Page 166 of Monsters Wear Crowns
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The sky above tore itself open, pouring a cold, punishing monsoon over the city. Wind screamed between buildings. Thunder cracked like war drums. The rooftop was slick and glistening, the edge of the world dressed in shadow and ruin.
Moreau stood at the far end like a demon cloaked in calm, his coat flapping in the wind, his smirk carved into his face. I was barely standing–my arms wrenched back by two of his men, my body a mess of bruises, blood, and broken edges. Every breath hurt. Every inch of me screamed.
I spat blood on the concrete. “Going through a lot of effort for a dead man, Moreau.”
His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing. “A dead man?” He clicked his tongue. “No, no. You’re very much alive, Rafe. And I wanted you to be. I want you tofeelthis.” He gestured toward the stairwell door behind him. A creak. Then footsteps. I didn’t want to look. My gut was already screaming. My heart knew something my brain refused to accept. But I looked anyway, and there she was.
Adela.
She stepped onto the rooftop like the storm had conjured her. She was dark, stunning, and merciless. The rain kissed her skin, making her dress cling to every line of her body, her black heels echoing on the wet concrete like gunshots. Her hair whipped around her face, soaked and wild, but her eyes were steady. She wasn’t restrained or even fighting. She walked with purpose…straight to Moreau’s side.
Not mine.
A hollowness bloomed in my chest, bottomless and cold. My vision blurred, not from pain, but from the sudden weight inside me. It crushed my ribs and tore through muscle and bone. I could take a hundred bullets. But this? This–
This was the kill shot.
Moreau saw it. Iknewhe saw it. The satisfaction glittered in his eyes as he turned toward me like the showman he was. “Ah,” he said, voice smug and almost tender. “There it is. That realization. That crack right down the middle of you.”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The blood in my mouth tasted like betrayal.
“She had a choice,” he went on, circling me like a vulture. “I told you you were going to lose. You thought you were her equal. Her king. But a woman like Adela Sinclair doesn’tchooselove when she could have a whole kingdom.”
I forced myself to look at her, begging for something. A flicker. A tremble. A blink that saidthis isn't real.But she gave me nothing. Just her chin high, her spine straight, her hands at her sides like she wasn’t scared of what came next. Like she wasn’t here to save me.
Moreau stopped beside me, his breath hot against my ear. “She didn’t sell you out, Rafe. Sheoffered.”
My knees buckled. The men holding me gripped harder.No. No.This wasn’t real. Not her. Not the woman I would’ve taken a bullet for. The woman who hadburnedinto me, body and soul. The woman I’d bled for. Fuckingkilledfor.
Loved.
My chest cracked open, a raw, brutal shatter. Rage fought grief. Hope fought despair. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scream or fall to my knees.
“She didn’t even hesitate,” Moreau whispered.
I looked at her one more time and found no reaction. Noteven a goddamn flinch. Just rain streaking down her face in silence. My hands curled into fists, metal biting into my wrists. And for the first time in years, I felt powerless.
Not her.
Please, God–not her.
Adela finally spoke, her voice calm and measured, as if this were just another negotiation or another calculated move on the board. “I told you before, Rafe,” she said, rain dripping from her lashes, her tone devoid of tremble. “I won’t let anyone control me.”
Her gaze met mine. And for the first time since I’d known her, I couldn’t read her. Not a flicker. Not a tell.Nothing. She was a locked vault.
Moreau handed her a gun with a casual grace, like it was nothing more than a glass of wine at dinner. Her fingers wrapped around it without hesitation.
Liar.
I wanted to say it out loud. I wanted to scream it at her until my throat gave out. Instead, a bitter laugh clawed its way from my chest. “So, what,little doe?” I rasped. “You get to kill meyourself?That was the price?”
Moreau’s grin twisted into something unholy. “Her only request, actually.” He leaned in, voice like poison. “You should feel honored. Most men don’t get to die by the hand of someone they love.”
I tore my eyes from her before the sight of her could break me any further. Looked instead at the man who had set this all in motion. The man who thought he’d won. “You really believe she won’t turn on you?” I said, voice low, thick with loathing.
He scoffed, like the idea was inevitable but irrelevant. “Of course, she will. But not yet. Not until she’s taken everything she came for.” He tilted his head toward her like she was some rare beast he admired but never trusted. “Isn’t that right, Adela?”
