Page 245 of Sins of the Hidden

I could feel my pulse hammering beneath the bracelet's future home on my wrist, could taste the sweet scent of lilies and the bitter dust of destruction. This moment balanced on a knife's edge—one word could tip us toward salvation or damnation.

"Stand up," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the sound of my own heartbeat.

V's head tilted, confusion flickering across his features. But he rose slowly, gracefully, the bracelet still cradled in his palm. The movement brought him closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the familiar scent of leather and something darker that clung to his skin.

I reached up with trembling fingers, my hands finding the edges of his mask. The fabric was warm from his breath, soft against my fingertips as I traced the elastic that held it in place. He went perfectly rigid beneath my touch, a statue carved from obsidian and patience. Not even his chest rose and fell—as if he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"I want to see your face," I whispered, my thumbs hooking beneath the elastic bands.

The mask fell away like a whispered secret, my fingers brushing against his jaw as it dropped to the floor among the lilies. The sharp planes of his face were revealed in the golden light—the cruel curve of his mouth, the devastating beauty that had been hidden beneath surgical fabric for so long. He was beautiful in the way disasters were beautiful—destructive and mesmerizing and impossible to look away from.

"Yes." The word left my lips like a vow, like a confession, like everything I'd been too afraid to say until now. "Not because I'm healed. Not because you're fixed." My thumb brushed against his stubbled cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. "But because I want to spend forever breaking and building with you."

He lifted the bracelet, fingers grazing my wrist as he fastened the clasp. The infinity symbol pressed against my pulse point, catching the light like a promise written in silver. The metal was warm from his touch, and I could feel it settling against my skin like it belonged there, like it had been waiting to find its home.

When he looked up, his eyes held something I'd never seen before—hope, fragile and new and utterly human.

"You're choosing me?" he asked, the words barely more than a breath against my skin.

"I'm choosing you," I confirmed, and the words tasted like coming home.

Before I could take another breath, his hands found my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the floor. My legs wrapped instinctively around his hips as he pressed me back against the wall, my dress riding up as his palms settled on my thighs. The rough brick bit into my back through the thin fabric, but I didn't care. All I could focus on was the heat of his hands on my skin, the way his fingers spread wide to hold me against him.

My arms circled his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us. His forehead came to rest againstmine, and I could feel his breath mixing with mine in the narrow space between our mouths. The bracelet caught the light between us, a silver promise that bound us together more surely than any ring ever could.

I cupped his face in my hands, thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against my palm. This man who had destroyed my world just to rebuild it with me at the center. This beautiful monster who had made himself mine as completely as he'd made me his.

"I'm choosing you," I whispered again, and this time it sounded like a benediction.

When his lips found mine, they moved with desperate reverence, one hand tangled in my hair while the other gripped my thigh, holding me against him like I might disappear. The kiss tasted like coming home to a place I'd never known I was searching for, his mouth warm and certain against mine as flour dust settled around us like a blessing.

I used to dream of a prince. Now I was married to the villain.

And I'd choose him again in every life we had after this.

The tie fought me like everything else in this world—slipping between my fingers, refusing to hold the shape I needed. Silk whispered against itself as I yanked it free for the fourth time, the fabric landing on the unmade bed with the other failures. Maybe Oakley wouldn’t care if I didn’t wear one.

My hands didn't shake. They never had. But the material kept sliding away like water, like it knew what these fingers had done and rejected the pretense of civilization.

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Familiar. Law appeared in the doorway, shoulder pressed against the frame, watching me pace like a caged animal. His own tie sat perfectly knotted, the black silk a stark contrast against his white dress shirt.

"You gonna let me fix that before you strangle yourself with it?"

I stopped pacing. Studied his face for mockery, for the hatred that had lived there for so long, but I found something else instead—resignation mixed with something that might have been acceptance.

"You remember the first time we met?" Law pushed off the doorframe, moving toward me with deliberate calm. No sudden movements. Like approaching something that might bite. "Darrell dragged you in, skinny as a rail, clutching that fucking bat."

I remembered—fifteen years old, shoulders too narrow for the rage I carried, fingers white-knuckled around wood that had already tasted blood. Law had been sitting behind his desk, papers spread like battle plans, looking up as I'd been shoved through his door.

"Thought you were gonna crack my skull open before I could get a word out." His hands found the tie around my neck. The silk settled against my collar. In the mirror across the room, we looked like father and son preparing for something sacred instead of what we really were—lawyer and killer, bound together by the most important woman in our lives.

"Never learned how to tie one of these." The admission came easier than it should have.

The silence stretched between us, filled with everything we'd never said. Law's fingers resumed their work, creating loops and folds that would hold this time.

"Oakley comes with luggage," he said. "Me and Claudia. The whole fucking package deal."

The knot took shape under his touch, perfect and secure. In the mirror, I could see his face—concentrated, careful, like he was doing something that mattered.

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