KAYROS'S POV
"Jessica Black is saying something about Ophelia in the breakfast area."
I don't hear whatever Alexander says next. I'm already on my feet, the chair kicked back, leaving a table full of mob leaders, presidents, and billionaires behind me.
Jessica said something to her?
What?
How dare she?
Panic, cold and sharp, had already been coiling in my chest since I saw Odette in the garden earlier—just as I was confirming something to myself.
I'd spotted Jessica at the party last night. This time, there was no pull. No magnetic, sickening attraction. In the garden this morning, standing before her, my body felt… normal. My heart was steady. The obsessive itch that defined my past life was simply… gone.
It was a relief. A terrifying, quiet relief.
But when Odette called my name, my body locked. My world narrowed to her presence alone. And I was scared. Scared she'd misunderstand. Scared she wouldn't listen. Scared she'd… leave.
She didn't. I thought we were safe.
Now Jessica has spoken to her. In front of everyone.
The first thing I feel is a destructive, roaring rage. The second is a primal, irrational protectiveness—a need to hide her away from every pain this world can offer.
I find her sitting among women who don't possess half her grace or intelligence. The air is thick with judgment.
I hear the whispers of the exchange. Jessica mentioned Odette's mother. Odette threw back the truth about Jessica's mother and brother. But Jessica twisted the knife with a master's cruelty.
You aren't loved.
You aren't wanted.
At least my family loved me enough to die for me.
Odette shows no reaction. Her back is straight, her gaze calm under the weight of every stare in the room. But I see it—the slight, almost imperceptible tremble in her fingers.
It feels like a blade stabbing straight through my chest.
"She's just jealous of Jessica." A venomous whisper slithers through the quiet.
"How vile. No wonder Vincent cheated on her."
"Disgusting. How low for a Blackwood."
"I pity Sir Kayros. How unlucky can one man be?"
"Poor Jessica! Look, she's crying because of that jealous woman!"
My hands clench at my sides. I see red. My stomach churns.
Why isn't she saying anything? Where is that sharp tongue that's been driving me insane? Stand up for yourself, Odette. Don't let them make you small—
My feet are moving before my mind can reason.
Eyes turn to me. Someone gasps. The room stills. My stepsisters go pale as I come to a stop behind Odette's chair.
She feels my presence and looks up. Her pupils dilate. Her breath catches. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
I place a hand on her shoulder—firm, grounding, a silent promise. The women around us look away, their earlier confidence dissolving into fear.
My anger doesn't subside.
"Kayros," she whispers, her voice barely audible. The trembling in her fingers stops.
"I came to get you," I say, my voice low.
Away from these people. Away from this poison. Away from everything.
If you'll let me.
She stands and places her hand in mine. I lace our fingers together, feeling her pulse race beneath my thumb.
Whispers follow us. Murmurs about me being overprotective. Warnings to be careful. But one truth becomes clear to everyone in that room as I walk out with her hand in mine:
If they mess with her, they mess with me.
They mess with the Nathaniel family.
They mess with Black Wolf.
And no one walks away unharmed after crossing Black Wolf.
We stop in the hotel lobby, the morning light streaming through stained glass windows. She looks at me, trying to sound unaffected.
"Why did you come?"
But her voice shakes. It gives her away.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to shake her. To demand why she made herself look so small when she's the most powerful woman in that room. My fiancée. The future Lady of Black Wolf and the Nathaniel family.
"Does your sharp tongue only work around me?" I growl, the words dangerous and slow.
She stiffens, her eyes fluttering. "I—"
"No." My voice is firm. We're standing before a massive window, sunlight kissing the curve of her cheekbone, the delicate arch of her eyes. A strange, soft shift happens in my chest—negligible against the storm of confusion she stirs in me.
I dip my head until my nose almost brushes hers. My eyes darken. "Odette."
She freezes, not even daring to breathe.
"You are not just a Blackwood anymore," I say, letting each word sink into her mind. "You are my fiancée. My woman. My responsibility."
Her pulse kicks wildly under my thumb.
"No one gets to look down on you. Not even the Princess of the Black family. And you can insult the hell out of anyone who dares to try. Cleaning up the mess is my job."
Her lips wobble slightly.
I don't know what's going on in her mind. I know my actions contradict everything I've said to her before. But this isn't under my control anymore.
I can't harm her. I can't watch her in pain. I can't seem to hate her.
It's twisting me up inside, making me want to burn the world and lock us both away where nothing can touch her.
She breathes in, her eyes closing briefly as she relaxes. "You sound like you'd cover for me even if I started a war."
"I would."
Her eyes snap open, searching mine for a joke. She finds none.
"You're a Nathaniel now," I mutter, stroking my thumb over her knuckles as if we're discussing the weather. "No one would dare question you, even if you started a war."
And she laughs.
My heart does that ridiculous, traitorous flip.
"Seriously?" she says, smiling. Her dimples deepen—a sight dangerously lethal to my sanity.
I inhale sharply, commanding myself to be rational. To act like the man I'm supposed to be.
Yet I find myself narrowing my eyes, which only makes her laugh harder.
"Okay," she grins. "Next time, I'll throw water on her."
"Wine."
"Why?"
I pause. "Because it's more humiliating."
She giggles, her shoulders shaking, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You sound mad."
I scoff under my breath.
Mad?
No. I'm feeling destructive enough to declare war on every military force on the planet.
And for what?
Because this five-foot-three woman with a soul from another world—the one playing games with my mind—looked small in front of the same woman who poisoned my past life?
"Shut up," I mutter, straightening my posture. "Just don't make yourself small. You're my woman now."
Her eyes soften, a teasing light in them that makes me want to strangle her and kiss her all at once. "Your woman?"
"You're my fiancée." I lift our joined hands, where her blue diamond and my platinum band catch the light.
She nods, still smiling, but the tension has finally left her body.
We walk toward the exit, her heels clicking softly on the marble. The car is waiting. Raphael Blackwood is already there, his expression like carved stone. Rhys stands beside him, rubbing his forehead, furious and worried.
Raphael's face hardens the moment he sees Odette. His green eyes darken dangerously. Rhys stiffens at the sight of me with her and whispers something to his father.
My guard goes up instantly when I see a shadow in the back of the car—the same car Odette is supposed to share with Raphael and Rhys back to the Blackwood mansion.
Jessica.
Odette's expression darkens beside me. She can read the silent lines of tension as well as I can.
"Ophelia." Raphael's voice is cold, final.
Odette's hand twitches in mine. She looks up at me. "You can let go."
No. I don't want to. They'll come for you. I don't want you to be sad.
"No," I say, the word coming out rougher than I intended.
She blinks. "Huh?"
I know I sound ridiculous. But with the way Raphael and Rhys are glaring, I don't trust what will happen once she's in that car.
I inhale deeply, pull her closer, and tilt her head up.
Then I kiss her.
Right there. In front of them all. A loud, unmissable declaration.
Her body relaxes into mine instinctively. Her tongue slides into my mouth. She tastes like morning coffee with too much sugar—sweet, familiar, hers. As I deepen the kiss, something in my nervous system unwinds. Something tender and painful aches in the center of my chest.
Her breath fans against my chin. I open my eyes just enough to see Rhys go pale, Raphael looking both pissed and restrained. In the car, Jessica's eyes are wide with shock.
I pull away slowly, both of us breathing heavily.
"Remember what I said," I murmur, my voice low. "I can cover a war for you."
Her eyes soften. She gives me a small, firm nod.
Then she turns and gets into the car, her spine straight, the earlier weariness gone. The door closes.
Leaving me standing alone, missing the warmth of her hand in mine already.
A slow huff of disbelief heavies the air around me watching the car fade slowly.
I've completely lost my ability to think straight around this woman.