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I sigh contentedly, revelling in the fantasy until the night is completely still, until most of the lights in the building are off and until I feel my own eyelids grow heavy and I slip into a heavy dreamless sleep.

Chapter Six: Alex

In this light, Rowan’s hair is almost black. It sticks up in different directions, his eyes glinting like stars landed in the sea. I move to straddle him, a soft summer breeze coming in from the open window that looks out at the sprawling affluence of Queen’s Peak.

I rest my arms over his shoulders, goosebumps creeping up on my skin, but it’s not because of the cold. There’s a strange weight on my chest, an anticipation of something, like we’re close to a precipice and with every second that ticks by, we inch closer to some sort of end. I can feel its looming presence all around, stifling and choking me.

I don’t want this to end.

I don’t want to let him go.

I lean into him, my mouth lingering against his, and smile weakly, the euphoria of Rowan Vasilyev rushing through my blood. I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this. I know I should hate it every time he touches me, but I don’t and terrifyingly, I realise I want more of it.

It’s been eight months, and I know I’ve fallen in love with him. It’s the worst possible thing I could have done, but how could I not fall for someone like him? How can anyone not want him? It has been so easy—too easy for him and I’m quickly losing myself in this case.

“What’s wrong?” Rowan asks when I pull away, his hand coming up to grip my chin.

“Nothing,” I lie, moving to kiss him again. He kisses me back, deep and wanting, nipping at my bottom lip until I’m moaning and grinding against him. He’s entered my bloodstream, and eventually, I’ll have to bleed him out. I don’t know if there’ll be much of me left when I’m done.

But maybe I won’t have to, I think as I pull away. Maybe I should tell him the truth and when I do, I can choose not to go back. I didn’t choose to work for the OCU through some strong sense of morality or justice. A friend was trying out, and I went with him. He didn’t make it, but I did and before I knew it, I was here, with Rowan.

I don’t have to go back.

I can choose to stay here with him.

“Rowan,” I say quietly against his mouth. The truth sits on my tongue, threatening to escape in its entirety. “I—I love you.”

That’s not what I wanted to say, and I watch his eyes darken, his lips settling into a line. I open my mouth to take it back, to tell him I’m being silly, but before I can, I feel the sharp sting of metal ripping through me, cutting me open until it rests in my gut. When I look down, crimson blooms on my white shirt, spilling out between us and onto the sheets.

He grips my chin and smiles. “Do you?”

***

I shoot up from my mattress, my entire body soaked with sweat. My hands reach for my stomach, searching for blood and a knife, but there’s nothing, only the thin material of an old college t-shirt. My brow is sweaty, and my hair is damp, curling behind my ears and matted to the back of my neck. I rake a hand through it, trying to calm my breathing.

That wasn’t just a nightmare—it was a memory, twisted into something else completely. The moment is burned into my brainlike a branding iron was taken to it. It was a week before Rowan’s arrest. A week before it all fell apart.

I’d stupidly fallen for him, but he hadn’t fallen for me. When I whispered those quiet words in the dark, he’d only looked at me before kissing me senseless, never giving me a response.

He never said it back.

But I didn’t hand whatever evidence I’d collected to the OCU because I was angry at him for not loving me back. I hadn’t expected him to, but I also knew it meant I had to choose myself. Rowan was not some gallant prince in a fairytale; he was the heir to an empire built on blood and ruthlessness.

There was no room for me in that.

When he was done with me, he would throw me away and everything I’d been working for would mean nothing. I’d survived this long out of sheer stubbornness, and I wasn’t stupid enough to go back to the desperation I’d felt once.

I loved him and he would never love me.

So, it was an easy choice.

Therightchoice.

Sighing loudly, I move out of my bed. It’s still early, seven in the morning, and the sky is a hazy cerulean blue. I walk into the bathroom, turning on the shower and slipping off my shirt. For a moment, I stare at myself through the mirror, the room filling up with steam. I’m losing some of my muscle, and dark circles have made a home under my eyes.

My fingers reach for my chest, right where the delicate piece of ink sits just under my pecs. It’s a clumsy keepsake, a reminder of what passed between Rowan and I.

XIX VI.