He smirked, lifting the blood-slick blade between us. “Relax, sweetheart—it’s not flowers. I got you something that kills quieter.”

He slipped his hand into his pocket, slow like he had all the time in the world, and when it came back up, there was a small velvet box sitting in his palm. Black. Elegant. Dangerous, somehow—because it was from him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held it out between us, his gaze fixed on me like he was handing over a secret instead of a ...