The ride to the airport lasted only fifteen minutes, but to Violet, it felt like an eternity in hell.
By the time the limousine rolled past the final stretch of road, she knew without a single doubt. Elijah knew.
He knew she was his brother's daughter.
And just like he tormented his own heirs, he had shifted his twisted games onto her.
He wasn't confronting her outright. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, Elijah taunted her with the truth, needling at her composure, savoring the slow, deliberate torment of keeping her on edge until she cracked and confessed.
Violet refused to give him that satisfaction.
Her face remained perfectly calm and polite, a mask she wore with brutal discipline. But inside, her wolf snarled and thrashed against its cage. Thalia wanted blood. Violet wanted to scream.
Every breath she took felt poisoned by Elijah's suffocating presence, his musky, dominating scent filling the enclosed space like a trap.
