Chapter 66
Chapter 66
82%
+53
Love isn’t gentle. It isn’t soft whispers or lingering glances across a crowded room. It isn’t candlelit dinners or hands brushing accidentally, setting off sparks. That’s infatuation, the pretty version of love they sell in movies to make people feel hopeful.
Love is fucking desperate.
It’s standing in the cold, screaming your lungs out for someone who won’t even look at you. It’s clawing at locked doors and throwing punches at anyone who tries to drag you away. It’s ugly crying, snot running down your face, and not giving a damn who sees.
Love is the kind of insanity that makes you abandon logic just for the chance to hear their voice one more time.
And right now, I’m fucking drowning in it.
The honk blares so loud my eardrums vibrate.
I snap my head up, blinking against the glare of headlights burning into my face.
The sleek black car doesn’t stop. It doesn’t slow. It just keeps coming, the engine revving like it actually intends to mow me down.
Oh, fuck no.
I plant my feet, refusing to move, heart hammering with defiance as the tires screech at the last second.
The car stops inches away, heat rolling off the hood, the scent of burnt rubber filling the air. A moment later, the tinted window rolls down, revealing a woman whose presence is as suffocating as the perfume she wears.
Lady Celeste Vaelor.
Royal. Untouchable. Old fucking money.
And judging by the way her eyes sweep over me, entirely unimpressed.
“What in the goddess’s name is this?” she drawls, lips curling in distaste.
I don’t answer. I just breathe heavily, nostrils flaring as I force myself to unclench my fists. If I so much as look at her the wrong way, these guards will break my ribs without hesitation.
Celeste tilts her head, studying me like I’m some stray mutt blocking her path. “A desperate little thing, aren’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, doesn’t even care. Her fingers drum against the leather interior as she exhales sharply. “Move.”
A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and humorless. “No.”
Her brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. I can feel the guards shifting behind me, ready to yank me away, but I don’t budge.
“I need to see him,” I say, voice hoarse. “Tell him I’m here. Tell him it’s Taryn.”
She leans forward slightly, her expression turning from bored to intrigued. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
Because I need to know if he still cares. Because I need to hear him say it–to my face, not through cryptic messages or half- assed rumors. Because I can’t keep living like this, waiting for a ghost,
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I tilt my chin up, meeting her gaze with every ounce of defiance I have left. “Because if you don’t, I’ll make a fucking scene.”
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Chapter 66
A slow, calculating smile spreads across her lips. “Oh, darling,” she purrs. “You already have.”
And just like that, the doors of the palace swing open
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The guards shift, ready to shove me aside. The car inches forward, tires rolling smoothly over the marble driveway, and I swear I see Celeste’s smirk widen as she watches me get left in the dust.
Fuck that.
My gaze darts around, desperate for something, anything to throw. My fingers close around a flimsy paper cup, and before I even register whose hand I just snatched it from, I’m already winding my arm back.
And then-
I launch it.
The iced coffee arcs through the air in a perfect, messy spiral before splattering across the glossy black paint of her car. The satisfying thwack of liquid meeting expensive metal rings out, and for a split second, all I hear is the horrified gasp of whoever I just robbed.
The paparazzi eat it up. Cameras click furiously, and voices rise in a chaotic crescendo. Someone shouts, “Holy shit, she just
Celeste’s car slams to a stop.
She doesn’t move immediately, but I see her silhouette in the back seat, rigid. A flicker of anticipation skitters down my spine. Maybe she’ll get out. Maybe she’ll throw a fit, ruin that composed little mask of hers.
But the doors stay closed.
The front window rolls down, and the driver, some stiff–suited man with dead eyes, slowly turns his head toward me. “You’re making a mistake,” he says, voice eerily calm.
I smile sweetly. “Tell your boss she should invest in better paint protection.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. The window rolls up. And the car, dripping with rapidly melting coffee, glides forward again like nothing happened.
I don’t even have time to bask in my victory before the guards snap out of their stunned silence.
“Grab her.”
Oh, shit.
Hands clamp around my arms, but I thrash like a rabid raccoon, kicking blindly at anything in my path. “Let me go!” The reporters are yelling, flashes going off like fireworks, and I know–I fucking know–this is going to be all over the news in about three seconds.
Liam is going to fire me.
The lunatic Omega who tried to fight her way into the palace. The desperate ex who still can’t take a hint.
I taste blood in my mouth, but I don’t stop. “You fucking coward,” I snarl, hoping–praying–that Enoch is somewhere in that goddamn palace hearing every word. “I came all this way for you, and you can’t even face me?!”
A sharp tug jerks me back. I expect a punch, a hard shove into the ground–hell, maybe even an arrest. Instead, the grip on my arm tightens, and I’m dragged.
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ས 8;
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Chapter 66
Not by a guard.
Not by one of the paparazzi.
But by him.
The Beta.
The same one from last night–the one who had stared at me like he recognized me but didn’t say a word.
Gasps ripple through the crowd as I’m hauled through the palace doors, boots scuffing against polished stone. The noise outside dims, muffled by the massive entrance hall. I barely register the grand chandeliers, the towering columns, the absurd opulence of it all.
I twist, breathless, yanking at his grip. “Who the hell do you think you-”
“Shut up, he will see you as you want.” he snaps.
And I do. Not because I want to, but because I finally get a proper look at him.
He’s huge. Towering. His suit clings to broad shoulders, and his presence is just as suffocating as it was last night. But it’s his eyes that stop me cold.
Dark. Intense.
And familiar.
My stomach drops.
No.
Chapter 66
Chapter 66
82%
+53
Love isn’t gentle. It isn’t soft whispers or lingering glances across a crowded room. It isn’t candlelit dinners or hands brushing accidentally, setting off sparks. That’s infatuation, the pretty version of love they sell in movies to make people feel hopeful.
Love is fucking desperate.
It’s standing in the cold, screaming your lungs out for someone who won’t even look at you. It’s clawing at locked doors and throwing punches at anyone who tries to drag you away. It’s ugly crying, snot running down your face, and not giving a damn who sees.
Love is the kind of insanity that makes you abandon logic just for the chance to hear their voice one more time.
And right now, I’m fucking drowning in it.
The honk blares so loud my eardrums vibrate.
I snap my head up, blinking against the glare of headlights burning into my face.
The sleek black car doesn’t stop. It doesn’t slow. It just keeps coming, the engine revving like it actually intends to mow me down.
Oh, fuck no.
I plant my feet, refusing to move, heart hammering with defiance as the tires screech at the last second.
The car stops inches away, heat rolling off the hood, the scent of burnt rubber filling the air. A moment later, the tinted window rolls down, revealing a woman whose presence is as suffocating as the perfume she wears.
Lady Celeste Vaelor.
Royal. Untouchable. Old fucking money.
And judging by the way her eyes sweep over me, entirely unimpressed.
“What in the goddess’s name is this?” she drawls, lips curling in distaste.
I don’t answer. I just breathe heavily, nostrils flaring as I force myself to unclench my fists. If I so much as look at her the wrong way, these guards will break my ribs without hesitation.
Celeste tilts her head, studying me like I’m some stray mutt blocking her path. “A desperate little thing, aren’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, doesn’t even care. Her fingers drum against the leather interior as she exhales sharply. “Move.”
A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and humorless. “No.”
Her brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. I can feel the guards shifting behind me, ready to yank me away, but I don’t budge.
“I need to see him,” I say, voice hoarse. “Tell him I’m here. Tell him it’s Taryn.”
She leans forward slightly, her expression turning from bored to intrigued. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
Because I need to know if he still cares. Because I need to hear him say it–to my face, not through cryptic messages or half- assed rumors. Because I can’t keep living like this, waiting for a ghost,
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I tilt my chin up, meeting her gaze with every ounce of defiance I have left. “Because if you don’t, I’ll make a fucking scene.”
1/3
25
82%
Chapter 66
A slow, calculating smile spreads across her lips. “Oh, darling,” she purrs. “You already have.”
And just like that, the doors of the palace swing open
0
+53
The guards shift, ready to shove me aside. The car inches forward, tires rolling smoothly over the marble driveway, and I swear I see Celeste’s smirk widen as she watches me get left in the dust.
Fuck that.
My gaze darts around, desperate for something, anything to throw. My fingers close around a flimsy paper cup, and before I even register whose hand I just snatched it from, I’m already winding my arm back.
And then-
I launch it.
The iced coffee arcs through the air in a perfect, messy spiral before splattering across the glossy black paint of her car. The satisfying thwack of liquid meeting expensive metal rings out, and for a split second, all I hear is the horrified gasp of whoever I just robbed.
The paparazzi eat it up. Cameras click furiously, and voices rise in a chaotic crescendo. Someone shouts, “Holy shit, she just
Celeste’s car slams to a stop.
She doesn’t move immediately, but I see her silhouette in the back seat, rigid. A flicker of anticipation skitters down my spine. Maybe she’ll get out. Maybe she’ll throw a fit, ruin that composed little mask of hers.
But the doors stay closed.
The front window rolls down, and the driver, some stiff–suited man with dead eyes, slowly turns his head toward me. “You’re making a mistake,” he says, voice eerily calm.
I smile sweetly. “Tell your boss she should invest in better paint protection.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. The window rolls up. And the car, dripping with rapidly melting coffee, glides forward again like nothing happened.
I don’t even have time to bask in my victory before the guards snap out of their stunned silence.
“Grab her.”
Oh, shit.
Hands clamp around my arms, but I thrash like a rabid raccoon, kicking blindly at anything in my path. “Let me go!” The reporters are yelling, flashes going off like fireworks, and I know–I fucking know–this is going to be all over the news in about three seconds.
Liam is going to fire me.
The lunatic Omega who tried to fight her way into the palace. The desperate ex who still can’t take a hint.
I taste blood in my mouth, but I don’t stop. “You fucking coward,” I snarl, hoping–praying–that Enoch is somewhere in that goddamn palace hearing every word. “I came all this way for you, and you can’t even face me?!”
A sharp tug jerks me back. I expect a punch, a hard shove into the ground–hell, maybe even an arrest. Instead, the grip on my arm tightens, and I’m dragged.
2/3
5
ས 8;
82
Chapter 66
Not by a guard.
Not by one of the paparazzi.
But by him.
The Beta.
The same one from last night–the one who had stared at me like he recognized me but didn’t say a word.
Gasps ripple through the crowd as I’m hauled through the palace doors, boots scuffing against polished stone. The noise outside dims, muffled by the massive entrance hall. I barely register the grand chandeliers, the towering columns, the absurd opulence of it all.
I twist, breathless, yanking at his grip. “Who the hell do you think you-”
“Shut up, he will see you as you want.” he snaps.
And I do. Not because I want to, but because I finally get a proper look at him.
He’s huge. Towering. His suit clings to broad shoulders, and his presence is just as suffocating as it was last night. But it’s his eyes that stop me cold.
Dark. Intense.
And familiar.
My stomach drops.
No.
No, it can’t be.
But then he leans in, his breath hot against my ear, voice low enough that only I can hear-
“You really are good at getting the attention to yourself. He’s furious.”
3/3
No, it can’t be.
But then he leans in, his breath hot against my ear, voice low enough that only I can hear-
“You really are good at getting the attention to yourself. He’s furious.”
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