Page 39 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

She lets out a soft laugh, disbelieving, and it grates on my nerves in a way that shouldn’t feel like temptation. "No? Could have fooled me," she murmurs, glancing at me from the corner of her eye, something too knowing in the tilt of her mouth.

I don’t rise to it. I don’t take the bait.

I refuse to.

Instead, I cut a look at her, slow, deliberate. "If I hated you, you’d know it."

It’s meant to be cruel. It should be cruel.

Her chin tilts up, something quiet and stubborn in the way she meets my gaze head-on, the way she studies me like she’s looking for something beneath the words, beneath the restraint, beneath the sharpness I use as a shield.

It makes my jaw clench. It makes my fingers twitch, aching to close around something, a weapon, a throat, something tangible that I can fight, something that isn’t her.

But I feel the bond pulling. A tether I will never let tighten.

Luna shifts slightly, her arm brushing against mine, and it’s the smallest thing, so fucking small, but I feel it like a brand, like an unraveling.

"Then why do you look at me like that?"

Her voice is softer now, almost thoughtful, and it is that, not the question itself, that makes something coil tight in my chest.

I exhale slowly, deliberately, and look away first. Because this is not a war I am willing to fight. And it sure as hell isn’t one I am willing to lose.

The words leave my mouth like a blade unsheathed, sharp and final. A declaration. A death sentence. A lie.

"You will never have me."

She stills. Not in fear, never in fear. But something shifts, subtle, like the crack of ice spreading across a frozen lake. A fracture forming, slow and inevitable. I should stop there, let it be enough, let the weight of my words sink in and rot. But I don't. I never do. I want to see her break.

"I will never bind myself to you."

She doesn’t react. Not outwardly. But I know how to wound. I know where to place the knife, how to twist it. I lean in, dropping my voice to something cruel, something that slithers beneath her skin like venom.

"I will never choose you."

This time, I see it. The smallest shift in her eyes, a flicker of something, pain? No. That would be too easy. Pain can be soothed. Pain can be stitched back together. This is something deeper, something worse. This is understanding.

But I’m not done.

"I’d let you die before I saved you."

That’s the kill shot. The one meant to sever this thing between us before it can sink its claws any deeper.

And yet,

She doesn’t flinch.

Not even a little.

She just looks at me. Not with rage. Not with sadness. Not even with disappointment.

With knowing.

With certainty.

Like she sees past every shield, every wall, every cruel, carefully placed word. Like she hears the things I won’t say beneath the things I do.

"You’re lying."

It lands like a blade between my ribs. A precise, calculated strike. Not wild. Not desperate. Just true.

I scoff, let my lips curl into something dismissive, something arrogant and detached. "Believe whatever you want, little Binder."

A warning. A severance. A final, irredeemable cut.

And yet,

When I turn away from her, my hands are fists. When I walk, I feel her still standing there, watching me, waiting. And when the bond between us pulls, desperate, aching,

I ignore it.

I let it tear.

I don’t acknowledge him at first. Instead, I keep walking, eyes fixed ahead, pace measured, steady, calm, a lie.

The others move behind us, voices a low murmur, the scrape of boots against stone and dirt a steady rhythm beneath them.

The night is too quiet. Even the air feels expectant, thick with something unspoken, but I refuse to break.

Not for her. Not for him. Not for anyone.

But Orin has never been one to let things go.

"Why are you so cruel to her?"

The words come softly. Almost idle. As if this is a casual conversation between old friends. But Orin’s never wasted words, and he’s never been careless with them. Which means this is deliberate. A knife slipped between my ribs. A test.

I exhale through my nose. Keep my gaze forward. Don’t take the bait.

"You mistake cruelty for honesty." My voice is even, devoid of emotion. Controlled. Always controlled.

Orin hums, a thoughtful sound, and then, "Do I?"

The flicker of irritation is immediate, curling hot in my gut. He’s waiting for something, watching me with that ancient patience of his, like he already knows the answer and is merely giving me the courtesy of saying it out loud.

I keep walking.

I don’t let the words form.

But Orin is relentless in his quiet way, his voice nothing more than a low murmur between us.

"You’ve lied before, Lucien, but never to yourself.

And yet, here you are, speaking the same lie over and over again.

To her. To us. To yourself." A pause. "I wonder if you repeat it enough, you think you’ll make it true. "

I stop walking.

The silence that follows is absolute.

The others don’t notice, we’re just far enough ahead that our conversation hasn’t drawn attention. But Orin watches me closely, his gaze unreadable, hands clasped behind his back like he’s contemplating philosophy instead of peeling back every carefully constructed layer of my resolve.

I tilt my head, let my lips curl into something almost amused, and murmur, “You assume I care enough to lie.”

Orin doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown, he just watches. Then, after a beat, he simply says, “I assume you care too much to admit the truth.”

Something sharp and vicious uncoils in my chest.

Because it’s too close to the way I feel her pull even when I walk away. Too close to the way my power, my Dominion, means nothing against her.

"You know," he muses, voice calm, measured, "I’ve seen you turn a battlefield to ash without hesitation. I’ve seen you break men with a word, make them kneel without lifting a hand. And yet, one girl looks at you, and you unravel."

My jaw tightens. "Careful, Orin."

He smiles, the way he always does, like he’s looking at something fragile and devastating all at once. "It’s already too late, Lucien. You just haven’t admitted it yet."

I don’t look at him, don’t let him see the way his words land too close to the truth. Instead, I turn my head just enough to murmur, low and cold, "If you want to lecture someone, find another target. She means nothing to me."

Orin studies me for a long moment, eyes ancient in their patience, in their understanding. Then he does something infuriating.

He laughs. A quiet, knowing sound. The kind that slips under the skin and settles like an unbearable weight. And then he walks ahead, leaving me standing in the wreckage of my denial.