Page 73 of Arrow

The glass was cold against my back as he pressed me into it, his face inches from mine, eyes blazing with fury I hadn’t seen before. His grip tightened on my arms, not enough to bruise but enough to make me acutely aware of every point of contact between us.

“Is that what you want?” he growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. “For me to end this right now?”

I lifted my chin, refusing to cower. “It would be more honest than whatever this is.”

His thumb traced small circles on my bare skin where he held me. “I could have killed you a hundred times over by now, Harlowe.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I could have left you for your father and his enemies to finish. I could have let you destroy yourself at that club. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” I demanded, hating how my voice cracked.

His eyes traveled to the collar at my throat, then back to my face. “Because some things are worth more intact.”

“Like what? My family’s connections? My father’s territory?”

Arrow’s laugh was harsh. “Your father’s territory is worthless. His connections are dying out. The Virellis are a sinking ship, and everyone knows it.”

The truth of his words stung more than I wanted to admit. “Then why⁠—”

“Because I want you,” he said simply. “Not just your body. I want what you fight so hard to keep hidden.” His grip softened, but he didn’t let me go. “I want the woman who stares death in the face and laughs. Who would rather burn the world down than show weakness.”

His words slithered under my skin, finding all the broken places inside me that hungered to be seen. I hated him for it—for seeing through me so completely.

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I know you better than you know yourself.” His thumb traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face up to his. “I know that beneath all that anger and spite is a woman desperate to surrender, but only to someone strong enough to handle what comes after.”

“And you think that’s you?” I tried to make it sound mocking, but my voice betrayed me, coming out breathless.

“I know it’s me.” The certainty in his voice made something inside me tremble. “No one else would survive you.”

Before I could respond, he stepped back, breaking contact so suddenly I almost stumbled forward. The cool air rushed between us, and I felt oddly bereft without his heat.

“You’ll wear the dress,” he said, his voice returning to that controlled, emotionless tone. “Because it’s beautiful, and because when you walk down that aisle, I want everyone to see exactly what I’m claiming.”

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I was in the delicate lace. “I’m not a thing to be claimed.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not a thing. You’re a force of nature that needs to be channeled before it destroys everything around it. Including itself.”

I glared at him. “Your metaphors need work.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “And your resistance is futile.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll tell Mrs. Montalto we’ve made our decision. You have five minutes to compose yourself.”

“Wait,” I called before he could leave. He paused, hand on the doorknob. “Why the collar? Why make me wear it in public like this?”

He turned back, studying me with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see through flesh and bone.

“I want the world to see that even Harlowe Virelli has someone she answers to.”

“And the soul trap? You really believe that bullshit?”

“I believe that some people carry enough darkness inside them to swallow worlds. And sometimes, they need something to hold it in place.”

He left then, the door closing quietly behind him. I stood in front of the mirror, alone with the ghost of his words hanging in the air. The truth of Arrow’s words burned inside me. I wasn’t just angry at being forced to marry him; I was terrified of how easily he saw through me, how completely he understood the darkness I’d spent my entire life trying to hide.

When the door opened again, I expected Arrow, but it was only Mrs. Montalto, her smile strained as she bustled in with her assistants trailing behind her.

“Mr. Romanov has informed me of your decision,” she said brightly, as if we hadn’t just had a screaming match that probably echoed through the entire atelier. “Such a beautiful choice. You’ll be the most stunning bride Manhattan has ever seen.”

I said nothing as they helped me out of the dress, their hands careful around the delicate lace. One of the assistants kept stealing glances at the collar, her eyes widening each time the light caught the obsidian.