Page 62 of His Drama Queen

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then: "Did you have fun reading my messages?"

My blood goes cold. "How did you—"

"Remote access leaves traces if you know what to look for." She pulls herself out of the pool, water sheeting off her. "You're good, Corvus. But you're not as subtle as you think."

I should deny it. Deflect. But something in her eyes—sharp, knowing, furious—makes lying seem pointless.

"I needed to understand the situation," I say instead.

"The situation." She laughs, bitter and sharp. "Is that what we're calling your jealous stalking now?"

The accusation hits too close. "I was gathering information."

"About Ben." Not a question.

"Among others."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" She wraps a towel around herself. "Did the data satisfy your curiosity?"

"No." The honesty surprises me. "It raised more questions."

"Such as?"

"What happened on the roof."

She goes very still. "That's none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business. You're my fated mate."

"I'm your prisoner." Her voice is flat. Cold. "There's a difference."

"Vespera—"

"He told me he was falling for me." She says it like a challenge. Like she wants to hurt me. "On the roof. The night before you took me. He said I was brilliant and beautiful and he wanted to see where things could go. And I—" She stops. Swallows hard. "I was going to say yes. Going to try. Because he was kind and normal and everything you're not."

Each word is a knife. I feel them slide between my ribs, precise and devastating.

"But then I never got the chance," she continues. "Because you kidnapped me. Because biology decided I belonged to you. Because my choices don't matter when genetics are involved."

I have no defense. No data that will make this better. No analysis that will undo what we've done.

"I'm sorry," I say. It's inadequate. Pathetic. But it's all I have.

"Are you?" She tilts her head. "Are you sorry you did it? Or just sorry I'm not grateful?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know anymore."

The honesty seems to surprise her. She studies me with those sharp green eyes that see too much.

"What were you planning to do to him?" she asks quietly. "To Ben. I know you were thinking about it."

I could lie. Should lie. But something about the way she's looking at me—like she already knows, like she's just waiting to see if I'll be honest—makes deception impossible.

"I was going to ruin him." The words taste like ash. "Background checks. Credit issues. Small enough to be plausible, big enough to derail his career. Make sure he never forgot the cost of touching what's mine."

"What's yours." She laughs, sharp and broken. "You don't own me, Corvus."