Page 142 of Monsters Wear Crowns
It was showing a video.
My breathsnaggedlike a thread being ripped from my lungs. Static danced for half a second, then cleared. And there we were.
Moreau and Ion his couch with a bottle of wine sweating on the coffee table before us. My gaze focused on his. His hand moved up my thigh while I shifted away from him. It cut out immediately, and then repeated itself.
My veins turned to fucking ice. The room disappeared. The walls, the flickering lights, and even the distant echo of gunfire outside all faded into a muffled hum beneath the roaring in my ears.
Rafe didn’t speak.
He didn’t blink.
He juststilledas if someone had pressed pause on his body, leaving only the fury flickering in his eyes. The gunfire outside kept popping off, a staccato rhythm of the fight, but the silence in this room was somehow louder.
My voice wouldn’t come. I couldn’t make a single sound. My mouth opened, but no words made it past the choking knot in my throat.
He kept staring at the screen.
Watchingme–withhis enemy.
I shifted, realizing how hard my body was trembling, watching me betray the man I loved. One thing suddenly became brutally clear:
This wasn’t just an attack on Rafe’s estate. It was an attack on us.
And judging by the look on his face…
It was working.
Rafe’s jaw clenched so tight I heard the grind of his teeth. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles blanched, shoulders heaving with a breath he didn’t take. The video kept playing, and his eyes didn’t leave it.
“Rafe…” My voice was barely a whisper, but it scraped out of me like glass. “I pulled away! You can see that right fucking there.”
Rafe turned slowly, like his body had to fight itself to move. His eyes locked on mine, and the depth of cold in them made my stomach twist. They were blue fire, frozen and burning at the same time. “I am watching his hand move up your thigh. I’m watching youlethim.” That quiet, controlled fury was almost worse than his screaming. Outside, the gunfire kept going. But here, in this room, the war was already raging.
“I didn’t know he was recording it,” I said. “I didn’t think he–”
“Didn’t think he’d what?” Rafe stepped forward. “Useit?Weaponizeit? Of course, he did. That’swhat he does.” His lip curled, bitter and furious. “And you gave him the ammunition.”
I flinched. “I made a mistake,” I said. “And I feel sick over it. Ihatemyself for it.”
“Good.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Because I hate you, too.”
I felt like I’d been slapped.
No–shot.
But I didn’t cry. I refused. I made myself stand up straighter, even though my limbs still ached and the shame burned so deep I could barely breathe. “You think I don’t know what he’s doing?” I said, my voice shaking with something halfway between grief and defiance. “He’s trying harder than ever to break us apart. He knows we’re stronger together.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to believe me or put a bullet through the wall.
“Stronger?” he asked, stepping closer. “Tell me, Adela… did you feelstrongwhen his hands were on you?”
“Don’t do that,” I snapped, tears prickling behind my eyes. “Don’t stand there and act like you haven’t hurt me too.”
“I nevertouchedanyone else.” His voice dropped to a guttural rasp, and now I saw the fracture underneath all the rage. Thatwoundhe was trying so hard to cauterize with violence. “Not once. I never even wanted to.”
“I'm so sorry,” I whispered.
His breath hissed out between his teeth.
