King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“Be glad things worked out fine with Vivian.” Dante’s tone could’ve iced the inside of a volcano. I swallowed, trying to moisten the sudden desert in my throat. It didn’t work. “If—”

I couldn’t contain my cough any longer. The sound spilled out of me and cut his sentence short.

Two seconds later, the door swung open, revealing two surprised and none-too-pleased faces.

A faint hint of red colored Dante’s cheekbones when he saw me. “I see you’ve finished the tour early.”

“Sorry.” Stella spoke up, looking embarrassed. “We were on our way to the dining room and heard…” She trailed off, obviously not wanting to admit we’d been eavesdropping even though that was clearly what we were doing.

I should jump in and save her, but all I could do was give a forced smile as Christian and Stella thanked us for dinner and quickly excused themselves.

“What Heath stunt was he talking about?” I found my voice in the silence following their departure.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Dante’s clipped voice didn’t match the darkening red of his cheeks. “He was being an asshole, as always.”

“Considering he mentioned me and my ex-boyfriend by name, I think I do need to worry about it.” I crossed my arms. “I won’t stop asking, so you might as well tell me now.”

More silence.

“Christian was the one who sent the text to Heath,” he finally said. “The one that was supposedly from you.”

My stomach hollowed, and icy shock rushed to fill the void. “Why would he do that?”

“I told you. Because he’s an asshole.” A small pause, then a reluctant, “I may have provoked him, but he’s easily provoked.”

“That’s why you came home early,” I realized.

In all my years as CEO, I’ve only cut a work trip short twice, Vivian, and both those instances were because of you.

I’d glossed over the specifics of what he said at the time because I’d been too distracted by everything else happening, but his words suddenly made sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I regretted eating so much at dinner. I was starting to feel nauseous. “Even when I said I didn’t know how he got the text, you didn’t say anything.”

“It was irrelevant.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide!” I eased a deep breath into my lungs. “I don’t know what you did to Christian, but I don’t appreciate being used as a pawn in whatever game you two are playing.”

I felt like enough of a pawn with my parents. I didn’t want or need to feel that way with Dante, too.

“It’s not a game,” Dante gritted out. “Christian got pissed and did something stupid. What would me telling you have accomplished? You would’ve just gotten upset over something that already happened.”

“The fact you don’t know what the problem is, is the problem.” I turned, too tired to argue anymore. “Find me when you’re ready to talk like an adult.”

Relationships were a give-and-take, and right now, I was tired of giving.





The next morning, I woke up early to clear my head in Central Park. After forty-five minutes of aimless wandering, last night’s embers of indignation still flickered in my stomach, so I did what I always did when I needed to vent: I called my sister.

She grew up with our parents, too, and she’d gone through the whole arranged marriage process. If anyone understood me, she did.

“Have you ever wanted to murder Gunnar?” The number of times I’d considered murder since I got engaged to Dante was alarming. Maybe it was a quirk of being married or almost married.

Agnes laughed. “On multiple occasions, usually when he refuses to pick up his socks or ask for directions when we’re already late. But I don’t have the stomach for blood, so he’s safe. For now.”

I huffed out a laugh. “If only my problems were as simple as socks on the ground.”

“Uh oh. Did you and Dante get in a fight?”

“Yes and no.” I briefly summarized what happened, starting with his weird attitude shift after Paris and ending with the revelation about the text last night.

I hadn’t realized how long we’d gone without talking until now. Agnes and I used to call each other every week, but it was harder now with our schedules and her living in Europe.

“Wow,” Agnes said after I finished. “You’ve had an…interesting few weeks.”

“Tell me about it.” I ran the toe of my leather Chloé flat along a crack in the ground. My mother would yell at me about scuffing my shoe, but she wasn’t here, so I didn’t care what she would say.

“I feel like we’re regressing,” I said. “We were doing so well. He was opening up, communicating…and now we’re back to square one. He’s silent and withdrawn, and I’m frustrated. I can’t do this for the rest of my life, Aggie. I’ll…oh my God. We’ll be the couple in the Netflix documentary,” I realized, horrified. “Love and Murder: The Couple Next Door.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay, here’s what I think. You’re not back to square one,” she said. “Remember when you first got engaged? You couldn’t stand each other. You’ve come a long way since then, even if you’ve taken a few steps back recently.”