Page 82 of Twisted Devotion

“I follow when it’s worth it.”

She raises a brow, but the faint blush dusting her cheeksgives her away.

“You’ll ruin the batter,” she says as if she doesn’t feel the shift in the air between us.

I chuckle, letting her take over again. My hand lingers a second longer than necessary before I finally let go.

I watch her fold the mixture carefully, her arms flexing slightly as she stirs the spoon in deliberate, practiced motions.

I don’t think she realizes howbeautifulshe is like this—focused, comfortable, and unapologeticallyherself.

She sets the spoon down and reaches for a small bowl of hazelnuts on the counter. Picking one up between her fingers, she examines it thoughtfully.

“I can crack this with my hands.”

I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. “No, you can’t.”

A slow grin spreads across her face, a spark of challenge lighting up her eyes.

“If I do, you have to answer any question I ask.”

I raise a brow. “You’rethatconfident?”

“I’malwaysconfident.”

Intrigued, I take the deal.

She positions the nut between her thumb and forefinger, pressing her lips together in concentration. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then—crack. The shell splits open.

Her triumphant grin is instant.

“Damn,” I mutter, impressed despite myself.

“Told you.”

She brushes the cracked shell into the trash, her fingers still dusted with cocoa powder.

“Ready to answer my question?”

I watch her for a moment, something heavy settling in my chest. She’ssofull of life. So different from the world I’m used to. I wonder how long it’ll take before this worlddimsthat light in her.

I push the thought away and nod. “Ask.”

Her playful smirk falters slightly.“Seriously?”

I grab her hand gently, making her look at me. Since this morning, her surprise at the smallest gestures hasactuallymade my chest ache. She doesn’t realize the position she holds. Thepowershe holds.

“You’re my wife, Aria.” My voice is steady, deliberate. “You have the right to ask anything you want. Not just to me, but toanyonein this house. You’re not just some guest. Not a pawn. You’repartof this now.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, the tips of her ears turning red. She’snotused to being told she holds power. And that only makes me want to protect her more.

She clears her throat softly, tapping her fingers against the counter as she thinks.

“Fine,” she says after a moment. “Your tattoos.”

I stiffen—just slightly—but I don’t let it show.

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