Page 19 of The Devil's Canvas

His scent drifts between us—dark, expensive, something rich and unfamiliar. I breathe it in without meaning to, and it settles somewhere deep, curling into my lungs.

The warmth beneath my skin spreads, sending tingles through me. The mark.

I swallow hard, not understanding this, not understandinghim.

It shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t feel effortless, like breathing.

"You don’t belong here," he says suddenly.

My eyes snap up to him. "Neither do you," I fire back.

He chuckles at me. Actually chuckles. And I hate that it curls low in my stomach, like I’m the punchline of an inside joke only he knows.

"I suppose not," he says, his grip tightening just slightly. "But I’m glad I came."

I scowl before I can stop myself. Yeah, this guy pisses me off. Not that I can express that—God forbid I show anything real.

I clear my throat instead. "I never caught your name," I say, watching him carefully.

For a second, he doesn’t answer. His smirk flickers, barely, but it’s enough to make me think I’ve surprised him.

"I never gave it," he says smoothly.

I narrow my eyes. Of course he didn’t. Of course he’s that kind of man—smirking, mysterious, and too pleased with himself to give anything away unless it benefits him.

His gaze lingers on my face, studying me like he’s reading a particularly complicated sentence.

"You look upset," he muses, like my irritation is entertaining. "So, I’ll tell you. My name is Julian Duvain."

He noticed.Wait.Noticed?

I haven’t been able to show anything in years. No one sees through me. No one even tries anymore. So how the hell did he?

"My name is Ophelia Arden," I decide to go with.

"I know," he says, his voice steady, unbothered.

Something about the way he says it sends a strange prickle down my spine. It’s too certain, too effortless. I narrow my eyes slightly, testing him. "You do?"

"I heard Cassius calling your name earlier," he says.

Of course he did. That should be explanation enough, something logical, something I can accept. But it doesn’t quite sit right. There’s something in his tone, in the way he’s looking at me, like he’s just been waiting for me to confirm it myself.

I try to focus, but my thoughts slip sideways. I want to kiss him.

The realization hits so fast it knocks the air from my lungs. Where the hell did that come from? I press my lips together, forcing my attention back to the dance, back to the steady movement between us, back to the warmth of his grip tightening ever so slightly as he pulls me closer.

Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It lingers, charged and heavy, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

A throat clears behind me.

I turn, pulse still uneven, to find Dominic standing there. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something deliberate about the way he watches me.

Melanie is nowhere in sight—yet. But I know better than to let my guard down. She’ll make her appearance any minute.

Dominic’s gaze flickers between me and Julian, his expression unreadable, but there’s something sharp beneath the surface. Something he’s holding back.

"You’re really dancing with him?" Dominic asks, his voice low.

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