CHAPTER Miry here xanthophobia (n.) fear of the color yellow Ronan Darkness CAST THE ROOM IN shadow, though a golden sheen surrounded Mila’s sleeping form like a halo. The strange glow could be a trick of the light, but the night was a moonless one, meaning there wasn’t any fucking light. With a sense of annoyance, I realized I needed to get my vision checked. My gaze narrowed as it swept down her body—from her cheek resting on a curtain of long blonde hair, to the shallow breaths escaping parted lips, to the rise and fall of her breasts, and the sliver of visible skin that trailed to her navel. The view was a painter’s wet dream; the girl too flawless to be real. I wanted to slap her. The thought was the only thing that explained the slight tremble in my hands. I slipped them in my pockets, unsure of the bizarre reaction considering my throat tightened in revulsion at the idea of actually following through with it. Though slapping some sense into Mila may benefit her. Maybe then she wouldn’t apologize to men who kidnapped and degraded her. Or fall asleep in their arms after they roughly took her virginity. I shouldn’t have taken her so hard even believing she wasn’t a virgin. I especially shouldn’t have continued to fuck her after learning the truth, unable to find the will to stop right away. My conscience was having a party —with tea and biscuits and pathetic deflating balloons. It was uncomfortable as fuck. Especially because I could still taste her in my