A hint of a laugh passed through his eyes. “I have no idea where you come up with this shit.” What I would never tell him was, I’d always been a bit of an introvert too. “Where I come from, you either sink or swim. I swam.” His voice pulled me into his web, demon-spun, and as strong as his knots. “Can’t say the same, can you?” The cereal in my stomach soured. I hated how he could pick apart my flaws, my secrets, and then practically throw them in my face. I focused on my cup of tea and took a sip. Scrunching my nose at the bitter taste, I added some sugar. “Did you enjoy your day of freedom?” he asked. “You and I have very different definitions of ‘freedom.’” “Maybe, but mine is the only one that matters, isn’t it?” I didn’t know why he had to wind me up until it felt as if I would pop like a jack-in-the-box. Maybe so I’d “misbehave,” and then he’d have a reason to punish me and sate his sadistic soul. “You can continue to have free rein of my home, but don’t engage my men.” A threat tainted his voice. Stirring my tea, I offered him a saccharine smile. “Why? Because I’m a lowly Mikhailov who shouldn’t deign to speak?” “Your words, not mine.” The whimsical, mocking tune of my childhood toy played in my head as Ronan cranked the lever—not only from the degrading nuance in his voice, but because I forgot what a bastard the man was just yesterday, and I couldn’t have humiliated myself more. “If you despise me so much just because of who my papa is, then I feel sorry for you.” He gave a dry, amused look. “Coming from someone who spread her legs for her papa’s enemy two seconds after meeting him. Perhaps the one who should be pitied here is you.” “That’s your opinion. And it sucks.” So did this tea. The bitterness left a thick aftertaste on my tongue. A volatile energy condensed the room and slowed the beat of my heart. I said I wasn’t perfect, and I was beginning to learn I had a fiery temper and more pride than sense.