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But because of that my mind chooses that moment to remind me of all the facts Idoknow.

I finish chopping the last of the cherries and slide the board toward him with a little more force than necessary. “Here,” I say flatly. “I didn’t poison them, if that’s what you were hoping for.”

I lean against the counter, arms folded. I should stop. Should leave this quiet little truce in one piece. But that’s not who I am. I don’t do peace. I do sabotage—especially when things feel too easy. Too safe. Toogood.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just scoops the fruit into the bowl and starts folding it into the mixture like I haven’t been inching toward combustion.

So I strike where it hurts.

“You know, I still can’t get over it,” I say casually. “The way you touched me last night, the way you spoke. And the whole time, your last name is Reyes.”

His movements pause—just barely—but it’s enough.

“Javier’s son,” I press, voice curling into something sharp. “The heir. Groomed since birth to inherit the throne. Tell me, Rule—how does it feel knowing your legacy is built on bodies and blood and trafficking girls and drugs?”

He doesn’t look at me.

He doesn’t have to.

His knuckles tighten over the whisk, the leather making soft sounds as his grip tightens. For a moment, the only sound is the low hum of the oven preheating behind us.

Then—soft, low, controlled—he says, “You think I don’t know what he is?”

I lift my chin, defiant. “Do you?”

He turns toward me fully, and even through the mask, his presence is searing. His voice is razor-edged and hollow. “I’ve spent every fucking year of my life knowing exactly what he is.”

There’s something dangerous and trembling underneath the words, something deeper than the smooth confidence he usually wears like armor.

He sets the whisk down with too much care.

“My mother was a possession to him. A body to fuck. A name to own. He paraded her like a queen at events, then hit her hard enough behind closed doors to make her teeth rattle. I was seven the first time I tried to stop him.” His breath hitches slightly, but he swallows it down. “He backhanded me so hard I saw stars. Told me if I ever stepped between them again, he’d make me disappear.”

I blink, stunned—but I don’t speak. I let him bleed.

“She tried to leave once,” he continues, voice quieter now. “Tried to take me and my brother and sister with her. We got as far as a safehouse in Cartagena. It didn’t last twenty-four hours. His men found us. Dragged her back by her hair. Beat the maid who helped us until she couldn’t walk.”

He steps back slightly, giving himself space to breathe, and I realize—he’s not just recounting it. He’sstillthere. In every word. Every detail.

“And now,” he says, a bitter laugh caught in his throat, “he’s arranging for my sister—mybaby sister—to marry a monster. A man at least twice her age who runs a rival cartel in Michoacán. She’s twenty. He wants to ‘secure the alliance’—his words.”

My stomach twists.

“She cried to me,” he says, like a confession. “Begged me not to let it happen. And I promised I wouldn’t. So I’m not. I already have a plan in place to get her out. She just doesn’t know it yet. But he’ll never touch her again. That bastard won’t use her like he used the rest of us.”

I can feel his gaze, it pins me, sharp and aching.

“I’m not him,” he says lowly. “The name Kingston Reyes is the only fucking thing I have in common with that monster. That’s not who I am. And if you reallyseeme the way you act like you do—you shouldknowthat.”

The silence between us stretches thick and tense.

I cross my arms tighter, trying to shield the way his words hit me. But I don’t back down. I can’t.

“How do I know that?” I ask quietly. Not biting now—just honest. Wounded. “Right now… all I know about you is that he’s your father.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lash out or retreat.

Instead, Rule steps closer.