Eloise couldn't speak. She couldn't draw a sufficient breath. She couldn't hide the profound, instantaneous fear that lit up bright and wild in her forest-green eyes like a hunted animal cornered by a ruthless, silvery moonlight. Luciano had just touched the core, the deepest, most carefully guarded wound of her entire existence.
Luciano saw all of it. He saw the shift in her posture, the widening of her pupils, the subtle, uncontrollable tremor in her lower lip.
His gaze sharpened further, turning cold and cutting, as if her fear were not an indication of pain, but something he found... exquisite.
"Hm," he murmured, his voice low and almost fond, "You pale so beautifully, Paloma. It makes the green in your eyes all the more striking."
The words slid over her skin like a knife dipped in honey—smooth, sweet, and promising deep incision.
