𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝟑𝟏 | 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋

𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 against my hold on her upper arm for the duration of the walk from Ivan's office, to her bedroom at the end of the hall. I don't let go of her until I unlatch the knob and push her in first—until the door is slammed behind us, and we're finally alone.

Aeron stumbles over the tips of her workout boots, finding her footing a few feet deep into the room while I run a hand through a train of my raven hair. I try to find solace in a seat on the edge of her bed, but the girl I've chosen to be with has other plans for me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Aeron shouts at me.

"A lot of things, love—do you want a list?"

"You're not funny," she curls her lip.

When I took her from the boardroom, I had prepared myself for her onslaught of angry confessions, but now that I'm here, I realize that I'm much too diseased with grief that I don't want, nor understand, that the thought of handling her lengthy expressions feels like a chore.

"Are you done yet?" I palm my head.

I know that I deserve her wretched emotions after putting her on such a display in front of her father, Aeris, and my people, but the exhaustion of the mission betters me.

"Not even close," she growls.

"Let me know when you are," I mumble.

I try to rest on her bed, to be absorbed by soft bedsheets and the scent of her after spending my last few days killing, conquering, and traveling, but I'm not even an inch deep into the thought of such a delight before Aeron is bridging the gap between us and clutching my collar.

My eyes move lethargically as she holds me up—as I drink her in like a cold beverage on a hot day. Her luscious, white hair spills over her collarbones and shadows the sunlight pouring in from the rear window. Her eyes—her delicate, mauve-cobalt eyes pierce me right through the soul, while the mouth I'd love to drown inside of curls at me.

But it's her hips, as they sway, that I pay the most attention to simply because I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around them and fall inside.

I know I can't, however.

So I don't.

Rather, I take her fury on the chin like a man, and I move my vision back to hers. I correct myself and take some of the weight from her, supporting myself on my hands. My exhaustion drapes over me like a wave, but I blink it away until I'm reduced to the punching bag she seeks in me—a deity I'd be so long as it's me she's hitting.

"How dare you embarrass me like that," she hisses through her teeth, "How dare you ask for my hand in marriage in that way—how dare you make a fool out of me in front of my father, then drag me to this room like I'm just a piece of meat to you."