“We’ll need a moment to prepare,” Greyson said, his voice calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind.

Mikel nodded once, sharply, then stepped back, allowing Greyson to close the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Greyson turned to face the others.

“This could be a trap,” Shadera said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.

Greyson turned to her, struck by the realization that she was afraid. Not for herself—he doubted she’d ever feared for her own life—but for what their discovery might mean for the rings, for the thousands whose lives hung in the balance of their ability to deceive his father.

“I know,” Greyson breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just get it over with.” He glanced to Callum. “Tonight. Your place. If for some reason we aren’t there, make a plan. Move forward with or without us.”

Chapter twenty-sevenIt Did Not Make Me Weak

Shadera felt the weight of Maximus Serel’s gaze through his mask as she and Greyson were ushered into the pristine office atop Haven Tower. The space breathed power—polished stone, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a God’s view of the city below. His city. His people. His property. She kept her spine straight despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs.

The President sat behind the desk, his golden mask catching the early afternoon light filtering through bulletproof glass. Even seated, even silent, he dominated the room like a predator surveying prey.

Mikel stepped out of the room as it closed behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing them in with the monster who ruled this city. Greyson’s body was a rigid line beside her, taut with a tension she could feel radiating from him in waves. She could sense the rage he struggled to contain with each measured breath as he stared at his father.

“Sit,” Maximus commanded, the single word vibrating with disdain.

Two chairs waited before the massive desk. Greyson moved first, placing himself slightly ahead of her, a subtle shield between her and his father. The gesture wasn’t lost on Maximus, whose head tilted a fraction.

As they sat, Greyson leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. A small gesture. A promise. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.

“I have been hearing whispers,” Maximus began, setting down a tablet he’d been examining when they entered. His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, which somehow made the hairs on the back of Shadera’s neck rise faster than any threat could have. “Whispers of late night activities that concern me.”

Neither responded. The silence stretched until it was something thin, fragile.

A chuckle leaked from behind the golden mask, the sound hollow and manufactured. “One of my Veyra units never reported back after their assignment last night. Eight officers, simply . . . disappeared.” His fingers drummed once against the desk. “Would either of you care to explain that?”

Shadera kept her expression neutral behind her mask, her eyes fixed on a point just above Maximus’s shoulder. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, wouldn’t betray the flash of memory—blood spattering across kitchen tiles, her finger squeezing a trigger, Greyson’s hands moving over her body.

Beside her, Greyson shifted forward, and she felt her breath catch. He was going to lie. He had to lie.

Please fucking lie.

“I killed them.”

The words dropped into the room like rebel bodies on the platform. Shadera’s head snapped toward him, disbelief freezing her in place. What the fuck is he doing?

Maximus went very still. “You killed them,” he repeated slowly. “All eight?”

“Yes.” Greyson’s voice was flat, emotionless. The Executioner’s voice.

“Alone?” The question carried a dangerous edge.

“Alone.”

He was protecting her.

Maximus leaned back in his chair, the golden mask sending sparkling prisms dancing over his desk. “Strange. My sources tell me two people engaged in a fight. Not one.”

“Your sources are mistaken,” Greyson replied evenly.

“And you dispatched eight trained Veyra officers by yourself?” Skepticism dripped from every word.

“Your training served me well, Father.” Greyson’s voice took on a cruel edge that matched his father’s. “Or have you forgotten the lessons you so enjoyed teaching me?”

The jab landed. Shadera could see it in the subtle tensing of Maximus’s shoulders, the slight curl of his fingers against the polished surface of his desk.

“You admit to killing these Veyra officers,” Maximus said after a moment, each word measured. “Do you understand what that means, Greyson? Even for the Executioner, even for my son, that is treason. Treason is punishable by death.”

“They broke into my home, threatened my fiancée,” Greyson responded, his tone remaining steady. “I was protecting what’s mine.”

Mine.

The word sent a jolt through Shadera, but she kept her reaction hidden, understanding what he was doing. Playing the role his father expected—the entitled heir defending his territory, his possession.

“What’s yours,” Maximus repeated, his attention shifting to Shadera. She could feel his gaze traveling over her face, her body, assessing and calculating in a way that made her skin crawl. “Interesting how protective you’ve become of a woman sent to kill you.”

“She’s as good as my wife now.” Greyson’s hand moved to rest on her thigh, the gesture casual but deliberate. A claim. “Entering my apartment without permission was foolish. I suspected they might be rescuers sent for her. I acted accordingly.”

Maximus was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a new edge. “Perhaps I should bring your sister in for questioning, she seems to be privy to the inner workings of your life. I understand she and Callum Thane were at your apartment early this morning.”

Shadera felt Greyson’s body tense, his fingers flexing against her thigh at the mention of Lira. One wrong word, one wrong move, could kill them all. She reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping around it and squeezing.

“The Vow ceremony is in two days,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, even as her heart thundered in her chest. “Callum and Lira arrived to help us prepare. Greyson took me into the Heart last night to celebrate. I . . . got carried away with the drinking.”

Greyson’s hand turned in hers, his fingers interlacing with her own. He understood what she was doing, was playing along.

“Callum offered to adjust the security to give us privacy,” she continued, the lie flowing easily. “So we could truly get to know each other before the ceremony.”

Maximus’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, and a low laugh bubbled from behind his mask. “How touching.” The words dripped condescension. “The mercenary and the Executioner, finding common ground.”

His attention shifted back to Greyson. “You have always been reckless, my son. Impulsive. Quick to anger. Last night was yet another example of that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “It is why I have never fully trusted you with the Heart’s future.”

“I’ve never wanted your trust,” Greyson said, his voice still measured despite the facade of calm slipping. “Or your future.”

“And yet here you are,” Maximus countered, gesturing to the room around them, to the city beyond the windows. “Playing your part. Taking the Vow. Fulfilling your duty to the Heart, to our family.”

Greyson’s grip tightened around Shadera’s hand, his anger trapped between their palms.

“Given the circumstances,” Maximus continued, his tone shifting to something that mimicked regret, “I’m afraid I must insist on certain precautions until the ceremony.”

“What precautions?” Greyson asked, wariness evident in the sharpening of his voice.

“Since you are so desperate to get to know one another, you will be quarantined until the Vow. No outside communication. No visitors.” Maximus’s fingers steepled in front of his golden face. “For your protection, of course.”