King of Envy (Kings of Sin, #5)

by Ana Huang

Because they were getting married. Because I saw her first. Because she was his when she should be mine.

My pulse fluttered at the words scratched in bold black. I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.

“Name one person whose company you enjoy. Besides Jordan.” Does he not count as “anyone?” “Not for the purposes of this conversation. I’m trying to prove a point.” Which is? “You don’t like people.” People in general, no. His gaze dipped for a moment before meeting mine again. But there are exceptions.

And when he looked at me, I felt like a living, breathing person. Not a mannequin. Not a cash cow. Not a role model for girls I’d never asked to be a role model for. Just a regular human with interests and a life outside the one my agency constructed for me.

Vuk watched me quietly. If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t look at another woman. Entertainment or not.

I had a mile-long to-do list back at the office, but I could stay here with her forever. Just us, just like this.

I instinctively turned my body to shield her while she grabbed my arm with her free hand. I flinched, and she withdrew with haste. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to⁠—” Don’t worry about it. I picked up my pace, my heart pounding, but even the rain couldn’t wash away the impression of her touch.

Her sharp intake of breath made my mouth curve. I shouldn’t have taken as much pleasure in her discomfort as I did. But she was the one who started this, and perhaps I wanted her to feel what I felt when I was near her—unbearable, agonizing tension, the type that condensed the world into a bubble around us and made it hard to even fucking breathe.

I was of the firm belief that a home should feel like a home. Books should be read, couches should be sat on, kitchens should be used. A house wasn’t a museum; it was a tapestry of who we were and the lives we’d lived.

Or perhaps it was the sight of him in my kitchen, looking entirely at home amongst the alphabetized spices and gauzy curtains. He was too rough, too cold, too masculine—and yet, he fit perfectly. An island of calm amidst a sea of uncertainty.

Don’t. The tortured sound rang in my ears, and it was in that moment that the truth set in with painful, wrenching clarity. That wasn’t the command of a man who didn’t want me; it was the plea of someone who did.

“Kada te konačno budem poljubio, nećeš više nositi njegov prsten na ruci.”

Six days of replaying the way Jordan kissed Ayana on the cheek and the way she’d smiled at him in response. One hundred and thirty hours of remembering the way her body arched into mine. Eight thousand-plus minutes of revisiting how she’d almost kissed me. And an eternity of what-ifs over what would’ve happened had I not stopped her.

Jordan was her fiancé in name, but I was the one she’d turned to first. I was the one who understood what she needed—not comfort, but vengeance. I was the one who would kill and die for her in the same breath. No other man could match that, ring or no ring.

Genuine feelings. Heady possibilities. The tease of a world that’d long been out of reach.

“Take off your ring.” Vuk’s harsh command was a shot of whiskey straight to my veins.

“Careful, srce moje.” His voice rasped against my sensitized skin. “Or you’ll fucking kill me.”

This was the type of kiss that made time stop. I never wanted to leave. I never wanted it to end.

“Hi.” I hated how breathless I sounded. “Hi.” A soft smile touched my mouth. It was stupid, but I collected his words the way I collected perfumes and shoes.

I teško onom koji pokuša da mi te uzme.”

“There’s one thing you should know about me, Ayana,” he said, his breath grazing my ear. “I. Don’t. Share.”

“I can’t explain it. I just knew,” my mother admitted. “It’s not a checkbox of qualities, mamaye. It’s a feeling.” She placed a gentle palm against my cheek. “I know that’s not very helpful, but when in doubt, trust yourself. Your heart always knows, even if your head doesn’t.”

Beautiful and smart. A woman after my own heart.

I was halfway out the door when she stopped me. “Vuk.” I turned. Ayana’s face softened. “Thank you for holding me.” A thick, foreign sensation invaded my chest. It was so warm, it was almost uncomfortable. I had no words to describe it, so I responded with the simple truth. “Always.”

He made me feel seen, but he made me feel heard too.

Injuries aside, I was also pissed at the world and myself. I only left my house if I had to for work. Being quiet was…easier. Preference became habit, and habit became the new normal.”

“Joy doesn’t require the absence of grief,” my mother said. “We have the capacity to hold both at the same time. That’s part of the human experience.”

His body was a portrait of the life he’d lived—hard, sometimes brutal, but so strong and imposing there was no questioning his raw power. Every scar and every burn was a testament to the trials he’d survived so he could be here, living and breathing and looking like a god of war before he rode off to battle. Pure magnificence.

I’d survived decades without her, but now that I had her in my life, I couldn’t imagine living in her absence.

“I’m not usually a compromise person, srce, but for you, I’d agree to a thousand compromises if you asked.”

Srce moje. My heart.

Like my mother said, joy didn’t require the absence of grief, and happiness wasn’t always found in the big moments. More often than not, they existed in small pockets of time like these—in a room with an adorable cat, the man I loved, and the knowledge that he loved me back.

“I’m in love with every part of you, Vuk Markovic, and I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. Tonight just happened to be the night I found the courage to do so.”

I dropped my forehead to hers. “I don’t deserve you, Ayana Kidane,” I whispered. “But fuck, I love you too.”