Page 298 of Bad Prince
“But we are,” she says.
No hesitation.
No softness.
Just fact.
She shifts her weight, one hand resting lightly on the counter beside her, manicured nails tapping once—twice—like she’s keeping time.
“We’re the same,” she continues, her voice still sweet, still smooth.
But her eyes?
Sharp.
Focused.
“Driven. Competitive. Used to winning.”
Her gaze drops—brief, deliberate—down my body, then back up to my face.
“Smart. Disciplined.”
A tiny pause.
“Let’s not pretend we don’t know exactly what we are.”
Something in my chest tightens.
Then steadies.
That old heat flickers back to life—low, controlled, dangerous.
“I do know what I am,” I say quietly.
Her brows lift just slightly.
“Do you?”
There it is.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
But it lands.
I feel it.
“I want him, Stella,” she says.
No hesitation.
No apology.
Just truth.
My grip tightens around the edge of the counter.
