Chapter 22 · The Liar's Game

"Do you really think he’s your kind of man, Viviane?"

Julian’s voice was silk dragged through glass. He didn't look at Silas. He didn't even acknowledge the man bleeding out on the silk sheets. He just stared at Viviane, his eyes roaming over her pinned wrists with a slow, predatory hunger.

Viviane jerked her arms. The magic chains hummed, biting deeper into her skin. "Shut up, Julian. Just shut the hell up."

"Such a fierce little bird." Julian chuckled. He stepped closer, the toe of his polished boot pressing hard into Silas’s side. He leaned down, his shadow swallowing them both. "The convict is a liar. A thief. He stole the very art rotting your soul. And yet, here you are, shaking for him. Is it terror, or something... filthier?"

Silas spat a glob of blood onto Julian’s boot. "Get your foot off me, you arrogant prick, before I rip your tongue out with my teeth."

Julian didn't flinch. He just smiled—that thin, empty expression that never reached his eyes—and pressed harder. Silas groaned, his body arching off the mattress, muscles straining against the cold iron.

"See?" Julian whispered, his gaze flicking back to Viviane. "He’s nothing but a dog.