Chapter 8
EIGHT
Idon’t sleep that night.
The conversation with Cameron and my mother loops through my mind, each word unraveling into something darker. A deal. A commitment. Loyalty.
Their silence had been the loudest confirmation.
I’m being used for something.
By morning, my chest aches from the weight of the uncertainty, but one thought rises above the rest.
I need to see Sin.
I don’t know what I expect. Maybe an explanation. Maybe a warning. Maybe just the sound of his voice telling me what I already know but don’t want to believe.
Everything is about to change in my life yet again, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
Do they want me to become the heir? Move to a different country like Sin and Bria did to start setting up our family name?
I don’t know what it could be but in my heart, all I can imagine is seeing him right now.
I don’t have to sneak away this time.
No one questions me when I leave the estate. Not Cameron. Not my mother. Not even Maxwell, who silently drives me wherever I ask.
If anything, it feels like they expect me to go looking for Sin.
I send the message before I lose my nerve.
Magnolia: I need to see you. I’m on my way.
I don’t wait for a reply.
I don’t need to.
Sin already knows. He always knows.
The streets blur around me as the car glides smoothly through the city. My heart beats in time with the rhythm of the road. Each passing second, closer to him. Closer to what we are, even if neither of us can fully define it.
Maxwell doesn’t say a word as I step out of the car, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a brief moment, his gaze lingering with worry.
I don’t have time to think of his concern for me, my only thoughts rely on seeing the man I love.
The air feels cooler as I walk towards Sin's house, the scent of the city mixing with the smell of the night. My fingers curl around the fabric of my coat, and I find myself hoping, even wishing, that tonight will be different. That tonight, I won’t have to pretend.
That maybe, just maybe, Sin will feel the same weight of this connection between us that I do.
Maybe whatever my family wants of me will make their walks safe like this. Where they can roam the city streets at night without fear of being taken, murdered.
When I reach the door, my hand pauses on the handle, and for a moment, I feel that familiar flutter in my chest. The uncertainty. But I don’t pull away. Instead, I push the door open and step inside.
Sin’s house feels different when I’m here alone with him. It’s his sanctuary, his kingdom. But tonight, it feels like mine again. The place is filled with soft golden light, the quiet hum of the city far away, as if the world outside doesn’t matter when I’m here. He’s waiting for me. I know he is.
“Magnolia.” His voice is low, but it cuts through the quiet like a whisper of warmth.
I turn, meeting his gaze. There’s an intensity in his ghost eyes that makes everything inside me still. The room, the world, falls away, and all I can see is him.
His smile is slow, teasing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, not fully. “I’m glad you came.”
“I needed to,” I say, my voice a little shaky. But when I see him standing there. So close, so familiar. I can’t help but feel something shift in my chest.
He doesn’t move. Just stands there, watching me, his gaze as intense as it always is. “I’m always waiting for you to be here, in our house.”
His words have weight, like a promise, and they hit me harder than I expected. Because in this moment, it feels like I’m not just here physically. I’m here with him. With all of me.
I step closer, and he finally reaches for me. His hand brushes against mine in that soft, intimate way, like he’s testing the waters before pulling me into the storm. But I don’t pull away. I want this. I want him.
He takes my hand in his, his thumb gently tracing the back of it.
"Dinner's ready," he says, his voice a bit rougher now, like he’s struggling to keep his composure. “But you’re not here for that, are you?” I slip off the coat, revealing the tight dress underneath.
Sin places it on the table near the door and looks at me thoughtfully, maintaining a composed demeanor.
I smile, but it’s a soft, shy smile, like I’m giving him something he doesn’t deserve, even though I want to. “I guess I’m here for you.” I don’t want to eat; I want to be devoured by him. The urge to have his hands in my hair, all over my body is so intense that I shudder from the thought.
The corners of his lips twitch upward in response, but it’s the way he looks at me, the fervor in his eyes, that makes my heart race. “Let’s eat,” he says, pulling me with him.
The dining room is dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight flickering between us.
The long table is set for only two. This house might be grand, but tonight, it feels cozy in its own way.
He sits at the head of the table, while I’m beside him on the side.
Our eyes locking for a brief moment before we both look away, the tension between us palpable. “It’s quiet.”
He nods, sipping on his whisky. “When I got your text, I sent everyone out.”
We eat, but the food doesn’t matter. Not really. Every glance, every small moment, every shared breath is all I can focus on. He watches me like I’m the only thing worth paying attention to, and in his gaze, I feel seen.
“Tell me about your day,” he says, his voice smooth, like the sound of velvet. He’s trying to keep things light, but there’s a hunger in the way he watches me, an appetite that matches my own.
I shrug, playing the part of this normal conversation like we used to have before everything changed.
“Same as always. The job’s fine. I’m just trying to figure out how to balance everything.
I had a weird conversation with Cameron.
” I laugh softly as he stiffens, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes my heart thud harder in my chest. “What about you?”
Sin chuckles, a sound so rare, so genuine, it makes my stomach flutter. “I’ve been fucking miserable.” His inked hand trails the length of my arm, sending chills over my skin.
I can’t help the small, disbelieving smile that slips onto my face. His words feel like a secret, like a promise he’s making without saying it aloud. “You’re impossible,” I whisper, reaching for my glass of wine.
His hand moves across the table, brushing mine gently, his fingers lingering on mine. “I’m not the one who’s impossible, Magnolia.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. “But maybe you’re the one who’s meant to be impossible.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped. My breath catches in my throat. He’s so close now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His lips hover near my ear as he speaks again, his breath warm against my skin.
“I can’t stop wanting you.”
His voice is a low growl, dark and frayed at the edges. It slides down my spine like silk over skin, coiling low in my belly. I don’t even register my own movement until I’m leaning in, lips brushing his like a whispered sin. And then…
The world disappears.
His mouth claims mine in one slow, searing kiss, and I melt into him, fingers curling into his collar like I need him to keep me standing. The kiss deepens, his hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer, lips parting, breath mingling. There’s heat. Hunger. Something close to desperation.
Then, with a low grunt, he breaks the kiss and lifts me effortlessly from the chair. I gasp, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his body presses flush against mine.
And just like that, everything shatters.
His arm sweeps across the table, knocking plates, wine glasses, and candle stubs to the floor. Glass breaks like ice beneath us, echoing through the dim room. The last candle still flickers somewhere behind him, casting our bodies in shifting gold and shadow.
He sets me on the table, rough and reverent all at once, but doesn’t move right away. He just stares.
His gaze is molten, slow and possessive, like he’s taking his time imagining every filthy thing he’s about to do to me. The fine black shirt he’s wearing clings to his shoulders, every breath stretching the seams.
“You keep licking that lip like you don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, voice thick and dangerous.
My tongue halts mid-swipe.
His mouth twitches, almost a smirk, but there’s nothing playful in his expression. Only intent.
He unbuttons his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up with agonizing patience. He looks like a man preparing for war. Or worship.
“I’ve been patient,” he says, stepping toward me. “All through dinner. Watching you squirm in that tight little dress. Watching your thighs squeeze shut every time I so much as looked at you.”
His fingers tilt my chin up. My breath stutters.
“Say it.”
“…Sin.”
“Louder.”
“Sin.”
That’s all it takes. He descends on me like a storm, mouth hard and hot against mine, tongue sliding between my lips with practiced dominance. I moan into him, grasping at the front of his shirt like it might keep me grounded. It doesn’t.
He pulls back only to rip the dress over my head in one clean motion. No warning. No hesitation. His eyes flicker down my body, like he’s memorizing every inch.
He yanks my bra down, teeth grazing my collarbone as he mutters, “You don’t need this shit. No one sees you like this but me.”
His mouth trails lower, kissing, biting, licking down my chest. I arch into him, already trembling. I’m putty in his hands.
Then he’s tugging my panties down, tearing them from my body like they offend him. The lace rips easily. He tosses them aside and steps back, eyes dropping to the space between my thighs like he’s starving.
“I think about this pussy every goddamn day.” His voice is wrecked. Worshipful. Dangerous. “You walk around acting like you don’t know the kind of power you have. But you do. Don’t you, baby?”
I nod, breathless.
“Say it.”