The way his letter had been written had essentially added high-grade fuel to an already raging fire inside my mind.
Even worse than the financial stress was the horrifying realization of how I had suddenly started to see Xander in a completely different light over the past forty-eight hours. It was utterly unbearable.
Before that stupid, vivid dream, my perspective of him had been beautifully simple and professional. I had looked at him strictly as the dangerous, beastly prince villain of my own creation.
A calculative wildcard who just wanted to use Irene Solyne as a disposable chess piece for his own political survival. It was a neat, orderly dynamic. But now?
Now, thanks to my treacherous subconscious, I was starting to view him through the lens of a classic gray hero.
