Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point 4)

He knew my everything.

In those two seconds Gray stared at me, West’s fist flew—a sucker punch landing square on Gray’s jaw. Gray stumbled backward, falling to the cold marble, eyes never leaving mine.

Instinctively, I dove for him—but West grabbed me, pulling me out of the air and against him.

Gray still stared at me; every hurt, angry, pained emotion bled through him and pierced me.

I’d stayed up imagining my reunion with Grayson. I’d imagined running into his arms, imagined the strong way he’d hold me, the bites he would leave on my neck, the kisses and sweet endearments he’d tattoo on my skin.

Little wife.

Little nun.

Even Snitch.

But our reunion was never like this, in the arms of West, with his lips on my neck as Grayson’s jaw purpled from his fist.

“What do you think, Story?” Still holding me captive, West lifted the veil from my eyes, like some kind of twisted wedding. “Would you like both of us?”

Eleven

STORY

This moment seemed like fate. Since the day Tansy Crowne found me on the floor of the antique room and planted the seed in my head, it never left, growing inside me, twisted and thorny.

The time when I’d meet Grayson Crowne as a mistress.

The seconds that followed could have passed for an eternity. Grayson still hadn’t lifted himself up, but his eyes were glued to me, the look in his eyes like a throbbing heart left to bleed on the marble floor.

“I—” I started, only to be cut off by West’s vicious grip tightening, bruising. A warning.

I missed you, I tried to say. I’m sorry.

My hand went to my bare collarbone. Would we remain the same? Would he still trust us? Trust this?

My heart pounded so loud it hurt my skull. I heard West talking to someone, but it registered as distantly as the waves crashing outside.

Slowly, Grayson stood up, never blinking, coming straight for me. I was too aware of the arm keeping me captive, West’s heat burning into my back. The closer Gray got, the more clearly I saw the pain. The stubble on his jaw, the bruises beneath his eyes.

Two weeks.

Two long weeks.

Had anyone watched him in that time?

So in these few stolen seconds, I drank him in.

Devoured him.

And the world faded away into nothing but my heartbeat and him.

He was still my Grayson, rose gold hair messy and unkempt like he hadn’t slept. His charcoal suit clean, but the tie messy at the knot, flecks of blood on the white shirt.

I was in a snow globe, everything super focused. The sheen on his plump lips reflective. The glare in his deep blue eyes hot and deep. He still had that effortless Grayson Crowne air, but beneath it something new lurked.

Rage.

He reached out toward my hand, toward where West had ripped his locket from me, and my heart broke for the question in his eyes.