POV Eva
The formal luncheon stretches into its second hour, and I can't breathe.
Pack drone on about alliance benefits while my father watches me from the head of the table, cataloging every smile I offer the princes, every word I speak.
Sebastian catches my eye and winks. Khalil offers a gentle nod. Soren's pale gaze burns into me with that unsettling intensity. And Matteo—Matteo watches me like he's already planning something.
I excuse myself the moment propriety allows, murmuring something about freshening up. The estate's quieter wings call to me, promising solitude, a moment to breathe without being observed.
I don't get it.
Matteo appears at the end of the corridor, blocking my path with that predatory smile. He leans against the wall with practiced casualness, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
"Running away, princess? The party's barely started."
I stop, heart already beginning to race. "I needed air. If you'll excuse me…"
"I don't think I will."
Cold presence presses against my back. I don't need to turn around to know who it is—the frost and pine scent announces Soren before his breath ghosts across my neck.
"We've been wanting to speak with you privately," Soren says, his voice a winter wind. "This seems like the perfect opportunity."
I'm trapped between them. Exactly where they want me.
"What do you want?" I keep my voice steady, confused, innocent. "I should return to the luncheon before my father…"
"Your father can wait." Matteo pushes off the wall, prowling closer. "We've noticed something interesting, Eva. You can't seem to remember that night at the club."
My blood turns to ice. "What night? What club?"
"Such a shame, really." Matteo's smile sharpens. "It was unforgettable for us. The way you moved. The sounds you made."
He stops inches away, close enough that his cedar and smoke scent floods my senses. "Perhaps your memory needs refreshing."
Soren's hand settles on my hip from behind, possessive and deliberate. "We're willing to help you recall every detail."
Their scents wrap around me, cedar and smoke, frost and pine, and visceral memory crashes through my defenses. The club's strobing lights. The taxi. The dark apartment where they took me apart piece by piece.
I know exactly who they are. Have known since the gala, since their scents hit me like a physical blow.
But admitting that means admitting everything.
"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice wavers despite my best efforts. "You must have me confused with someone else."
Matteo laughs, low and dark. "Is that so? Then you won't mind proving it." His hand closes around my wrist. "Come with us."
They guide me down the corridor before I can protest—Matteo leading, Soren's hand firm on the small of my back. A private study materializes, empty and secluded.
The door clicks shut behind us, and I hear the lock engage.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
"Last chance to be honest, princess." Matteo circles me like prey. "Do you remember us? Do you remember what we did to you?"
"I told you, I don't."
Soren spins me around and captures my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath.
It's not gentle. Not questioning. He kisses me like he already knows how I taste, because he does.
His tongue claims mine with cold precision while Matteo presses against my back, his mouth finding my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point.
I should pull away. Should maintain the lie. But my body betrays me instantly, arching into their touch with recognition my mouth refuses to speak.
"There she is," Matteo murmurs against my skin. "Our girl from the club. You remember this, don't you? Remember how we made you scream?"
His hands work at my dress, and I don't stop him. Can't stop him. The fabric falls away, and then Soren's hands are on my breasts while Matteo's fingers find the heat between my thighs.
"Already wet." Matteo's laugh vibrates against my shoulder. "Your body remembers even if your mind pretends otherwise."
They work in tandem—because they've done this before, with me, in that dark apartment where I gave them everything.
Soren turns me in his arms, lifting me onto the study's heavy desk. Matteo positions himself behind me as Soren steps between my spread thighs.
"Same positions," Soren says, pale eyes burning into mine. "Same order. Let's see how long you can pretend."
He enters me without preamble, and I cry out at the familiar stretch of him. His thrusts are controlled, precise—exactly like that night. He finds the angle that makes me see stars, because he already knows where it is.
"Still don't remember?" he growls.
"I… I don't…"
Matteo's hands grip my hips from behind, steadying me as Soren's pace increases. "Liar. You're clenching around him like you know exactly what comes next."
And I do. God help me, I do.
When Soren pulls out and Matteo takes his place, I'm ready for the difference. Ready for the consuming fire that replaces controlled precision.
Matteo doesn't ask—just lifts my hips and drives into me with a groan that echoes off the study walls.
"Fuck, you feel even better than I remembered." His rhythm is relentless, overwhelming. "Tell me you remember this. Tell me you remember begging for more."
I bite my lip until I taste copper, fighting the confession that wants to escape. My body moves with them, meeting each thrust, arching into each touch, in ways that make my pretense ridiculous.
I know Soren's mouth on my breast. I know Matteo's fingers digging into my hips. I know exactly how they feel inside me, and my body announces that knowledge with every gasp and moan.
They bring me to the edge again and again, working together like they choreographed this—because in a way, they did. That night at the club. The night that started everything.
When I finally shatter between them, Matteo's name tears from my throat before I can stop it.
He follows moments later with a curse, and then Soren takes his place one more time, chasing his own release with frost-pale eyes locked on mine.
Afterward, we collapse together—tangled and breathless on the study floor, my dress ruined, their suits disheveled. My body hums with satisfaction even as my mind screams warnings.
Matteo traces my swollen lips with his thumb, his dark eyes glittering with knowing satisfaction.
"Still don't remember, princess?"
I meet his gaze.
I think of everything that confession would cost. The pregnancy. The scandal. The destruction of any hope I have of controlling my own fate.
If I admit I remember them, I admit I went willingly. I admit the child growing inside me was conceived in full knowledge of what I was doing.
The lie tastes like ash on my tongue.
"I don't know what you mean."
Matteo's smile sharpens, but something like respect flickers in his eyes. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"
Soren says nothing. He simply watches me with that unnerving intensity, like he can see straight through to the truth I'm hiding.
They know I'm lying. I know they know.
But for now, the game continues.