Page 18 of Intrigue (Dark Syndicate #4)

Selene

I tell myself it was a mistake. That last night didn’t mean anything.

That it was just lust, just old habits crawling back under my skin.

But when I wake up in his bed, my body still tangled with his, his scent still clinging to my skin—

I know I’m lying.

The room is still dark, just the faintest hint of dawn creeping through the windows. I could leave. I should leave.

I watch him sleep instead, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint crease between his brows even now.

Like even unconscious, he’s waiting for a war.

I reach for my dress, my hands shaking, but I don’t make it past the door.

Because his voice, deep and low and wrecked with sleep, stops me cold.

“You run from me again,” he murmurs, “I will come for you.”

I freeze. Slowly, I turn.

Alessandro’s eyes are open now, heavy-lidded but alert, watching me like he already knows what I was thinking.

Because he does. He always has.

I swallow hard. “This was a mistake.”

His lips curve, but there’s no amusement in it. Just something dark. Something dangerous.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, pushing up on his elbows, the sheets slipping down his chest. “But you’ll still come back.”

I shake my head, gripping the doorframe. “I told you this is only going to be for a month. Just stay off Cassian’s back. Allow us to get married in peace.”

He tilts his head. “You say one thing, but your body is saying another.”

I hate him. I hate him for being right. For knowing me better than I know myself.

His fingers drag over the sheets as he adjusts more upright. “You can leave, Selene. If that’s really what you want.”

I don’t move. Not because I want to stay. Because I don’t want to leave.

And that’s worse.

He exhales softly, standing, the mattress shifting under his weight. My breath hitches when he steps toward me, bare feet silent against the floor.

“You might think this is all it is.” His voice is quieter now, almost gentle. “That this was just a relapse. But I assure you that even after this one month is up, you’ll rather die than leave me.”

I force myself to look at him.

The room feels smaller. Like the walls are closing in.

“This means nothing, I won’t be coming back. I can assure you,” I state more firmly.

Alessandro lifts a brow.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches down, plucks my engagement ring off the nightstand, and twirls it between his fingers.

My breath stutters.

The small band of gold, the one that’s supposed to mean forever , looks insignificant between his rough fingers, like something weightless. Worthless.

“You don’t even wear it when you sleep?” he murmurs in a low and amused tone. “Interesting.”

I want to snatch it back. To shove it onto my finger like it might somehow undo everything, like it might rewrite the choices I’ve already made.

But I don’t move.

Because we both know the truth.

I mentally took it off the moment I walked in here.

He never asked me to take it off. I did that on my own yesterday—in our reckless, desperate rush to consume each other.

And yet, he didn’t say a word. Because he knows.

He knows I couldn’t bear to fuck him with another man’s ring on my finger.

What does that say about me? Where does my loyalty lie—with the man staring at me now, half-naked, the one who can unravel me with a single touch? Or the man I said yes to, the one I promised a future?

I don’t know. All I know is that every day, I feel more and more like the shitty person I’ve always feared I am.

“You don’t belong to him,” he murmurs, holding the ring between us like it’s inconsequential. Like it never meant anything at all.

“Give that back.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, pressing the cool metal into my palm.

“Put it on,” he says.

My breath catches. “What?”

“Put it on,” he repeats, softer this time. “And look me in the eyes when you do it.”

I stare at him, pulse hammering. He just watches me, waiting.

And that’s when I know.

This isn’t about a ring. This is about choosing. He’s giving me an out.

If I put it back on, I lose him.

If I don’t—

I lose myself.

The ring feels like fire in my palm. I tell myself to slip it on, to force it over my knuckle, to say nothing has changed.

But my fingers don’t move.

And his mocking smile deepens.

Alessandro reaches out, tracing a single finger down my wrist, a touch so light it shouldn’t make me shiver. But it does.

“You’ll never get over me, Selene,” he murmurs again.

And this time—

I don’t argue.