #4)(46)

And honestly…for just a moment, when he kissed me, I forgot where I was. Forgot who I was with.

My stomach heaves at the thought of Aidan finding out.

The sparkle of my new wedding ring glints off the dim recessed lighting in the family room, and I glance down, my heart squeezing at the sight. The ring itself is stunning, a yellow diamond cushioned between two trapezoid white diamonds. I don’t want to think about what it means that the man I hate more than the world picked something so close to what I would have chosen for myself.

And it makes me so fucking pissed, because it’s just another thing that Julian’s ruined for me. I can’t even take in its beauty without being reminded of the chains that are attached.

A champagne flute appears in my peripheral vision, and I tear my eyes away from my hand to look at Julian as he hands me the glass.

“A toast,” he says.

My lips purse. “There’s nothing to celebrate.”

He sighs, his brows furrowing, and I take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. He’s a magnificent creation, and I’d be lying if I said he was anything less. He’s dressed down in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve black Henley that’s pushed up past his elbows, tattoos scrawled along the lengths of his arms and peeking through the collar of his shirt. His tanned skin has literally no blemishes, and it’s like his jawline is cut from stone, framed with the perfect amount of stubble.

I hate how attractive he is. But I guess it makes sense that the devil would appear as perfection to lure away souls.

He sets down the glass I still haven’t taken on a round end table that’s next to the brown leather couch and then leans against the back, his eyes calculating as they stare at me.

“Things don’t need to be as miserable as you’re making them,” he says.

I scoff, turning my face away from him.

“It’s nothing personal, you know?”

“Spare me the bullshit,” I reply. “We both know what this is.”

Amusement sparks through his gaze. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

My spine stiffens as I stare at him, turning my body to face him fully. “This is you trying to control everything to get what you want.”

A Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face. “And what’s wrong with getting what you want?”

“Hurting other people is wrong, Julian. And blackmailing me so you can make it out on top after my father dies is sick.”

He straightens. “I— ”

I cut my hand through the air. “Save the bullshit for someone who’ll believe it. I’m not clueless, despite what you’ve always thought.”

He crosses his arms.

Cocking my head, I take a step toward him, and then another, not stopping until I’m right in front of him, craning my neck to see every single speck of emotion that might flit across his face.

“Did you ever care about him at all?” I ask.

He lifts his chin. “Who?”

“My father.”

His nostrils flare, the muscles on the sides of his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth.

“I bet you can’t wait for him to die, huh? So you can swoop in and steal everything that’s rightfully his. What, you gonna kill me too?” I spit.

I don’t mean to be so antagonizing—in fact, my goal was to be the opposite—but now that I’ve lit the fuse, my mouth is firing on all cylinders and there’s no way to rein it in. It feels good to throw my verbal jabs, especially since it’s the first time I’ve seen his blank exterior crack, small flashes of emotion blasting through like shooting stars across the sky.

His hand jabs out before I can blink, gripping my jaw so tight, my teeth cut into my cheeks, and he steps in close, his torso brushing against my chest.

Something jumps in the place our bodies meet, spearing through my middle and settling deep in my abdomen.

“Keep running that mouth,” he rasps, “and you won’t make it through the night.”

I press up on my toes, our noses grazing. My stomach tightens. “I don’t believe you,” I whisper. “You need me too much.”

His lips part, his eyes raging like a storm as his fingers twitch against my face. He releases me suddenly, and I drop back down onto my heels as he backs up until he hits the couch, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“I have work to do,” he says, his blank expression firmly back in place. “Drink the champagne or don’t, I don’t give a fuck. But you will not leave this house, and you will watch the way you speak to me.”

I swallow back the retort that’s on the tip of my tongue, not wanting to push him further than I already have. I wasn’t lying; I do think he needs me alive right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me if I push him too far. I shouldn’t be so willing to take that chance. Riya said she found someone who might be willing to work with me, and until I can meet with him, I need to play it smart, which means keeping my temper in check until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do to outmaneuver him. He may have me tied to him in name, but I’ll die before I let him take my father’s company.

“When can I get my things?” I ask instead. “You told me to pack, and I did, but the boxes are still at home.”

He turns around and stalks out of the room, and irritation heats my veins at the way he just straight-up ignored me. But before I can even move to follow him, he’s back, stopping next to the kitchen island that’s facing the family room where I am. He places something on the top of the island before sliding his hands back in his pockets.