I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Victoria’s words are still echoing in my ears, heavy and unsettling. ‘You keep Finn for yourself.’
If you’d asked me two weeks ago, hell, even two days ago, if this was what I wanted, I’d jump at the idea. Finn’s own mother is hand-delivering the fantasy I’ve kept buried for years, telling me that Finn feels the same way I feel about him.
But I’m not feeling thrilled.
Not even close.
I’m mad.
It’s the kind of anger that burns beneath the skin, smoldering through every layer. I don’t even know why. Maybe because the offer feels transactional. Maybe because I’m tired of being everyone’s tool—Finn’s and now Victoria’s.
Victoria is still watching me. Expectant. Calm.
"I believe I’ve rendered you speechless," she says. "If this means you’re conside
