I glare at him, tempted to throw the entire plate at his face, but that’s no excuse to waste good food.

Besides, I am hungry.

I try to take the spoon from him, but he keeps it away.

“Open your mouth.”

“I’m not a kid, Ash. I can eat on my own.”

“You lost your choice when you were acting like a brat.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “And it’s Asher, for fuck’s sake.”

My eyes cast downward. He’s right; I don’t have the right to call him that, to give him any nicknames or to let him feed me.

He’s not mine.

He’s Reina’s.

That’s why Old Reina always kept him at arm’s length and pushed him away. I can understand her thought process more clearly now.

“Are you going to open your mouth, or should I do it for you?” His eyes darken with malice, and I gulp at the punishing promise in them.

He’ll definitely make me, and I have no doubt that I won’t like my reaction to it.

I slowly part my lips. The spoon clinks against my teeth as he gently shoves it inside. My pulse rises in my throat and I barely chew before swallowing the mac and cheese. It tastes rich and strong, but I barely focus on that.

Oh, God. This is so intimate. I shouldn’t be doing it with Asher.

I reach out for the spoon, but he keeps it out of reach and forces me to eat from his hand.

There’s something changed about his expression, something curious and new.

Or maybe my brain is interpreting it that way after all I uncovered about the past and my identity.

Asher’s eyes keep darkening every time I wrap my lips around the spoon to swallow the pasta. His jaw ticks and he feeds me slower, as if savoring the moment.

The air thickens with tension, the scene taking an entirely different direction. It’s like he’s fucking my mouth instead of feeding me. At first, it’s with his thumb, and then it’ll be with his cock.

My cheeks flame at the thought. That’s not right to imagine—at all.

And yet, my thighs clench together. The leather of my skirt becomes too harsh against my heated skin and my T-shirt turns tight over my hardening nipples.

No.

I need to pull myself out of this trance.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re here?” I ask after swallowing another spoonful of the food.

“Mac and cheese was your favorite when you were younger,” he says, as if it’s the perfect answer to my question.

“Don’t many kids love it?”

“Not you.” He raises an eyebrow. “You used to feel peevy around it until I once dared you to eat it, and then you secretly fell in love.”

For a second, I think my heart will abandon me and stop beating. Is he talking about Reina versus me? “When was that? How old was I?”

“Right before your thirteenth birthday.” The spoon clinks against the bowl as he fills it. “Why are you asking?”

“Nothing.”

So it was me, not Reina. A strange sense of relief floods me. It’s so sudden and strong, I briefly close my eyes until it goes away.

My unfamiliarity with mac and cheese makes sense. Mom was Russian and never made it. I wasn’t exposed to the typical American life until I lived with Dad.

“What were you doing in that cottage, Reina?” His tone hardens like that time in the hospital when he asked me if I was running away from him.

“Searching for the truth,” I say, my eyes cast downward.

I can’t look at him, not when he thinks I’m Reina.

You’re an imposter.

You should die.

The gloomy cloud roams around my head like a halo, trying to swallow me inside and suck out my soul.

“What truth?” He pushes another spoonful in my mouth. “And when I talk to you, look at me.”

I shake my head, stomach in knots as I swallow. “I’m full. Can I go back now?”

“Answer the question and look at me,” he deadpans.

I remain rooted in place, mute.

“Don’t fucking test me or I swear—”

“Or what?” My head snaps up, fully meeting that forest gaze that has more depth than any human should be allowed to. “You’ll attempt to kill me like on the roof, in the classroom, or in the locker room? I know it was you. I heard what you said to Arianna on her death anniversary. I know you’ll make me pay for whatever the fuck I did. So stop pretending you care for me, whether I eat or starve, whether I lock myself in my room and die, or whether I disappear into the forest and never return. Just stop fucking pretending!”

Because it’s fucking with my head more than everything else he’s done, and I’m not in a position to have my head fucked with.

I expected Asher to be surprised after my sudden outburst, but he reveals nothing. His expression remains completely blank as he drops the spoon into the bowl on the tray between us.

Then he laughs. It’s long and humorless and shoots something akin to raw fear down my spine.

This is Asher uncut.

This is Asher without an ounce of holding back.

“Pretending.” His laughter finally subsides, replaced by a closed-off expression. “Fucking pretending.”

“Well, wasn’t it?” I fold my arms over my chest, my nails digging into the skin. “You only pretended just to get closer to me and screw me over. You made me believe you were my savior when you were the villain all along.”

“Drop your arms,” he growls.

“What?”

“Don’t give me that high-and-mighty Reina act. I’m not everyone else, so don’t you dare put up your walls with me, and drop your fucking arms when you’re talking to me.”

“No.” I jut out my chin.

I need my arms around my chest. I need protection and walls. I need everything I can get when I’m dealing with Asher.

“No?” he repeats.

“No.”

He pushes the tray to the side and grabs my forearm, shoving it down in front of me. His nose nearly touches mine as he speaks, his tone low and threatening. “You can make this easy or hard, my ugly monster.”

“What does it matter when you’re going to kill me?” I wish my voice were full of contempt and anger or the stabbing betrayal. Instead, it’s almost like resignation to a cruel fate.

This is karma biting me in the ass for stealing Reina’s life and throwing her under the bus.

I had to fall for her psycho fiancé just so he’d plan to kill me.

Wait…no. I didn’t fall for Asher. I can totally get over him.

Right?

“Since when did you become such a coward?” He’s still in my face, so when he speaks, I smell sandalwood and citrus, and I feel his pulse about to join my erratic one.

His words hit me harder than they should. My ears heat and everything in me revolts against it.

I’m not a coward; I’m a fighter.

I fought all this time, didn’t I? With Mom and with Reina and then with Dad and without him. I’m still fighting. I’m still trying to chase the gloomy cloud away.

Cowards don’t do that.

Ever.

“Screw you.” I push him away and jump from the bed then storm to the balcony’s door.

The moment I slide it open, a gust of strong wind slaps me in the face. Wind is good. Wind is as angry as I feel and as lost, too, never sure where to settle or how to go about it.