But all I feel is that I’m alive again. That Riven has always made me feel alive.

That he’s the one who never looked at me like I was property. Like I was fragile. He always treated me like I was equal and like I belonged with him.

Riven’s knuckles start to graze the inside of my thigh and I just as I think he’s going to push my panties to the side the door to the viewing room creaks open.

“Lakynn?” my mother calls out.

I go rigid.

Riven moves fast, stepping in front of me, shielding me from view.

Belinda gasps. “Oh my⁠—”

“Get out,” he snarls.

Neither of them moves.

“Riven,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. “Please don’t⁠—”

But he turns toward me, still blocking my body from their view. He cups my chin, and it doesn’t escape my attention that his knuckles are indeed scraped up. “Get dressed in whatever you came here in,” he says softly, almost like he’s breathing out the words. He’s capable of being so gentle, and I suspect that he saves that side of him just for me. That quickly his expression hardens and he snaps, “anything but that fucking dress.”

Belinda and my mother don’t listen, pushing their way in, but I’m hunched over, pulling on the zip-up hoodie and jeans I wore here. I don’t worry about my bra because there’s no time. I can tell that there’s little chance that this whole thing is going to get resolved peacefully.

My mother stumbles back as Riven storms toward them. Belinda nearly trips over the hem of her dress, heels skidding across the polished floor.

“I said get the fuck out,” Riven snaps, and my spine straightens because I’m suddenly aware of why everyone on this mountain is afraid of him.

He’s not yelling. It’s worse. His voice is low, deadly. Every word seems to be soaked in violence.

My mother recovers first. Her voice trembles, but her mouth twists in disdain. “This is why we arranged the marriage, Riven, and why we asked you to leave. Because of things like this. With your sister.”

Riven freezes.

It’s like she slapped him. His head tilts. Slowly. His jaw works as he processes the word sister like it physically hurts to hear it out loud.

“We’re not related,” he says, voice cold enough to cut glass. “She is not my sister. She’s mine, but she is not my sister and no matter how many fucking times you say it, it will never be true.”

Belinda tries to backpedal toward the door. “I-I’m calling the police.”