Last time I saw him, he was screaming at Raven, telling her to run or he’d kill her.

Throughout the entire conversation, he looked like he wanted to kill me.

I’d taken a big risk, a risk that could ruin what I had with Fender. But when Gilbert had said he was here, I had to take the chance. I quickly scribbled that note and bunched it up in my hand. My heart still raced a million miles a minute because, any moment, I could be caught. I put my faith in the belief that Magnus still felt something for my sister—and would do as I asked.

He didn’t rat me out on the spot, so that was a good sign.

But he might change his mind tomorrow.

Or the next day.

The next morning when I woke up, I expected Fender to come at me hard with the news of my betrayal.

It didn’t happen.

I went into his office where he worked behind the desk—and everything was exactly the same.

Magnus didn’t tell him.

When we had lunch, he stared at me with an intensity that had increased significantly. The portrait had magnified his obsession. The idea of another woman being more beautiful than me was deeply offensive, and now he was on this tirade to prove that they were all wrong. It made him want me more, made him treat me the way he used to, made him forget about what I’d done.

I wondered if I could ask him to release Raven.

Or would I jeopardize these months of work?

I spent the evening in my bedroom before dinner, wondering if Fender would get that phone call from Magnus at any moment. I sat on the couch and tried to study, but the paranoia continued to suffocate me.

If Magnus were going to tell him, he would have done it already.

I had to keep telling myself that.

Gilbert knocked before he stepped inside, carrying a large tray that contained dinner for two. “His Highness will join you in a moment.” He set the table, two large plates with silver lids, along with tea and desserts.

“Thank you.”

Gilbert silently dismissed himself. He wasn’t outright rude to me, but he was never kind either.

Minutes later, Fender silently emerged, letting himself inside my bedroom without announcement. He approached the table then stared at me in my seat on the couch. Shirtless and muscular, he looked like a professional fighter rather than someone who sat at his desk all day and yelled at people.

I set my book and notebook on the end table then got up to join him.