Rain.
Rhysand steps inside, slow and deliberate like a predator. His gaze flicks to me briefly filled with fury and something else I can’t read before it swings back to the bald man.
Snakehead tilts his head, sizing Rhysand up. “You must be the boyfriend,” he drawls, voice thick with mockery. “The one who’s got her wiring fifty grand like it’s pocket change.”
My stomach drops.
The word “boyfriend” lands like a punch to the stomach. Boyfriend. It sounds so wrong coming from this man’s mouth, but what hurts more is the way my mother’s head snaps toward Rhysand.
Crysta’s been cowering on the couch, pale and shaking, but the second she lays eyes on him her whole demeanor changes and I wish Rhysand could just vanish to save me from the incoming torment.
She’s staring at Rhysand with open
