“That was different,” she breathed. “I was in love with you.”

His stomach hollowed as his heart gasped in his chest.

Was.

The word was sharper than Callum expected, slicing through every organ with no regard for his survival.

Silence saturated the air between them as they stared back at each other, memories of that night five years ago rushing back in vivid detail. The way the alcohol had dissolved boundaries, how his fingers had trembled as they’d reached for her mask, how she’d whispered “Yes” before he could even ask the question. The forbidden intimacy of removing it, of revealing the face beneath—the most sacred taboo in Heart society.

And then her hands on his mask in return, gentle but sure. The terrifying vulnerability of being truly seen for the first time since childhood. How the air had seemed to crystallize between them in that moment of mutual revelation.

Her face had been more beautiful than he’d imagined—high cheekbones scattered with freckles, full lips split by a small scar in the left corner, eyes that caught the light like rays of sun on a calm sea. He’d traced the contours with his fingertips, committing to memory what he knew he should never have been allowed to see.

Then her mouth on his, hesitant at first, then hungry. It’d been a weekend of stolen moments, reckless and drunk on the feeling of skin against skin with no barriers, no masks. Callum’s hands had roamed every inch of her, memorizing the dips and curves he knew he could never touch again.

He remembered the breathy sounds she made as he trailed open mouthed kisses down her throat, the way she arched into him when he finally sank into her. They’d moved together, sweat slicked and panting, her nails scoring lines down his back as he drove her closer to the edge.

The feeling had been branded into Callum’s soul, the way his heart had clenched then expanded to the point of shattering when she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes and told him she loved him.

Her fingers had traced patterns on his chest as the morning sunlight dripped in through the window and painted her golden. They’d stayed there for hours, days, whispering confessions and promises. Planning for a future they could never have. Callum had let himself believe it, just for a moment.

But reality had crashed back in with the new week, destroying every hope for them. Greyson would never forgive him. It was the one rule, the only rule their friendship had.

Lira was off limits.

So Callum had done what he always did—he pushed her away. Told her it meant nothing, that it was just sex and adrenaline. That he didn’t want her.

Every word of it had been a lie.

His heart belonged to her, every beat it took she owned. He knew, with bone deep certainty, that he would never love another woman.

Greyson was right to tell him to stay away from her. Callum knew he was only trying to protect his sister from the savagery that plagued the edges of his world.

Lira deserved better than him.

Callum had spent every day since trying to ignore the ache in his chest whenever she was near, even when she wasn’t.

Callum set his glass down with slightly more force than necessary, the clink of crystal on wood jarring in the loaded silence, and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension building there.

The door to his office crashed open with enough force to rattle the glass wall and both their masked faces snapped toward the sound.

Greyson stood there like violence given form, his mask firmly in place. Callum didn’t need to see his face to read the rage—it lived in every line of his body, in the tight fists at his sides, the rigid set of his shoulders. His blue eyes held the kind of wildness Callum had only witnessed once before. The night they’d pulled Brooker’s body from the Heart’s plaza.

Callum rose from his desk, already calculating how much damage control this situation would require. “What happened?”

Greyson stalked to the center of the room, his movements like a caged predator—controlled, but barely. His hands opened and closed repeatedly, as if seeking something to destroy.

Lira took three rapid steps away from him toward Callum, removing herself from the reach of his fury. Callum reached for her, his hand finding the dip in her waist and pulling her one step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Lira asked, concern etching her voice.

“She’s in my home.” The words came out like they’d been ripped from Greyson’s throat. “That fucking Daggermouth is in my home.”

Callum’s spine fully straightened at the revelation.

“I nearly killed her this morning. Had my hand around her throat, could feel her pulse racing under my fingers. If she’d stayed a second longer, just one more second, I would’ve snapped her neck. Would’ve crushed her windpipe and watched her die on my bedroom floor.”

Finally Greyson stopped pacing, turning toward them as he dragged a hand over his mask. “He would have killed me for it.” Callum knew who he meant, even without the name. “He wants her alive, needs her alive for whatever plans he has for New Found Haven. Like she’s not the same filth that killed Brooker.”

Callum moved from behind his desk.

“You need to breathe, Grey.” He kept his voice deliberately calm, a counterpoint to Greyson’s fury.

Greyson’s hand went to his abdomen reflexively. “I have to marry her. A fucking farce of a Vow ceremony. My punishment for making him look weak.”

Lira’s sharp intake of breath drew both men’s attention. Something passed over her posture—a subtle shift that Callum recognized as guilt. Callum’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, assessing her.

“How long have you known?” Greyson asked, his voice dropping dangerously as he turned to fully face his sister.

“Known what?” Lira’s attempt at innocence fell flat.

“Don’t.” Greyson took a step toward her. “You’re many things, Li, but you’re not a liar.”

Silence stretched between them, taut as wire. Callum watched the siblings, sensing the explosion building. He’d seen this before—Greyson’s rage, Lira’s stubbornness, the Serel temper that lived in both their blood.

“What do you know?” Greyson demanded.

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. Preparing for impact. “Mother and I suggested the Vow to Maximus. The arrangement to her.”

The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of shock expanding outward. Greyson went perfectly still, the kind of stillness that preceded violence.

“You did what?” The question came out soft, which was worse than shouting.

“We suggested the marriage as a way to save your life,” Lira continued, words rushing out now. “The Daunts wanted you executed for removing your mask. The law is absolute—you know that. But Mother knew there was a loophole for when masks fall in accidents. We convinced him that a Vow to her would serve his purposes better.”

“Death wouldn’t have been the worst outcome.”

“Don’t say that,” Lira whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t lose you too.”

Callum watched his friend’s posture shift, the rage momentarily giving way to something more vulnerable before hardening again.

“So you decided that forcing me to live with my would-be killer was the better option?” Greyson’s laugh was hollow. “Brilliant plan, Li. Truly inspired.”

“It bought us time,” Lira insisted. “Time to find another solution.”

“What solution would that be? For her to finish the job? For Father to parade us around like some perverse symbol of the Heart’s power? You trapped me with her.” Greyson’s voice was still soft, still controlled, but Callum could see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists. “You put that murderer in my home, in my bed—”

“She sleeps in the guest room,” Lira corrected.

“That’s not the fucking point!”

The shout exploded from Greyson without warning, loud enough that Callum instinctively stepped between the siblings. He knew Greyson would die before he ever lay a hand on his sister, but he knew Lira, and she would absolutely pummel the shit out of him for speaking to her like this.