Page 12 of Sadistic

"You don't become anyone," Everly says firmly. "You stay exactly who you are, just with better security and a joint bank account."

"It's not that simple?—"

"No, it's not. It's fucking complicated and messy and some days you'll want to run so bad it physically hurts." She dips bread in the eggs. "But you know what? Some days you'll wake up and realize the life you never wanted became the life you can't imagine losing."

"Did that happen for you?" Dalla asks softly.

"Every damn day." Everly flips the French toast. "Doesn't mean it was easy. Doesn't mean I don't still have nightmares sometimes. But Regnor..." She pauses. "He let me stay myself. Broken parts and all. That's what you need to look for with Doran."

"What if he doesn't?" I voice my biggest fear. "What if he wants to change me?"

"Then you fight like hell to stay yourself. And we'll help." She plates the French toast, slides it in front of me. "Eat. That's an order."

I take a bite to appease her.

It's perfect—cinnamon and vanilla, crispy outside and soft inside. "This is really good."

"Secret ingredient is spite," she deadpans, making Dalla snort her coffee. "Made it every morning when I was on bed rest, determined to prove I could still do something right."

We settle into cooking together, Dalla scrambling eggs while Everly makes more toast and I set the table.

It feels normal, domestic, like we're just three women making breakfast instead of dealing with my chaotic situation.

Outside, the morning air is crisp enough to clear my head.

Sure enough, my keys wait on the porch, but there's more.

A small velvet box sits beside them with a note in cursive handwriting.

For Monday. Every queen needs her armor.

- D

Inside are sapphire earrings that match the ring perfectly.

Of course it’s something grand.

Everly's voice behind me is gentle. "He doesn't do anything half assed, does he?"

"Apparently not." I pocket the earrings but leave the box. "He's marking me as his in every way possible."

"Come back inside. Dalla's about to vibrate out of her skin."

My sister's pacing the kitchen when we return, phone in hand. "Njal texted. He heard you're back. He wants to talk."

"From who?"

She shows me the screen. "Does it matter?"

Multiple messages, increasingly desperate.

Heard you're home. Can we talk?

Rev, pleaseI know about him.

I know about what happens on Monday.

Please.

---