Paul said nothing at first.
He didn't need to. The air between them folded in on itself, weight shifting, cooling. The sound of the distant music didn't reach here anymore. Not past the stone in his chest.
Alexander didn't move. He stood behind Irina like a man with nothing to prove and no intention of letting go. Still composed. Fingers resting easily on her hips. His head was no longer bowed, but the space between them stayed sealed, anchored by a silence too thick to be anything but deliberate.
And Irina… gods. Irina just looked content.
Her dress shimmered faintly in the dim light, her hair came loose from its pins, and her posture was perfect and unbothered. She looked like she belonged there. In his hands. Between them.
Paul exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound more tired than angry.
"Is this going to be a pattern?" he asked, voice rough from the strain of pretending it didn't hurt. "One of you for each of them?"
Irina's lips twitched. "I'm not a possession."
