Page 217 of Money Reigns

Before I can breathe a word, his hands bracket my face, mouth crushing against mine. He tastes like mint and the faint smoke of his cologne, the scent I used to fall asleep breathing in. The kiss is hard, desperate, breaking me open in an instant.He pushes me back into the room, the door slamming shut behind us.

And I melt.

All the fury, all the questions dissolve under the heat of him; his smell, clean and dark and familiar. His touch, rough but sure. His lips, claiming mine like they never lost the right. A low sound rumbles in his chest, part growl, part plea, and it shreds what little defense I have. My arms fly up around his neck, clinging to him, greedy for more.

My heart. My stupid, treacherous heart.

It’s still his.

I should shove him away. I should slap him, scream at him.

Instead, I moan.

He turns us, pressing me hard against the door, mouth still on mine, all fire and demand, and for one reckless second I melt into it,into him, until my fury tears through.

“No.” The word rips from my throat as I shove hard at his chest. My back hits the door. My palms sting with the effort of pushing him away.

His eyes flash, voice low and brutal. “You left me.”

My chest caves, but I throw it back. “You paid for the inn without telling me.”

He surges closer, fists braced against the wood on either side of my head, caging me in. “You made themmycookies.”

The accusation slices, but rage spikes hotter. “You were with her! With that blonde woman, ineveryphoto. I saw it, War,everyonedid.”

That stops him cold. His hands drop, he exhales “Olivia—”

“I saw it online,” I spit, tears burning my eyes. “In almost every gossip rag.”

His brows knit. “That wasMiranda?”

I falter, the name cutting deep. “That’s her name?” My voice cracks.

His head tilts, sharp and disbelieving. “Yes. That’s my sister. She isn’t blonde—it was a wig to throw off the paparazzi. She hates them.”

I blink, the ground tilting beneath me.Sister.

“Your sister?”

“Yes, Olivia. My sister.”

Shame and confusion crash over me. My legs give, and I sink onto the floor, heart still galloping. He follows, sitting close, close enough that his presence burns.

We sit in silence, the space between us thick with everything unsaid.

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt trapped?” he asks, finally.

I stare at the wall across from us, blinking fast.

“Because…” My throat aches. “You take over everything, War. You walk into a room, and it stops breathing until you decide it’s allowed to again.”

He doesn’t argue. Just watches me.

“I didn’t even realize how trapped I felt until it all piled up. First working for you… then the apartment, the clothes, the gifts, it was all meant to make me feel seen, and it did...too seen.”

I shake my head, the words catching. “You made me feel important. But then I remembered where I came from. Who I was. What my family was. And Itoldyou not to pay for the Inn. I begged you. And you didn’t even try to talk to me about it. You just did it.”

I pause, breath shaky. “And I couldn’t find my way back after that.”