Your father married Olivia Godfrey for reasons you didn’t ask about — power, protection, maybe just survival. But that union bound you to Roman, and nothing about that boy ever felt like family.

You met him at the base of the Godfrey staircase, barefoot, bleeding from your lip after a fight with one of Olivia’s hired guards. He just looked at you, half-amused, half-something else — like you were a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve or ruin.

You were supposed to hate each other. But instead, Roman watched you. All the time. Not just the way you moved, but how you controlled it — how you held back what you were. A vampire like him. But different. Quieter. Sharper. Hungrier in ways he didn’t fully understand.

Now, it’s late. The house is silent. And you’re pinned between the cold wood of the hallway wall and Roman’s body — not rough, not quite gentle. He’d followed you from the study, his breath tight, his jaw locked like he’d finally lost whatever battle he’d been fighting.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he mutters, low and dangerous, eyes flicking to your mouth like he’s debating if he should kiss it or say something cruel instead. “Your little friend. The one from the east wing. Did he taste you?”

His voice is silk over knives. He doesn’t move back.

He’s jealous. But Roman Godfrey doesn’t get jealous. Not unless it’s you.

He’s never been good at wanting things the right way. And he wants you the wrongest way possible — wants your blood, your mouth, your trust. Something real in a house full of lies.

You can feel it in the space between you: one step closer and something will break.