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"You bastard! You fucking lying, manipulative, stalking piece of shit!"

He grabs both my wrists and shoves me back against the wall, water still dripping from my skin. I don’t care. I bare my teeth like an animal, thrashing.

"You’re just like him," I snarl. "You think the world owes you. You think you can take whatever you want just because your name is Reyes! You think you can watch me, take me, fuck with my life—and what? That makes you better than your father?"

"Don’t," he growls, his voice sharp and guttural. "Don’t you fuckingdarecompare me to him."

I spit the words like acid. "Why not? You use power and fear. You stalked me, drugged me, kidnapped me. You played God and called it obsession. If that’s not a Reyes move, then what the hell is it?"

"I’m not him!" he snaps, voice like thunder now, echoing off the tiles. "Everything he built, I want to tear apart with my bare fucking hands. Every brick, every drop of blood that funded his empire—I want it gone, burned to ashes. Because of what it cost people like you. Because of what it costme."

"Then show me your face," I demand. My voice breaks, my hands trembling even as I try to wrest them from his grip. "If you’re not him, then take off the fucking mask. Look me in the eye. Prove it."

His hold tightens. He doesn’t move.

Silence.

The refusal is louder than a confession.

"You can’t," I whisper, devastated. "Because you’re still hiding. Because you’re still him."

His jaw clenches behind the black tactical mask. "I’m not my father, Seanna. But I’ll never show you my face if the only reason you want to see it is to look for the monster you think I am. You already know the face beneath this mask—but right now, you're not in the right frame of mind to remember that. And the face I wear? It’s not my father's. It’s not carved by power or fear. It's the face of someone who chose to fight against everything he built. Someone who has already bled trying to undo the legacy I was born into. And deep down, you know that. You’ve seen it—you just don’t realize it yet."

My throat thickens with grief, rage, betrayal.

I shove him again. This time with everything I have.

And this time he lets me go.

I don’t say another word.

I just wrap the towel around me, turn my back to him, and walk away.

But my knees are shaking.

And my world is already burning.

Chapter 32

Ruin

Shedidn’teat.

Not the lunch. Not the dinner.

I wasn’t home when Rule tried—had my own mess to deal with on the outside—but when I finally stepped through the door, he was waiting in the hall like he’d aged ten years in my absence. His voice was low and careful when he told me like he thought I’d be pissed.

I wasn’t.

Not really.

He said she just stared at the tray, then turned her back and wrapped herself tighter in one of those oversized shirts she always wears when she’s trying to convince herself she’s safe. Like fabric and defiance are armor enough. Like comfort can’t be turned into a weapon if you know how to wield it right.

He’s lucky she didn’t throw the plate in his face.

I think she wanted to.

I could hear it in his voice—how much it wounded him. He hides it, but I know him. I know what it does to him when she won’t even look at him. He can handle violence. Fury. Screaming.