Chapter 34: Sweet dream
Christian.
But not the younger one.
Not the one at the gala.
The real one.
The one carved from quiet threats and kisses that came with terms.
The one who had long since learned to bend the shape of love into something that choked.
His voice was the same.
Not louder. Not harsher.
Just perfectly measured. The voice of a man who had learned how to use affection like a noose—gentle, steady, patient enough to tighten slowly.
The voice that had once lulled Lucas to sleep in the aftermath of silence.
The voice that still lived beneath his skin, in the hollow of his spine and the base of his throat and every place that time and silk and new names hadn’t managed to clean.
Lucas turned his head, the movement stiff and slow, breath caught halfway between scream and denial, terror pulsing through his blood so loudly he almost didn’t hear the words—almost.