Page 140 of Cruel When He Smiles

I check Nate’s location on my phone out of habit, then close the app right away as a means to discipline myself. The line between protecting someone and possessing them is too easy to blur when you can watch their little dot move around in real time.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a long minute, letting my breathing even out. I can wait. I’ve always been good at waiting.

In less than two weeks, I’ll be sitting across from the woman who still owns space in Nate’s head. I’ll be the one to take the keys from her, without her realizing she’s handing them over.And then I’ll decide whether to make it quick or draw it out until she feels the click of the trap in every part of her that still believes she’s untouchable.

She has no idea what she invited to meet her. She has no idea what the word legacy means when spoken by a son who survived the laboratory. She has no idea how quickly a pedestal becomes a grave when someone who knows every screw in the base gives it the slightest turn.

By the time she feels the tilt, the floor will already be gone.

Nate

Liamisdifferentthismorning.

Not in the way that puts me on edge, or makes me instantly brace for a fight, or run through every conversation from the past week to figure out where I went wrong. No—this is worse, because he’s playful. And with Liam Callahan, being playful is never without purpose.

The first thing I’m aware of is cold air against my skin, the kind that makes every inch of me want to burrow deeper under the blankets. Except I can’t—because the blankets are gone. I groan, curling onto my side and trying to tug them back blindly, but all I get is emptiness.

“Get up, Pup,” Liam says from somewhere beside the bed, his tone far too satisfied for someone who just declared war on my morning. I crack one eye open and find him standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, smirking like the devil on a coffee high. “We’re getting breakfast.”

I bury my face into the pillow. “Why? It’s Saturday, lemme sleep.” My voice is still rough from sleep, my body unwilling to cooperate with whatever new game he’s playing.

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a real reason.”

“It is when you belong to me.”

That makes something warm settle in my chest before I can stop it, too warm, too familiar. I hate that it happens every damn time he says something like that. I hate that it’s this easy for him to make me want to listen.

I roll onto my back and stretch slowly, hoping he’ll get bored and walk away. He doesn’t. His hazel eyes track the motion, and I watch them heat. “You’re in a good mood,” I mutter.

“Maybe I just like taking care of what’s mine.”

My stomach tightens at that. Fuck, I should be used to the way he says it—possessive, claiming, final. I should be used to the way those words drop between us like they’re permanent. But I’m not. This is him being soft, and I still don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t get Liam Callahan offering me breakfast without strings. I don’t get him deciding, for no apparent reason, to act like we’re something normal. I don’t get him spoiling me, like this is just how things are.

And maybe that’s why I hesitate before finally sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, forcing my face into something neutral even though my pulse is drumming in my ears. “Fine,” I relent. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

Breakfast ends up being easy. That’s what throws me. Liam’s light in a way I’ve never seen before—teasing me when I order French toast and drown it in syrup, stealing my coffee despite his own sitting right in front of him, kicking my foot under the table just to see my expression.

I should be dissecting every second, wondering what this means, figuring out what kind of trap he’s setting. But I’m not, because for the first time in a long time, I feel normal. For the first time in a long time, I want to smile without calculating the cost.

He watches me between sips of his coffee, eyes sharp and too aware. He knows I’m fighting it. He knows I want to lean into this but don’t know how, and he doesn’t push or comment. He’s sitting there looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen, and before I can guard my plate, he reaches over and steals another piece of my bacon.

“I fucking hate you,” I tell him as he chews it slowly, like the asshole he is.

“No, you don’t.” He winks, leaning back in the booth. “You love me, Pup.”

The words are a joke, but my body doesn’t care. My heart acts stupid, and I glare to hide it, grabbing my last piece of toast and taking an obnoxiously slow bite, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You’re buying me more food.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Because you keep stealing mine like a feral raccoon, and now I’m still hungry.”

His gaze sweeps over me, and the corner of his mouth lifts before he hums. “Good boys get fed,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “And you’re a good boy, aren’t you, baby?”

My face heats instantly, and I choke on a fucking crumb. “Shut up, Callahan.”