Page 38 of Bad Girl Dilemma

Collateral damage.

She doesn’t know it yet, but the heist I’m planning—the one I’ve coerced her into executing—is the final strike in a war she was never meant to be part of. A war she’s bleeding in now, just for being in the wrong place. With me.

But what happens when the game ends?

When I’ve burned the last of the Vesper Syndicate’s legacy to ash and I can finally fucking breathe?

What happens to her?

I drag a hand down my face and let my head fall back against the chair.

She should be a tool. A bystander. A forgotten footnote.

But I want to tell her.

Everything.

She asked why tonight and I came within a whisker of cracking open my most sacred secret. I want to peel open the scar of Rina’s name and show Dahlia the rot underneath. I want to whisper every secret into her ear while she’s naked and trembling and tied to my bed.

And that’s how I know I’m fucking losing it.

Because wanting to expose my secrets?

That’s not strength. Not control.

That’s fucking surrender.

And the man I used to be—before Rina, before Ironveil, before the blood-soaked empire—died a long time ago.

I’m not that man anymore.

I can’t be.

Because Dahlia is a thief. A manipulator. Atarget. And I’m the one holding the detonator.

I get up and cross the room. Stand over her. Just watch. Waiting for this insane feeling to pass so I can feel inhuman,myselfagain.

Her lashes flutter. Her lips part. She murmurs my name like it’s a lullaby.

Fuck. My fingers twitch. Damn need. But I don’t touch her.

But wanting to, so much, this much? Fuck no.

I back away like she burned me. Because shewill.

If I’m not careful, she’ll ruin everything I’ve built.

Dahlia

The water is hot,sharp needles against my skin.

I close my eyes, letting it run over the aches Dante put in my body last night.

My thighs are still tender. My lips, still swollen. My insides, still quivering like they remember the stretch of him. The way his cock beat inside me like it wanted to take control, not just of my pleasure but my very heartbeat.

Because how could I forget any of it?

He kissed me like he owned my mouth. Took me like he had something to prove. And afterwards—after I’d cried out for him and given him every broken sound I had—he stayed.

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