I narrowed my eyes, the venom in my voice sharper than any blade. “You really think you owned me? Dressing me up like your sick little Lolita doll—flaunting me in your twisted circus, like I was some prize to be ogled and discarded. You’re nothing but a weak, desperate fool playing dress-up with a fire you’ll never control.”
Gautier’s smug facade flickered, and he opened his mouth to argue, to claim some twisted ownership. But I cut him off with a command so cold it cracked the air between us.
“Kneel.”
His body obeyed before his mind even registered the order. He dropped to his knees like a marionette with its strings cut loose.
Grimjaw let out a low, confused whimper—as if surprised by the sheer force of my will. Morrow cursed under his breath, eyes darkening, clearly unsettled by the power I’d just wielded so effortlessly.
Gautier looked up at me from his place on the ground, trembling—not from fear, not entirely. His eyes were wide, humiliated, but behind the shame was something worse. Hunger. Twisted, undeniable, and growing.
I bent over slowly, a sneer curling at the corner of my mouth, fully aware I was giving everyone a view of what’s beneath my dress and no longer cared. “Is that a circus whip in your pants, or are you just happy to be exactly where you belong, demon?”
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