Page 141 of The Sin Binder's Vow

“You are many things, Silas,” she says, dropping her arm to glare at me. “Butsubtleis not one of them. And if you walk into that dinner looking like an unhinged rodeo prince, Iwillpretend I don’t know you.”

I clutch my chest like she’s wounded me. “Betrayedby my own bonded. The pain. The anguish.”

She just stares.

I sigh, kick off the boots with a loud thunk, and hang the hat back on its hook like I’m returning a crown. “Fine. The black suit lives another day. But one day you’ll see. The world isn’t ready for Cowboy Silas.”

“The world is never ready for you,” she mutters.

I walk toward her, undoing the top button of my shirt, loosening the cuffs, letting myself lounge in that perfect, dangerous edge between put-together and ready to ruin things. Her eyes track me the entire way, and it sends a thrill through me. Because for all her sass and snark, Luna watches me like she seesthroughevery joke. Every exaggerated movement. Every cringey line I toss her way.

She seesme.

And gods, I love her for it.

I lean down, brushing a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then hovering just over her lips. “You’ll be thinking about those boots later, won’t you?”

She hums. “Only when I need a laugh.”

“You wound me, Luna.”

“And you adore it.”

“I do,” I admit, grinning. “Every last stab.”

Her hand brushes mine, fingers tangling briefly before pulling back. That quiet connection always slips in when neither of us is trying. I linger there, watching the way her smile softens when it’s just us and no one’s watching.

And then I step back, spinning once, finger guns and all. “Alright, your sinfully dressed court jester is ready for whatever mischief awaits. Let’s go find Elias and force him to compliment me.”

“You’re going to make him cry.”

“Only if he has taste.”

We strut down the hallway like gods on a catwalk—or at least, I do. Luna trails beside me, her amusement practically vibrating through the bond. My black suit hugs my frame like sin incarnate, collar popped just enough to suggest scandal. The boots are shined, the swagger real. And yeah, maybe I added a ring or two. Gold. Obnoxious. Perfect.

I stop at Elias’ door and lean against the frame, forearm propped above my head in a dramatic lounge. Classic door lean. Effective. Seductive. Infuriating.

Luna giggles behind me, and my grin stretches wider.

I don’t knock.

I push the door open with the toe of my shoe, slow and theatrical. “Oh Elias, darling, your fashion fairy god-devil has arrived.”

There’s a muffled groan. A flurry of blanket. And then Elias, half-buried in a heap of pillows, cracks open one silver eye.

“Absolutely not,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep and disdain. “Whatever this is, I reject it.”

“You haven’t even heard the pitch yet,” I protest, sauntering in like I own the place, which I basically do. “Also—rude. I brought couture. I brought sparkle. I broughtme.”

Elias rolls away with the grace of a dead cat. “You also brought noise, ego, and a disturbing amount of hair product.”

“You’re jealous I have curls that defy gravity.”

“I’m allergic to your entire vibe.”

Luna’s perched near the door now, watching us like we’re her favorite comedy act—and, to be fair, we are.

I throw open Elias’ closet like I’m hosting a game show. “We’re playing dress-up.”

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