Page 126

"Coffee’s good," I say finally, voice light, almost bored.

Rule’s mouth curves into a slow, knowing smirk. "You’re welcome, princess."

My fingers tighten around the mug at the nickname—but I don’t correct him. Not this time.

Instead, I sink onto the armchair opposite them, folding one leg over the other. Deliberate. Calm. Unbothered. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing how raw I still am under the skin.

"So, we’ve established you two have been planning this for a long time," I say, picking invisible lint off my tank top.

Neither of them deny it.

"Years," Matteo agrees, voice low, steady.

I shrug, feigning indifference. "You did your homework. Congratulations. Top marks for stalking and sabotage."

A flash of something dark moves through Bodhi’s eyes, but he reins it in fast.

"It wasn’t just stalking," he says quietly.

"No," I agree, tilting my head. "It was infiltration."

The word hangs between us, sharp and clinical. It should taste like ash. It doesn’t. It tastes like truth. And something dangerously close to understanding.

I take another slow sip of coffee, letting the heat roll through me.

"Did you ever think," I murmur, voice cool, "that maybe you didn't have to work so hard?"

Matteo leans forward slightly, muscles tight under his black shirt. "What do you mean?"

I meet his gaze head-on, no flinching, no apology.

"You didn’t have to orchestrate every detail. You didn’t have to puppet-string my whole fucking life to get me close."

I set the mug down carefully on the table between us, the ceramic making a soft clink against the marble.

"You just had to ask."

Their silence is a tangible thing. It wraps around me, heavy and stunned and vibrating with something raw.

"You think we could have saved years of stalking?" Bodhi says at last, voice rough.

I smile, slow and a little cruel. "No. Not the versions of you I knew then. You weren’t ready."

I let the truth sink in before I continue, my voice softening only a fraction:

"But maybe... maybe if you'd asked even a month ago, I would've said yes."

The confession costs me something. It digs in under my ribs and twists.

Matteo’s hands clench into fists against his knees. Bodhi’s jaw ticks, a muscle feathering along the sharp line of it.

"You’re saying," Bodhi says slowly, "you’re not running."

I snort. "Running? Fromyou?"

I lean back, letting my head tip lazily against the chair.

"You think a little betrayal’s gonna send me scattering?"