Devillian sat in his dimly lit study, the air heavy with tension. His piercing eyes were locked on the photograph resting on his desk. The image of Siana faintly smiling, her gaze directed at a man whose face was just out of frame, made his jaw clench tightly. His grip on the whiskey glass in his hand was so firm that it seemed on the verge of shattering.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he tried to reign in the storm brewing within him. It was sick, really—this obsessive need to know everything about her. He hated the idea of behaving like some possessive lunatic, keeping tabs on her through the men he’d discreetly assigned to shadow her movements. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Siana was becoming a weakness he didn’t know how to control.