Page 65 of The Sin Binders Ascent

A need that looks likefreedom.

I don’t need to make her love me. I just need her to crave the part of herself that they’ll never let her touch.

And then? She’ll come tome. Not because I asked. Because she won’t be able to help it.

Blackwell thinks he’s clever. Thinks chaining me to Luna is some poetic justice. A leash. A sentence. Some divine punishment to keep me humbled and housebroken while they all strut around pretending this world still works without me. But he doesn't realize what he’s given me. He’s handed me the key. Wrapped her in it. And then chained her to my fucking wrist.

They thought locking me away would erase me,like I was some mistake they could bury beneath centuries and never have to explain. No trial. No chance to defend myself. Just betrayal in the form of familiarity,familiar hands, familiar eyes, standing in a circle and choosing to turn their backs while they sealed me in and walked away.

Lucien with that cold logic. Ambrose pretending it was necessary. Riven, who didn’t even look at me.

Brothers.

I worshipped them like gods. We bled together. Fought wars, toppled empires, held dominion over realms. I thought it meant something.

Now? All I want is to take the one thing they believe is untouchable.

And it isn’t just Luna. It’swhatshe is to them.

The center. The tether. The one they orbit, beg for, bleed for. She steadies them. Shehumanizesthem. Even the worst of them,Riven with his blade-sharp fury, Ambrose with his obsessions,they become something close to worthy in her light.

But they don’t know her like I do.

I see the cracks. The parts of her that chafe under their protection, that hunger for something more dangerous, more forbidden. She doesn’twantto be worshipped. She wants to burn.

I’m going to let her.

Not by force. Not with some clumsy seduction or brute aggression.

No. I’ll take her slowly, the way I take everything. By giving her the one thing they never will.

Thetruthof her desire.

Not the neat, curated affection they allow her to express,this kind of love, that kind of bond. They categorize her. Riven’s fury. Orin’s wisdom. Caspian’s games. Lucien’s dominance. Each of them thinks they know what she needs, and they keep trying to fit into the role she’s written for them.

But I don’t want a role. I want the raw, merciless ache that keeps her awake at night. The part of her evenshedoesn’t understand. And with this cuff? With every breath we share, every second she’s tethered to me, unable to escape that current that constantly runs between us,I’ll find those pieces.

I’ll pry her open.

Not to love me. To need me. Because once she starts unraveling with me, once she realizes how deeply shewantswhat I offer, there’ll be no going back to the neat, obedient version of herself they’ve all helped shape. And when that happens, when she chooses me, not because she’s supposed to, but because shecan’t not, it’ll be the most exquisite retribution I could ask for.

Let them watch her crave the very thing they locked away. Let them see her come apart for me. Not because I’m the villain they fear. But because I’m the only one who sees who she is underneath all their devotion. And I’m not afraid to let her become it.

Elias

I slouch deeper in the wicker lounge chair I didn’t carry out here, Silas did, while narrating every breath like a martyr, and balance my coffee mug on my stomach. The sun’s just starting to pour over the east wall of the courtyard, turning the ivy into a patchwork of gold and green. And there she is, our girl, curled up on that stone bench like some tragic mythological painting. Bare legs tucked under her. Hoodie too big for her frame. Hair pulled up like she doesn’t give a damn and still looks like ruin.

And next to her?

The fuckwit.

Theo lounges like the whole world was built to entertain him. Elbow propped on the table, cuff glittering against his skin like it’s not the ugliest piece of jewelry this side of hell. He’s saying something low, all smug and slow, but Luna doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even blink. Just sips her coffee, like if she ignores him long enough, he’ll disappear.

Gods, I hope he does.

"Should’ve poisoned his cereal,” I mutter, just loud enough for Silas to hear.

Silas snorts beside me, arms crossed over his chest. He’s crouched like a gargoyle on the edge of the patio railing, eyes narrowed, face set in that overdramatic pout he wears when someone touches his things. And by things, I mean Luna. Whohe absolutely, one-thousand-percent plans on murdering Theo over.