Page 84 of The Psychopaths

“Are you hungry?” I keep my tone casual as if we’re just roommates having an ordinary evening. As if I didn’t just propose to trade her body for her stepbrother’s freedom.

She doesn’t answer, staring at her hands folded on the table.

“Lilian.” Sharper now. “I asked if you were hungry.”

“No.” The word comes out small, defeated. Nothing like the fire she showed downstairs.

I study her while chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency. The knife feels good in my hand—familiar, controlled. Unlike the chaos she brings to my carefully constructed plans.

“You should eat anyway.” I slide the vegetables into a pan, the sizzle filling the silence between us. “Need to keep your strength up.”

Her eyes flick to mine briefly, then away. “Why? So I can...what was it? Trade my body for his freedom?”

There it is—the spark I was looking for. Not completely broken then despite the submissive posture.

“Among other things.” I focus on the food, not looking at her. “Though I’m still deciding whether that offer is on the table. Your performance downstairs was uninspiring.”

A slight intake of breath tells me the barb landed. Good. I need her to be off-balance and reactive. Need to know which Lilian I’m dealing with—the manipulative strategist or the genuinely conflicted girl caught between twin desires.

Because one I can control. The other might destroy everything.

“Pasta or rice?” I ask as if we’re having a normal conversation. As if the air between us isn’t charged with possibility and threat.

Just two people having dinner. Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The kitchen fills with silence save for the hiss of cooking food and the precise rhythm of my knife against the cutting board.She hasn’t answered my question about pasta or rice. Another small defiance to add to the growing list.

I set down the knife and turn to face her fully, leaning back against the counter. Her posture remains perfect—shoulders straight, chin slightly lowered, hands folded. The picture of submission.

Too perfect. Too controlled.

“Look at me,” I command softly.

She raises her eyes, and I search for clues in them. Is she plotting? Calculating her next move? Or genuinely defeated by seeing her precious Aries caged?

“Rice,” she finally says, voice quiet. “If you’re making me eat.”

“I am.” I turn back to the stove, adding seasoning to the pan. “Hard to properly beg with low blood sugar.”

I catch her slight flinch from the corner of my eye.Good. Her emotional reactions feed my beast.

“So.” I keep my tone conversational while my mind races through scenarios. “What exactly are you willing to do to save him?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. I don’t turn to look at her, giving her the illusion of privacy while she formulates her answer.

“You already know.” Her voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I said anything.”

“Anything is a dangerous word, Lilian.” I plate the food with meticulous care, setting one dish in front of her before taking the seat opposite. “Especially with someone like me.”

Her eyes meet mine across the table. “Someone like you? You mean a monster?”

I smile, pleased by her attempt to provoke me. “Among other things. But monsters can be quite...creative when given free rein.”

“Is that what you want?” She ignores the food in front of her. “Free rein over me?”

“What I want,” I say, carefully spearing a piece of chicken on my fork, “is honesty. So I’ll ask again. What would you sacrifice for his freedom? And this time, be specific.”

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