Page 37 of Bound to the Heartless Duke
Lily softened, despite herself. “So you started the gaming hell.”
“Started?” Magnus let out a humorless laugh. “No. I worked at someone else’s gaming hell at first. A man who would slit your throat if you failed to turn a profit by the hour. I scrubbed floors, served drinks, and delivered threats. Eventually, when I learned the ins and outs of the business, I built something better. Cleaner. Safer.”
“You made a fortune off other men’s vices,” Lily said.
It was not an accusation, rather an observation.
“And used it to put a roof over my sister’s head. To send her to the best schools. To keep her away from the damned world I had to crawl through.”
Lily fell quiet after that, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to articulate how she felt.
“I’m not ashamed of what I built,” Magnus continued, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “But sometimes I forget that your kind prefers sin to come dressed in silk and jewels.”
Lily frowned. “That isn’t fair.”
“No?” Magnus challenged, taking one last step closer, the firelight catching the gold flecks in his eyes. “Would you have still come to my house if you knew the truth from the start? Would have still befriended my sister if you knew about the dirty work her brother had to do?”
“I did come,” Lily whispered. “And I remained, even after I knew.”
That seemed to silence him for a second. For a moment, he did nothing but stare into her eyes, searching for something.
“And yet,” he said after a beat, “you still told your friends the… neater version.”
“I didn’t lie,” she insisted. “I just?—”
“Omitted,” he cut in, his lips quirking into a sarcastic smirk. “Brushed the dirt from the roots, so no one would question why the flowers are blooming in winter.”
She exhaled, frustrated. “Why are we fighting over this?”
“Because you matter,” he said without thinking.
The silence that followed was sudden and absolute.
For the first time, Lily failed to hide her shock.
Her breath caught. “What did you just say?”
Magnus’s expression hardened. “Forget it.”
“No.” she answered, meeting his eyes with her own, ensuring her tone spelled all the defiance she had summoned to say the word.
At her nearness, his gaze flicked to her lips, then back up.
“I said,” he rasped, “you matter. And maybe I hate that. Maybe I hate how much.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“You kissed me back,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or did I dream that?”
Her lips parted, stunned by the memory of the kiss. “That was… that was…”
“A mistake?” he finished. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Because it didn’t feel accidental to me.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” she insisted, her argumentative spirit resurfacing. “I was angry.”
“You still are,” he noted quietly.
Like always, he read her easily like an open book.
