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Because the shadows in his eyes aren't the usual ones. This isn't the predatory darkness I've grown accustomed to. This...is something else. Something strained and haunted. Something...tormented.

"Do you trust me, Liana?"

Oh no.

It's never good when Sylvain answers my question with another question. That's like Rule Number One in the"Your Husband Might Be Planning Something Terrible"handbook.

"Tell me what's happening. Why are we here? What is this—"

"Answer me." A quiet command, underscored by something I can't quite put my finger on. Urgency? Desperation? Both seem impossible for a man like him.

What are you not telling me, mon roi?

"Do you trust me?"

Agitation now colors Sylvain's voice, and underneath it, a pain that calls out to me.

Because I'm in love with him.

There's no hiding from this now.

Even though it doesn't make sense...

I love him, and so his pain is my pain, and that's why...

"I trust you with my life."

His jaw clenches as I say this, and I have an awful feeling that he wants to believe me...but doesn't.

"I hope you mean it."

Si seulement...

If only I could find the courage to give him the words.

Oh, if only I could.

We enter the warehouse, the massive door groaning on its tracks as Sylvain slides it open just enough for us to slip through.

It's completely dark save for the slice of sunlight coming from outside, and then that's gone, too, with the door automatically sliding shut behind us.

"Sylvain?"

I can't even see my hand in front of my face.

A second later, light flares into life, but what my husband holds in his hand is a lighter, not a cellphone.

Classic.

The small flame illuminates Sylvain's face from below, casting dramatic shadows that make him look like a man with the face of an angel...but the heart of a sinner.

"Something's wrong," he says tautly.

What does he mean—

No. No. No.

I smell it before I see it.