Evaline:
The fork froze halfway to my mouth and the omelet slipped back onto the plate as my hand fell limp. I blinked at River, his words still echoing through my head like they had been spoken in another language.
You will be attending the Ball with me tonight.
I stared at him, unmoving, unbreathing, the silence stretching between us like a tight wire threatening to snap. Then it hit me.
"What?" I said. Or maybe I choked. I couldn’t tell. It was hard to think when my heart was punching against my ribs.
He just sat there, looking as composed as always, calmly sipping his black coffee like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of breakfast. My body went rigid. Confusion warred with disbelief, then gradually twisted into irritation... and then anger.
"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered, slamming my fork down way harder than I intended.
His gaze slid lazily from his coffee to my face, one brow raised. "I’m not."
I stood up so suddenly that the chair behind me screeched. "Why?"
The word came out sharp, laced with all the frustration I had bottled up for months. I wasn’t just asking about tonight. I was asking about everything.
Why me?
Why always me?
And as always, he gave me that same rehearsed answer. "Because you are good at blending in. You observe quietly. You absorb things without being obvious. This Ball is full of people you need to understand if you ever want to truly succeed in the world you are planning to build for yourself."
I laughed.
It was a sharp, empty laugh that didn’t reach my eyes.
"Seriously?" I said, my voice rising. "You are pulling that card again? That same crap about how everything you throw at me is supposed to help me grow?"
His expression didn’t change, but I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes. Pity? Amusement? Irritation? It was gone before I could figure it out.
"You act like you are doing me a favor," I continued, my voice tight, "but all you ever do is push me into things I didn’t ask for. And you don’t even give me a choice. You didn’t ask me if I wanted to go to the Ball. You told me. Like I’m your puppet."
"Evaline," he began, but I cut him off.
"No!" I snapped. "Why does it always have to be me, River? Why not someone else? Why not one of your other assistants? Or one of the thousands of employees working under you? Or literally any of the hundred people more qualified than I am?"
His jaw tensed.
"You think I’m some eager little girl who’ll just keep doing what you say because you use pretty words like ’career’ and ’potential.’ But I’m not that girl anymore."
My chest was heaving as I glared at him, not caring that we weren’t really alone. The quiet kitchen behind me was now deathly silent. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know the staff was staring. I was standing in the heart of the Thorne mansion, yelling at the Rogue Alpha King himself. And I didn’t care.
I could tell what they might be thinking about me - either I was too foolish, or too brave. But I didn’t care.
He stood up, slow and measured, his tall form casting a long shadow over the table. "I’m not playing games with you."
"Then what are you doing?" I snapped. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you enjoy pulling my strings. What is it about me that you hate so much, huh? Is it our past? Why can’t you just leave me alone?"
His face remained blank, but something behind those cold emerald eyes shifted. I didn’t give him time to answer.
I took a step forward. "I know you hate me. I have known it since the first time we met. And it’s fine, really. Hate me all you want. But don’t pretend like you are doing me some favor every time you toss me into a pit full of wolves and tell me to ’learn and grow.’"
He looked down at me for a long moment before he finally spoke, voice calm... too calm. "You want to survive in this world, Evaline Greystone? You need to learn how to walk in it. That Ball is filled with powerful people, future allies, enemies, and manipulators. You want to be more than someone’s little pet project? Start acting like it."
I barked out another bitter laugh and shook my head.
"You are so damn good at this," I said, stepping back. "So good at acting like everything you do is for someone else’s good. But you and I both know the truth. You don’t care about me learning or growing. You care about control. And you are not going to get it."
I turned to walk away.
But I didn’t make it more than three steps.
A firm hand suddenly grabbed the back of my neck. It was not hard, but firm enough to stop me mid-step. I gasped as I was pulled back, spun around like a doll, until I was facing him again.
His eyes were still unreadable, his expression still emotionless. But the grip on me told a different story.
My breath hitched.
We were close now... too close. His fingers were still at the back of my neck, not hurting, not threatening. But grounding.
"I don’t hate you," he said softly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Really? You want me to believe that?" For some weird, twisted, and stupid reason, I wasn’t feeling like backing down.
"Yes."
"Why?" I pressed. "Why should I believe that you have suddenly forgotten about all your hatred toward me and you genuinely want to help me?"
He inched closer, leaving merely few breaths of space between us. I forgot how to breathe.
His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, "Because-"
"What’s going on here?"