Page 25 of Sadistic

"Sit."

"I'm not twelve, Mama."

"No, you're thirty-one and about to bind yourself to a woman who fucked another man this morning." She says it bluntly, watching for my reaction. "So sit."

I sit.

She joins me on the couch, tucking her legs under her like she used to when I was young and she'd tell me stories aboutIreland. About her brother Liam and the family business that wasn't fashion.

"Do you actually want this girl, or just the alliance?"

"You know the answer."

"I know what you've told yourself." She touches my face, gentle despite her words. "Interest and obsession look similar until one destroys you."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Your father collected me, too, remember?" Her smile is sharp with memory. "Only things were more complicated. His father made your aunt Tamara pick me or Sloane—who to kill, who to trick to fall in love. Women are only prizes in these transactions, boy. Don’t be a fool and think otherwise."

"This is different."

"Is it? You've eliminated thirteen men, Doran. Thirteen. That's not you going out of your damn way to protect her—that's you possessing her."

"She's mine."

"Not yet."

"She's been mine since her father shook hands on the deal." I pull out my phone, show her the photos from last night. Revna at the club, that black dress making her look like sin and salvation. "Look at her."

My mother takes the phone, scrolls through. Stops at the one where Revna's marching toward my VIP section, fury in every line of her body.

"Fire," she murmurs.

"Exactly."

"Fire burns, mo mhac."

"Only if you're careless."

She hands back the phone. "And when she realizes the depth of your... attention? Five years of surveillance, of controlling her life from the shadows?"

"She already knows. I told her last night."

"And?"

"And she's still wearing my ring."

My mother's quiet for a moment. Then: "She went to him this morning. After knowing what you are, what you've done. She still went to him."

The anger flashes hot before I bank it. "To say goodbye."

"To fuck goodbye, you mean."

"Mama—"

"No, listen to me." She grabs my hands, her rings cold against my skin. "If you want this to work—really work, not just be some arrangement where she hates you and you own her—you need to be smarter than your pride."

"Meaning?"