Page 79 of His Haunted Desire

After a pause, Julian’s mouth falls open. I’ve heard and read the phrasejaw droppedcountless times, but this is the first time I’ve seen it in real life. It’s like his jaw is going to dislocate.

“You don’t mean… Sebastian?”

“Right there in plain sight all this time. It explains everything about him and Grandma.”

“Oh, fuck,” Julian says. “It was him, Raiden. It wasn’t me. It washim.”

Julian’s voice trembles as though he’s about to have a panic attack.

When Raiden touches his cousin’s shoulder, offering comfort despite everything that’s happened between them, my respect for him soars. That can’t be easy, yet he’s doing it anyway.

“Relax–and explain.”

“He blackmailed me to screw you over on that deal. He forced me to take an escort to the Retreat. When you found us arguing that time, it was because I learned she was spying on me for him.”

“Blackmailed you,” Raiden says. “Hell, with what?”

“With… photos.” Julian’s pale cheeks color red. “He pretended to be a woman. A couple of years ago. On a dating app. I sent some photos I shouldn’t have. Ever since then, he’d had me. He’s owned me.”

“You didn’t want to betray me,” Raiden whispers.

“Of course not. No damn way,” he says with conviction, and I believe him. “Fuck, I’m getting out of here. I can’t handle this shit.”

“Be careful,” Raiden says. “Sebastian may have it out for you too. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m taking a cab home, locking the door, and forgetting about all this for a while.”

Julian walks away, shoulders slumped. I smooth my arm around Raiden. He holds me tight, as though he needs support now more than ever. As we clutch onto each other, it’s like my metaphorical mask slips away.

This is genuine. I want to be with him.

“Oh my,” a man says, wearing a glittery black suit with painted nails, his hair dyed jet-black. It takes me a moment to recognize him as Martino Luis, a famous fashion designer. “Darling, this dress is simply divine. Excuse my forwardness, but I must ask. Who are you wearing?”

I’m too flabbergasted to speak. I’d check behind to make sure he really is talking to me, except we’re standing against a wall.

“Wait a second, Martino,” Raiden says. “Guess.”

“Guess? Hmm, I like this game. Let me think.” He taps his chin.

Raiden grins down at me, his bad mood temporarily lifted.

“Silvia Venturini, Fendi?”

I gasp when I hear the famous designer’s name. He seriously thinks my work isthatgood?

“Uh, no,” I mutter.

“Is it Prada?”

“It’s hers, Martino,” Raiden says with clear pride in his voice. “She didn’t just design it; she made it. She creates masterpieces from scratch. And she’s got a knack for it, hasn’t she?”

“Aknack.” Martino waves a hand at Raiden. “A knack, Raiden? That’s like saying Da Vinci waspretty goodat painting. This is absolutely sublime. Darling, is he telling the truth? Did you truthfully design this?”

I’m tongue-tied until Raiden gives me a nudge.

“Don’t be shy now, beautiful.”

“I did, Mr. Luis,” I say.