Chapter 32 "Dance with me." The candles I'd set around the room burned slowly, wax trailing down the glass like sweat. My apartment smelled like vanilla, roasted garlic, butter, and him. He smelled like that cologne they sell behind locked glass, the one with no price tag. He resisted at first. Arms crossed, watching me sway with that low grin he wore when he was amused but trying not to be. Shirt unbuttoned, chest ink peeking through, forearms flexing like he was holding something in. His control. His obsession. "Come on," I whispered, stepping closer, the silk of my robe parting just enough to entice him. "It's your birthday. Dance with me." He raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. "I don't dance. I told you that at the wedding reception." "You danced with me at the wedding. Now get your heavy ass up," I said, pulling him to his feet. He was stiff at first, all muscle and resistance. But I swayed against him, guiding his hands to my hips, resting my head on his chest. Slowly, he relaxed. His arms came around me. His chin rested on top of my slicked-back hair. We moved together, Teddy Swims and Giveon crooning softly in the background. When the song faded, I looked up at him. "I have a present for you." "The cake was enough." "Shut up."I handed it to him anyway. Wrapped in black silk with a velvet bow, like it held something far more serious than it did. Raziel unwrapped it slowly, his brows pulling tight the way they always did when he was trying to predict the end of a scene before it played out. "What is this?" he frowned. It was a Labubu doll keychain. Dressed in black lace and combat boots. A tiny silver septum ring. A silk robe cut from the same fabric as mine. I'd glued a little beauty mark above the lip too. What do you get a man who has everything? He blinked. "You're joking." "Nope." I folded my arms. He stared at it like it was a weapon. Then looked at me. "I'm supposed to carry this?" "Yes," I said, grinning. "It goes on your keychain. With your brass knuckles or whatever other medieval shit you carry every day. To remind you of me." "I don't-" he started. I cut him off.I pointed. "Say it. Say Yes, Maya. I will put this mildly terrifying, deeply accurate doll version of you on my keychain like the whipped man I am.'" His lips twitched. A near-smile. A real one. "That's what you think I am?" "That's what you are, baby." He shook his head and pulled his keychain out of his pocket. Slid off some sleek black metal charm shaped like a lion's head and replaced it with the little demonic Maya. He held it up between us. Studied it again. "It looks like you." "I know." "She's ugly-cute," he muttered. I narrowed my eyes. "That's rude." "It's weird." "I know." There was a flicker of something soft in his face. "I already think of you every second of every day. I don't need this... but I'll keep it." I couldn't help it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tight, burying my face in his shoulder. "That was my goal. To chip away at your mean-spirited ass." His arms came around me, solid and sure. He held me for a long moment, his breath warm against my temple. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter-his usual gravel smoothed away. "I want to show you something." He started pulling me toward the door. "Go out like this?" I asked, raising a brow. He chuckled. "It isn't less than you wear most times." He had a point. We drove in silence to a house that looked like a fortress-all sharp angles and dark glass, standing alone on a manicured lawn. Inside, it was cold. Spotless. The air smelled sterile, like a museum after hours. No art on the walls. No clutter on the counters. It was the opposite of my place. "This is where I live," he said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. I hugged my silk robe tighter. "It's very... clean." "It's a house. You can live here with me if you want," he said, turning to face me fully. "You can change it. Whatever you want. Paint it. Burn it down. Build a new one. It's yours." The offer stole my breath. Before I could process it, his expression shifted-growing heavier. "And I owe you an apology," he said. "For before. For the indifference. For making you feel like you were nothing when you were... everything." He looked away, toward a blank wall, like he was seeing another time. "I was battling ghosts. A promise made to my mother on her deathbed-that I would marry Alessia. Every time I looked at you, I was choosing between honoring a dead woman and wanting a living one. The guilt... it made me try to push you away. My silence wasn't because I didn't see you. It was because I saw you too clearly." His eyes came back to mine. "Do you know what it feels like to want someone so much, you resent them for it? To hate how they make you feel because you're supposed to feel nothing?" I didn't speak. Couldn't. He stepped closer, voice quieter now. "I don't know how to express this stuff, Maya. I never had to. Alessia wanted a man who obeyed. My father wanted a successor. I've never had to be a man in love." He took another step, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin. "I'm sorry. For all of it. You deserved none of my coldness. You only ever deserved this." I looked from his tormented face to the cold, perfect house. Understanding dawned. The house was a tomb for the life he thought he was condemned to.And he was giving me the keys. He leaned in, pressed his forehead against mine. "You still want me?" he whispered. "I'll never stop." Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...