I watch you from the corner. That perfect mouth of yours is pressed into a stubborn line, like you’re daring someone to test your patience. You sit at the long table with your arms crossed, in that pale blue jumpsuit they gave you in here.

God knows it drives me insane.

You tilt your head, pretending not to know I’m watching you, but you always know. Your hair’s tied up, neck on full display, jaw tight, legs crossed just right.

I should be talking to Luca, he came to visit, sitting across from me going on about something stupid, but my eyes won’t leave you. You shift in your seat, like you feel it too, like you’re pretending it’s boredom, but I know the look in your eyes.

I’ve seen that same look from underneath you and I’d crawl across broken glass to see it again.

But then he walks in.

Your father, the devil himself. Flanked by two of his men, in those sleek black suits like he’s not visiting a prison but walking into a boardroom he already owns, because he does. The guards don’t even blink, they step back, they let him through like he’s a god.

He’s not and his eyes are set on you like he’s about to deliver a punishment meant to echo through your bones.

I feel it before it even happens, the shift, the sudden tightness in your body. You straighten your spine like the princess you are—his heir—but I know you’re bracing, I’ve seen it too many times.

He sits in front of you like he owns the air between you and he starts shouting.

Luca’s still talking, but his voice disappears as I zero in on the sound of your father’s voice, barking, spitting your name, slamming his fists on the table. It’s the kind of rage that shakes stone walls.

And all you do is sit there, unmoved, unbothered.

“You love him?” your father snarls. “You shame me with that rat’s son?”

You nod before saying it, and it’s so calm it slices through me. “Yes, I love him.”

It knocks the air from my chest and then I see your father’s hand hitting the table again, loud enough to make heads turn. Your jaw doesn’t even twitch, you stare at him like you’ve already made peace with the war.

That’s when I’m up.

I don’t remember standing, I don’t remember walking. But I’m behind your father in seconds, my fingers curling in the lapels of his thousand-dollar jacket, dragging him up out of the chair, yanking him around to face me.

“You ever put your hands near her again” I growl, teeth gritted, voice low, dirty, lethal, “and I’ll cut them off, old man.”

His guards twitch and the others in the room freeze. I’ve fought for less, killed for even less than the look on your face right now.

Your father sneers, but he’s not used to people challenging him, not like this.

“You think she’ll throw away five generations of loyalty for a filthy mutt like you?” he growls.

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear so only he hears the filth in my voice.

“She’s already thrown away more than that, old man. On her knees, for me.”

He shoves me, but I don’t move, the guards do. You’re up now, shouting something and the guards finally step between us. But not before I flash him a smile—that cocky, lazy smirk you said you hated while your mouth was wrapped around me.

He knows now, he knows what we’ve done, how deep I’m buried inside his empire. Inside you.

They drag him back and the guards get in my face too, barking orders, trying to restrain me and I let them. I don’t care, not anymore, because you’re still staring at me across the room—eyes wide, chest heaving, mouth parted—and I know what you’re thinking.

We’ll be free in days and when we are, I’m putting a ring on your finger before either of our fathers can blink.

I’ll burn the world down for you.