Page 38 of Princess of Vengeance

My fingers tremble slightly as I unzip the bag, but I force them steady. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this affects me.

The dress is beautiful, I’ll give him that. Cream-colored satin and lace brocade, with tiny inlaid pearls and stones that shimmer with each tiny movement. It’s not even close to my personal style, and I’d never pick it out to wear in a million years, but there’s no denying it’ll look good on me.

How could it not, when it’s a work of art all by itself?

I start to undress, keeping my movements efficient and quick. Even so, I can feel his eyes on me, taking it all in. Automatically, my mind flashes to another time, another dress—when Atlas helped me try on wedding dresses at that boutique.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

I taunted him then, making him come into the fitting room with me. Even though I couldn’t stand him at the time, there was an undeniable heat in his eyes. Electricity crackled between us, and the tension in the air was one hundred percent sexual.

This is nothing like that.

Malcolm’s stare is cold and calculating, like he’s appraising property he’s already purchased. There’s no passion, no desire—just ownership and control.

I slip the dress over my head and let it fall into place. The soft, luxurious fabric might as well be made of chains for how heavy it feels against my skin.

“Beautiful,” Malcolm says, but he’s not looking at the dress. His eyes are fixed on the lines I carved into my chest last night, still visible above the neckline. “Although we’ll have to do something about those unfortunate scars.”

My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. The scabbed up cuts aren’t just scars—they’re the last physical reminder I have of the men I love. The men I gave up everything to protect.

But I don’t say that. I can’t. Instead, I stand there silently as he circles me like a shark, probably already planning how to erase every trace of who I used to be.

“Now come with me,” he says, motioning for me to follow. “We have some important business to take care of.”

“What? Now?” I risk a quick look in the mirror. He’s right about the dress—it’s fucking stunning. Everything else—from my rat’s nest of blue hair to the scabs on my chest, to the smudges of mascara and bags under my eyes—is the definitionof a hot fucking mess. “I need a shower, at the very least. Give me thirty minutes to get ready.”

“Twenty.”

“Fine. Now get out or I’m only going to take longer.”

He smirks again. “Such defiance. I have to admit I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.” His sleazy smile fades as he walks back out of the room and pulls the door closed after him. “For now.”

The driver holdsthe door open, and Malcolm’s hand settles on my lower back as he guides me into the SUV. Even with the embroidered material of the dress between us, his touch still makes my skin crawl.

I don’t pull away though. I can’t.

“Where are we going?” I ask instead, after a few minutes of silently riding together.

He just smiles that cold smile of his. “You’ll see soon enough.”

And I do start to see. With each turn the SUV makes, the feeling of dread grows heavier in my stomach as I recognize the route. When we finally pull up in front of the Noctura building, it takes everything I have not to bolt from the car.

“Are you fucking serious?” There’s no point in trying to keep the surprise out of my tone. This latest move of his really has shocked me. “You’re taking me to meet with them now?”

“You’re here with me this time.”

I get the implication, but it’s also a reminder that the last time I was here, I was fighting for my life. That the only reason I escaped was because my men?—

I shut that thought down hard. I can’t think about them right now. Not when I’m about to walk into this fucking viper pit all over again.

No. Focus.

Malcolm leads me through the main lobby, past the spa areas where rich people pamper themselves, completely unaware that the nerve center of the Dark Lotus Syndicate is right beneath their feet. We skip the stairs this time, taking Malcolm’s private elevator down, and my heart starts beating faster with each passing second.

The underground meeting room looks exactly the same. Same stone walls. Same oppressive air. Same hooks on the wall where they chained me, where Elliot and then Imogen twisted that knife into me while my men were forced to watch.

The blood is gone now, of course, but it’s easy enough to remember the spray of red when I broke Owen’s nose and the chaos that followed.

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