Page 13 of Problematic

Vale lowered his attention to his tablet. “How much is everything?”

“I want her life story down to the last time she showered. Age. Address. Bloodline. Medical records. School. Friends. Enemies. If she has a cat, I want its vet’s name.”

He started typing.

“And Vale?”

His hands paused.

“This doesn’t leave this room.” It was a threat, not a request.

His throat moved. “Understood.”

If word escaped, Scarn would try to use her against me before I’d decided what to do with her. Hollowside had already proven how quickly southern influence could work its way through my territory.

Someone downstairs had watched Olivia enter.

Someone had scanned her name.

Someone had recorded her delivery.

I wanted to lock her away somewhere no one would ever find her, myself included. My therapist would have concerns about that thought. Fortunately, I didn’t have a therapist.

Personally, I wanted to break something.

I’d trusted my strength, my judgment, and every violent decision I’d made to keep New Abaddon standing. I had taken the city from a ruler who failed it, rebuilt what he left rotting, secured the borders, and buried anyone who threatened the people under my protection. Doubt had never followed me into a fight or sat beside me during a council meeting.

People were easier when they feared me.

Fear came with rules.

Love did not.

Everyone around me wanted something. The clans wanted influence. My soldiers wanted money, protection, or permission to spill blood in my name. Strangers smiled because they understood what displeasing me might cost them.

A mate mark would push Olivia to be near me. If it snapped into place too fast, I’d never know whether she would’ve chosen to stay without it. “I’m keeping the mask on,” I said, mostly to myself.

Vale’s fingers stopped above the tablet. His face went blank in the careful way it did whenever I said something he wanted to set on fire and throw out a window.

“If she doesn’t see my face, her side remains dormant,” I continued. “She meets me first.”

Vale lowered the tablet. “She met you ten minutes ago.”

“She met the assassin. Not Lux Draven.”

“You are the assassin, Lux.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

His eyes closed. I waited while he scrubbed both hands down his face, gathering patience from whatever hidden reserve had kept him employed this long.

“No,” he said.

My shadows shifted across the floor. “No?”

“No, because I recognize the expression beneath all the blood.” He opened his eyes and pointed the tablet at me. “You’re about to turn this into a mission.”

“I’m giving her a choice.”