Page 149 of Sadistic

It feels domestic, comfortable in a way I didn't expect.

"Can I ask you something?" I say as the sky turns orange.

"Anything."

"Why me? Really. Not the arrangement, not the alliance. Why did you wait five years?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"Because you were the first person I couldn't predict." He plays with my wedding ring, spinning it gently. "Everyone else in my life followed patterns. Did what I expected. But you... you told your father to fuck off in a room full of killers. You broke that boy's wrist for grabbing you. You were chaos in a world of order."

"That's it? I was unpredictable?"

"You were free." His voice drops. "Even trapped by the arrangement, you insisted on being free. I'd never seen anything like it."

"And now I'm not free. I'm married to you."

"Are you not free?" He meets my eyes. "You negotiated your terms. You're keeping your apartment, finishing school. Your sister will live with us. You just made me buy you a wolf necklace instead of diamonds. How is that not free?"

"I... hadn't thought of it that way."

"Most cages are in our minds, Rev. The trick is recognizing which ones are real and which ones we build ourselves."

"That's very philosophical for a criminal."

"I read sometimes."

"Between the murdering and money laundering?"

"Exactly."

We laugh, and it feels good. Natural. Like maybe this arranged marriage might become something real.

As night falls, we move inside.

What starts as innocent cuddling quickly becomes more, and soon we're christening every surface of the suite.

Later, tangled in sheets and each other, I trace the scars on his chest.

"Will you tell me about Olyvar?" I ask. "Really tell me. Not just the summary."

He sighs, pulling me closer. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. If he's a threat, I need to understand him."

"Fair." He's quiet, gathering his thoughts. "Olyvar was born when I was three. Mum had complications, nearly died. Maybe that's why she always favored him—guilt over almost leaving him."

"Or just normal maternal instinct."

"Maybe. Either way, he could do no wrong in her eyes. Dad saw it differently. Saw weakness where Mum saw sensitivity." His hand strokes my hair absently. "I tried to protect him. Took beatings meant for him, covered for his mistakes. We were brothers. It's what you do."

"When did it change?"

"When I turned sixteen. Dad officially named me heir. Started the real training." His voice goes distant. "Olyvar was thirteen, old enough to understand what it meant. That he'd always be second."

"That must have hurt."

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