Page 102

Layla hums. “Am I?”
I glance at her, arching a brow. “You want me to pick one?”
She shrugs, but her curiosity is sharp. “Most people have favorites.”
I exhale, shaking my head. “That’s the thing, Layla. I don’t have to choose.”
She lets that sit for a second before grinning. “Damn. You really are living the dream.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” She gives me a look. “You’re with them. All of them. And they’re just… fine with it?”
I think about it. About the way Silas watches me like I’m his greatest mistake and his only salvation. The way Riven movesaround me, close but never caged, his silence heavier than any words. The way Elias lingers at the edges, never serious until he is, never distant but always on the verge of running.
Lucien, watching, waiting, testing me without ever saying the words.
Orin, silent and ancient in his patience, knowing more than he lets on.
I shake my head. “It’s different. It just works.”
Layla scoffs. “Nothing about this looks like it should work.”
She’s right. It shouldn’t.
And yet.
“They know,” I say simply. “There are no lies. No jealousy. No games.”
Layla studies me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re telling me none of them get possessive? Not even a little?”
I hesitate.
Because possessive isn’t the right word. They want me. Not in halves, not in pieces, but in full. And that’s the part that should terrify me. Because I know what they are, what they’ve been, what they could be.
And yet.
“No,” I answer, because it’s the only thing I can say. “They don’t get jealous.”
Layla shakes her head, but there’s something thoughtful in her gaze. “Must be nice.”
I don’t respond, because what is there to say? I’ve never had to explain this before. I don’t know how to put into words the way it feels, like standing at the edge of something vast, something consuming, something I shouldn’t want but do.
Layla nudges me with her shoulder. “Still think you should pick a favorite.”
I smirk. “Not happening.”
She exhales dramatically. “Fine. But I reserve the right to judge them.”
I snort. “You already do.”
Layla grins. “And I intend to continue.”
The Rift is behind us. Severin’s prison is in ruins. My bound men are free. And yet, when I glance at Riven, he won’t look at me. It’s like I don’t exist. Like the bond pulling tight in my ribs isn’t real.
Silas, on the other hand, seems completely unbothered, his usual slouch in place, his gaze sharp but detached, as if none of this is worth a second thought. As if the chains that once held him were nothing but an inconvenience, easily shrugged off.
Perhaps that’s all I am to them.