"Who is he?" I gasped as Camden's hand tightened on my throat.
"Say my name," he snarled. His fingers dug into skin. I felt the world tilt. My living room blurred into edges of a nightmare I hadn't asked for.
"Camden!" I screamed. The name hit the ceiling. It made him raise his chin like he'd scored something. He smiled without humor.
"Don't call me that," he said. "Not here. Not now."
I clawed at his wrist. My nails slid on cuff fabric. He laughed. The laugh was small and quick, like a machine snapping a record into place.
"Let go!" I pushed with my heels against the couch. My legs found nothing solid. Panic focused in my throat. Air left in thin, stabbing lines.
"You're hysterical tonight," he said. His thumb pressed harder. Pain exploded under my jaw. I smelled his cologne, clean and expensive. It smelled like a warning.
I drove my knee up.
Camden's grip loosened a breath. He blinked. I didn't wait for mercy.
"Stop!" I kicked his shins. He staggered back, hand flying to his mouth. For a second he looked hurt. Then the look went dark.
"You'll ruin this," he hissed. "You ruin everything."
I coughed, fingers clawing at my neck, but I shoved him off the couch and scrambled to my feet. My voice was raw. "Who sent you? Fielding? Tomas? Viktoria?"
He stood like a statue resetting. Hands in his pockets. Calm returned like
