The low hum of the exclusive bar faded into the background as a darker tension took over, swallowing the ambient jazz and soft clinking of glasses until the entire world narrowed to him—and me. My breath caught in my throat, sharp enough to sting, as the metallic CLACK of his belt buckle echoed in the suddenly hollow quiet between us. That sound alone made my pulse leap, made something inside me contract with equal parts dread and something far more dangerous.
His hand—strong, tanned, and controlled with an almost lazy sort of dominance—skimmed the line of his waistband. Each movement was deliberate. Calculated. A warning disguised as a caress of his own body. He leaned in just enough that his shadow engulfed me.
"…LAY HIS HANDS ON YOUR BODY…"
The words rolled out of him in a low growl that felt like it scraped directly against my spine.
The question—if it could even be called one—hung in the air, thick and oppressive. The dim lights of the bar softened nothing; instead, they carved harsh highlights along the angle of his jaw, the tension in his brow, the hunger in his eyes. My heart hammered, frantic, betraying me.
He didn't stop.
"…AND CLAIM YOU AS THEIRS?"
His voice deepened, rich with an icy possessiveness that made the room feel smaller. The shelves of luminous green bottles behind him blurred as he shifted, his broad shoulders momentarily blotting out their glow. I instinctively tried to pull back, my breath hitching—but his hand caught my wrist, firm, anchored, unyielding.
The air between us crackled. Not metaphorically—it felt genuinely electric, humming against my skin.
In a single, self-assured motion, he maneuvered me backward. The velvet sofa caught me before I fully registered the movement, pressure blooming along my back as I sank into its plush depths. His presence loomed above me, eclipsing everything else.
The sounds I tried so hard to swallow slipped out anyway—tiny, involuntary notes of panic and anticipation. His gaze darkened at each one.
A sudden, rough SLIDE of fabric against fabric tore through the stillness.
Then—
RRRIP.
The soft material of my clothing surrendered instantly, threads splitting beneath his grip. I felt the cold air touch my skin where the fabric had failed, leaving me exposed and trembling beneath him.
He didn't even flinch.
Didn't apologize.
Didn't pretend it wasn't intentional.
I lay back, disarmed—physically, emotionally, completely. Heat radiated from him in waves as he hovered over me, his shirt slightly rumpled from our struggle, but his tie remained perfectly straight and knotted. The contrast was maddening.
His eyes—blue, sharp, almost frighteningly attentive—locked onto mine. He studied me like a man memorizing a secret, cataloging every micro-expression, every flutter of my lashes, every shallow rise of my chest.
"…THE EXPRESSIONS ON YOUR FACE I BRING OUT IN YOU…"
The words brushed against my ears like fingertips.
A shaky, ragged breath escaped me—PANT—a sound I couldn't disguise as anything else. My muscles tightened instinctively, a helpless CLENCH, my body betraying every attempt at composure.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His head dipped lower, just enough that I felt the warmth of his breath slide down the side of my neck, then my ear. A tremor bolted through me, sharp and involuntary.
"…THE NOISES YOU MAKE…"
His lips didn't touch me, but his voice did—dragging heat and fear across my skin.
"…ALL OF YOUR SENSES, OVERWHELMED BY ME…"
He pulled back just slightly, his expression unreadable. A challenge glinted in his eyes, a dark amusement lingering at the edges.
"WHAT DO I THINK ABOUT THAT?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he let his thumb brush slow, intentional circles against my exposed skin. The gesture was tender in appearance—but in truth, it was far more terrifying than any aggressive grip.
Because he was calm.
Too calm.
And calm, with him, meant something dangerous was coming.
"IF I EVER ENDED UP KILLING SOMEONE WITH MY BARE HANDS, I THOUGHT IT'D BE A MEMBER OF MY FAMILY…"
The confession was delivered in a flat murmur, almost thoughtful. My breath froze, my eyes widening despite myself.
He watched that reaction.
He savored it.
"…BUT NOW I'M THINKING…"
His gaze dropped—from my face… to the torn edges of my clothes. Slowly. Intentionally. When his eyes rose back to mine, something cold and possessive had settled in them, resolute as iron.
"…IT MIGHT BE THIS IMAGINARY HUSBAND OF YOURS INSTEAD."
---
A long time passed after that. Long enough for the world to rebuild itself around us, piece by piece, as though the room needed time to catch up to what had happened inside it. I remember the gold‑dusted air, the way the late‑night sunlight slanted through the tall windows in pale, exhausted ribbons. It illuminated the untouched glass of amber liquid on the low table—a single, perfectly still reminder that time had moved even when we hadn't.
There was a surreal contrast between the serenity of the room and the violent chaos we had just carved into it.
I remember the splintered remnants of the bottle, sharp fragments glittering faintly against the carpet. Its brilliant green liquor—Serenade—had bled across the fibers like spilled poison. THE CARPET THAT HAD ABSORBED THE SPILLED SERENADE… AND UPON WHICH ITS BITTER FRAGRANCE LINGERED…
Even now, the scent clung stubbornly to the air, sweet and acrid, a ghost of the storm that had erupted.
I remember EISER'S BODY.
The image still burned behind my eyelids—the slick sheen of sweat along his shoulders, the defined lines of muscle standing out like sculpted stone as he strained above me. That fierce, volcanic desire in him had poured out in waves, leaving both of us trembling.
And our clothing—ruined casualties of his frenzy.
THE WAY MY CLOTHING AND HIS TIE, WHICH BECAME LITTLE MORE THAN RAGS WHEN HE TORE THEM IN A FRENZY, ROLLED AROUND ALONG WITH US…
The scraps were scattered across the floor like discarded evidence of a crime of passion.
THOSE THINGS I REMEMBER.
What followed was a blur—a strange blend of desperation and an almost painful gentleness. When his hunger finally subsided, his breathing slowed, and his arms wrapped around me with a reverence that contradicted everything he had just done.
He gathered me close, pressing his jacket around my bare skin. The warmth was startlingly tender after the brutal chaos. Then—carefully, silently—
HE WRAPPED ME UP IN HIS JACKET AND CARRIED ME TO THE BEDROOM.
A flood of warmth hit my cheeks at the memory. BLUSH. I'M SUDDENLY FEELING SHY.
We'd done this before—many times, in fact. And yet…
I THOUGHT HE WAS A BIT ROUGH AT TIMES BEFORE TOO… BUT HE WAS STILL GOING EASY ON ME THEN.
Last night had been something else entirely. A complete, consuming surrender to the force of him. Savage, yes. Overwhelming, undoubtedly. But there had been a twisted liberation in it—like falling into a storm willingly and letting it tear away everything unnecessary.
Now, basking in the glorious, unrelenting sunlight of morning, I sank deeper into the thick, expensive duvet. It was soft against my skin, shielding me from the world.
I FEEL A LOT MORE AT EASE NOW…
There was a quiet peace in surviving the tempest—an odd comfort in knowing the worst had passed and that I was no longer on the edge of anticipation.
Somewhere in the room, his voice cut through the silence, low and accusing.
"STILL…"
The tone alone made me peek out from beneath the covers, only my eyes visible.
"YOU'RE CRUEL, SERENA.
I KNEW YOU WERE A LITTLE BEAST, BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME TOO.
AND PRETTY FIERCELY AND VICIOUSLY, AT THAT."
I pulled the duvet up higher, my face half‑hidden again, but a smile curved my lips despite my effort to suppress it. He sounded almost offended—almost—but beneath the complaint there was something unmistakable.
A thread of bewildered admiration.
A hint of pride.
A man who had unleashed a beast and discovered she could bite back.
He was complaining, but his voice held a note of bewildered pride. I had fought back, met his intensity with my own—and he loved it. He loved the beast in me that he himself had unleashed.
Fredrick pov
The rough material of the prison uniform scraped against my neck every time I breathed. Uncomfortable, but not enough to break my composure. The handcuffs bit deeper into my wrists where they were locked to the metal table; the pressure had long since turned to numbness. The dim bulbs overhead buzzed faintly—a sickly orange glow that barely lit the room and cast her face into half‑shadow.
Still, I didn't look away from her. Diah
I DIDN'T THINK WE'D REUNITE UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, BUT HERE WE ARE.
My voice carried no tremor, no hint of the storm churning beneath my skin.
She sat before me like a woman arriving at a theater she absolutely despised but was forced to attend anyway. The tailored suit, the subtle perfume, the unimpeachable posture—it all contrasted brutally with my unwashed hair and shackled hands.
"WHAT A PITIFUL SIGHT," she said dryly, crossing her arms. Her eyes were sharp, too sharp for someone pretending indifference.
I didn't rise to the bait. I let silence speak for me.
Then she got to her real purpose.
"I HEARD YOU WERE WITH SERENA IN ARTIAZEN WHEN YOU WERE ARRESTED."
Her voice was deliberately light, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her.
"I SUPPOSE YOU WERE WILLING TO RISK ALL THIS IN ORDER TO PROTECT HER?"
Serena.
Even hearing her name was a blade twisting under my ribs—pain, fear, devotion.
"SERENA REALLY MUST BE IRRESISTIBLE. FOR BOTH YOU AND HIM. SHE MANAGED TO BEWITCH TWO COLD, UNYIELDING MEN. ISN'T THAT RIGHT?"
Him.
Eiser.
That comparison ignited a sharp, contained fury in my chest. I clenched my jaw until the muscle jumped. Bewitched? As if my choices were weakness. As if my loyalty were something accidental.
My voice came out icy.
"GET TO THE POINT."
Her lips curled. She liked having control of the room again.
"LOOKS LIKE IT'S NOT TIME FOR US TO PART YET. THERE'S AN OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE ONE MORE DEAL."
A deal.
Of course.
My silence was her invitation to continue.
"BEING UNDER INVESTIGATION IN MEURACEVIA MUST PUT YOU IN A DIFFICULT POSITION AS WELL."
She wasn't wrong.
Every second I stayed silent was a risk, but speaking would be disaster.
"SEEMS LIKE YOU'RE NOT SAYING A WORD AND HOLDING YOUR GROUND BECAUSE BUITERBERG WILL IMMEDIATELY STEP IN IF YOUR REAL IDENTITY IS DISCOVERED."
I didn't react, but behind my stillness, my pulse thudded. She knew exactly how precarious my situation was.
She let out a sigh—a soft, theatrical thing.
"FRANKLY, THIS IS A HEADACHE FOR ME TOO. IF THE POLICE FIND OUT WHO YOU REALLY ARE AND THAT I'VE BEEN HELPING YOU ALL THIS TIME, IT'LL BE…"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. The image painted itself clearly.
Then her expression shifted—calculating, tight.
Her thoughts flickered across her face faster than she could mask them:
VICTOR MUST NOT KNOW ABOUT FREDERICK.
IF HE FINDS OUT I DID SOME DIGGING INTO THE HOUSE OF SERENITY, THINGS WILL ESCALATE.
I WASN'T EXPECTING HIM TO BECOME SO OBSESSED WITH THE HOUSE OF SERENITY… OR THAT VICTOR, WHO I THOUGHT HAD DISAPPEARED, WOULD BE ARRESTED AND BROUGHT BACK TO MEURACEVIA…
WITH VICTOR KEEPING A CLOSE EYE ON ME, I COULDN'T COME IN PERSON OR SEND A MESSAGE. BUT TONIGHT… HE'S AWAY. THIS IS MY ONLY WINDOW.
When her gaze snapped back to me, the decision was already made.
"IN AN HOUR, I'LL BUY YOU SOME TIME SO YOU CAN SNEAK OUT OF HERE."
I didn't move, but something deep inside me shifted.
"I'LL ALSO GET YOU A TRAIN TICKET AND A PIECE OF IDENTIFICATION THAT WILL LET YOU ENTER ANY COUNTRY YOU WANT WITHOUT PROBLEMS…"
Her voice dropped into something steely.
"…SO YOU NEED TO DISAPPEAR. AND DON'T EVER GET CAUGHT OR SHOW UP IN MEURACEVIA AGAIN. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?"
A humorless smile twisted across my lips.
"...YOU MAKE IT SOUND LIKE YOU'VE GOT UNDERLINGS LYING IN WAIT WHO WILL KILL ME THE MINUTE I SLIP OUT OF THIS PLACE."
She gave a brittle laugh.
"OH MY. WELL, YOU ARE AN EXPERT IN THESE MATTERS."
Then the amusement drained away, leaving only cold honesty.
"THAT WOULD BE A NEAT WAY TO BRING THIS TO AN END, WOULDN'T IT? AND GETTING RID OF YOU QUIETLY ENSURES YOU WON'T CAUSE ANY TROUBLE FOR ME LATER ON."
I watched every movement she made—every flicker of hesitation.
"WELL. I CAN'T SAY THAT I HAVEN'T ENTERTAINED THE NOTION. BUT I WOULDN'T SINK THAT LOW."
A pause. A soft hardening of her eyes.
"ALSO, I DON'T WANT SERENA TO RESENT ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE IF SHE EVER FINDS OUT I HAD YOU KILLED."
That was the line she ended on.
And that was all I needed to hear.
She had revealed everything—from her fear, to her motives, to her limitations.
I had my answer. She wasn't just offering a way out; she was orchestrating my permanent removal, viewing me as an unstable piece on her chessboard. The deal was simple: my silence and exile for my freedom.
I didn't need to ask. I knew I would take the deal. It was the only way to protect myself and, perhaps, find a new angle to protect Serena from afar.
---
---
The low, possessive growl of his voice was all-consuming, drowning out everything else in the room. Every nerve in my body tensed as he pressed into me, the rough SLIDE of fabric and skin against mine amplifying the chaos inside me. The delicate tearing of my dress—RRRIP—felt deafening, echoing the heat and danger that had consumed us.
He loomed above me, blue eyes blazing with a predatory intensity I couldn't look away from.
"…LAY HIS HANDS ON YOUR BODY… AND CLAIM YOU AS THEIRS?"
My body betrayed me before my mind could react, the involuntary PANT and CLENCH betraying the overwhelming sensations coursing through me.
"THE EXPRESSIONS ON YOUR FACE I BRING OUT IN YOU… …THE NOISES YOU MAKE…"
His gaze pierced me, searing into every hidden corner of my being, while his hand moved in soft, deliberate strokes that carried the weight of unspoken threats.
"…ALL OF YOUR SENSES, OVERWHELMED BY ME… WHAT DO I THINK ABOUT THAT?"
The sharp CLACK of his belt buckle cut through the air—a herald of no return.
"IF I EVER ENDED UP KILLING SOMEONE WITH MY BARE HANDS, I THOUGHT IT'D BE A MEMBER OF MY FAMILY… …BUT NOW I'M THINKING… …IT MIGHT BE THIS IMAGINARY HUSBAND OF YOURS INSTEAD."
And then he pulled back, the words final, sealing the moment and my fate:
"BEFORE HE DISCOVERS THESE SECRETS ABOUT YOU THAT DRIVE ME WILD… …AND ONLY I KNOW. I'M THE ONLY MAN IN THE WORLD WHO'S EVER GOING TO KNOW THESE SECRETS, SERENA."
---
The shift was immediate. One moment I was trapped in that fevered intimacy; the next, reality hit me like a blade.
Di-ah's voice, carefully measured moments ago, now held a thin edge of desperation.
"YOU DO REALIZE THAT IF YOU DIE HERE, IT WOULD BE NOTHING BUT A POINTLESS DEATH, RIGHT?"
Her words were meant to spur me into compliance, to make me see the bargain she had laid before me as the only lifeline.
"WHICH MEANS THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE FOR BOTH OF US TO SAVE OURSELVES. ALL RIGHT, IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO CHOOSE."
I held her gaze. The handcuffs dug into my wrists like ice. The temptation of freedom—and of seeing Serena again—was almost unbearable. I opened my mouth to agree when—
STEPS. Heavy. Deliberate. Two, then two more.
Di-ah's composure shattered. Her eyes widened, lips parting in a silent warning. Her hand moved, frantic, urging me to act—now.
The door burst open. A tall figure filled the frame, backlit by the dim corridor. A cigarette dangled from his lips; a jacket hung casually over his dark suit. His blue eyes were sharp, assessing, and a jagged scar cut across his cheek.
CLACK.
"SO YOU REALLY ARE HERE," he said, voice deep and lethal.
Di-ah gasped. "VICTOR?!" Her face drained of all color. "H-HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS HERE?"
I remained seated, cold and still, as a chill raced down my spine. This was Victor—the very man Di-ah had said was away on a business trip, the man whose absence had made her deal possible.
He inhaled his cigarette slowly, eyes never meeting mine, focusing solely on Di-ah. That cruel, satisfied smirk—the one that made it clear he had just caught both of us in a trap—spread across his face.
"THAT'S WHAT I'D LIKE TO ASK YOU. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
His words cut through the tense air like a blade, aimed at her, at me, at everything.
"DIAH, YOU HAD BETTER EXPLAIN TO ME PROPERLY… …WHAT THIS INTERESTING YET INFURIATING SITUATION IS ALL ABOUT."
Di-ah was speechless. Her eyes were wide; her lips trembled. I looked down at the table.
My one chance at freedom—the deal, the careful plan, the escape route—had been obliterated. Victor's sudden arrival had turned the possibility of survival into a nightmare. My situation had gone from bad to impossible in the blink of an eye.
---
I couldn't bear it. The entire palace felt suffocatingly silent, the air too heavy with inaction. Fredrick was trapped in Meuracevia, and I—Serena—was pacing the grand halls, attempting to marshal some plan.
"AH, YOU MEAN TO GO SEE FREDERICK IN PERSON?" someone asked, breaking my thoughts.
"YES. THE INVESTIGATION HASN'T PROGRESSED ANY, WHICH CAN ONLY MEAN FREDRICK'S NOT TELLING POLICE A WORD," I replied, voice tight, pacing the top of the grand staircase. My pink gown swished around my ankles, a soft contrast to my growing frustration.
I stopped abruptly, gripping the railing. "HE'S ONLY IN THIS PREDICAMENT BECAUSE OF ME. I CAN'T JUST SIT BACK AND WAIT FOR THE SITUATION TO RESOLVE ITSELF."
We had cleared the kidnapping charge, but without Fredrick revealing his true identity, my hands were tied. My patience had finally snapped.
"BUT I THINK I NEED TO GET INVOLVED AT THIS POINT, BY FORCE IF NECESSARY."
CLACK. I turned to my assistant, hair pulled back neatly.
"FIRST, FIND OUT EXACTLY WHICH DIVISION IS CONDUCTING FREDRICK'S INVESTIGATION. AND CONTACT THE CHIEF OR WHOEVER IS IN CHARGE THAT I'D LIKE TO MEET WITH THEM TOMORROW."
"YES, LADY SERENA," my assistant replied promptly. "I'LL GO SEE TO IT RIGHT AWAY!"
"I'LL BE GOING TO THE ROYAL PALACE TOMORROW. MAKE THE NECESSARY PREPARATIONS."
CLACK. The door closed behind my assistant.
---
I was alone, but thoughts of Eiser immediately flooded me.
"EISER LEFT EARLY THIS MORNING… BUT HE'S LATE GETTING HOME—" I murmured, frowning as I paced the opulent hall.
WHISH. The sudden sound of a door opening made me close my eyes in irritation. He was here.
I crouched instinctively behind a velvet chair.
BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP. My heart hammered.
"…?! WH-WHAT?!" My mind screamed. "WHY DID I HIDE?"
Peering around the chair, I saw Eiser, immaculate in his dark suit, addressing someone.
"PLEASE CARRY ON WITHOUT ME. I WILL BE BACK SHORTLY. RAUL," he said curtly.
The small attendant bowed. "AH, LET ME GUIDE YOU TO THE ROOM! PLEASE ENTER THIS WAY," he chirped.
I stayed hidden, cheeks flushing, body tense.
"WHY, WHY, WHY, AM I FINDING IT TOO AWKWARD TO FACE HIM ALL OF A SUDDEN?"
The answer was obvious, even if I couldn't admit it aloud. Last night had changed everything.
What was certain was that last night was… so much more than the other times. I thought he had been rough before, yes… but even then, he had gone easy on me.
The words still echoed in my mind:
"I'M THE ONLY MAN IN THE WORLD WHO'S EVER GOING TO KNOW THESE SECRETS, SERENA."
That moment had left me exposed, shivering, and intensely shy—an entirely new vulnerability I had never felt with him before.
-
I was still crouched behind the chair, the heavy velvet doing a laughably poor job of concealing my expansive skirt. My heart drummed a frantic BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP, the sound deafening in my ears. Why did a single glance from him make me feel so exposed? Just last night, I had matched his intensity, held my ground, even surrendered in ways I thought I could control—but now… now, the mere sight of him had me scrambling for cover like a child caught doing something wrong.
"WHY, WHY, WHY, AM I FINDING IT TOO AWKWARD TO FACE HIM ALL OF A SUDDEN?" I silently lamented, my cheeks burning.
I cautiously lifted my head, trying for another peek without being noticed.
SNIFF.
My head snapped up. Not Eiser. Raul—small, anxious, wide-eyed Raul—was standing beside the chair, staring down at me.
I froze. Busted.
Panic made me spring to my feet, trying to regain a shred of dignity. I ran a hand through my hair, attempting nonchalance. "RAUL!" I exclaimed, forcing a tone of surprise rather than embarrassment.
"A-AH…" Raul stammered, clearly flustered by seeing the Lady of the House crouched like a child behind furniture.
"I… I was just looking for my hair clip that fell off!" I lied quickly, the excuse sounding absurd even to my own ears.
Raul didn't question me. He merely bowed nervously. "O-OH. I SEE…"
Then Eiser's voice cut through the hall.
"RAUL, ARE YOU READY TO GO?"
Panic gripped me again. I didn't want to deal with him—not when I felt like a blushing, trembling fool. Instinctively, I grabbed Raul's arm. "LET'S GO!"
"HMPH!" Eiser muttered, arms crossed as he watched us leave, a frown of confusion marring his perfect composure. "WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER?"
I dragged Raul down the hall, my mind racing. I SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN CAUGHT HIDING LIKE THAT! IT'S EMBARRASSING!
Every step was frantic, desperate to escape his observing gaze. WHAT IF HE THOUGHT I WAS SPYING ON HIM? NO, EVEN WORSE… WHAT IF HE THOUGHT I WAS BEING CUTE?
The thought made my blush deepen further. I, Lady of the House, poised and commanding, now reduced to a flustered, tongue-tied schoolgirl—after a night that had left me exposed and vulnerable. This sudden, intense shift in our dynamic had completely undone my careful composure.
I practically dragged Raul to the far end of the hallway before slowing, trying to steady my racing thoughts. WHAT IF HE THOUGHT I WAS SPYING ON HIM? NO, EVEN WORSE… WHAT IF HE THOUGHT I WAS BEING CUTE?
I released Raul's arm, pressing my hands against my burning cheeks. Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying. Always in control. Always poised. Always the one orchestrating interactions. And now? I was a mess of nerves, caught in the wake of last night's intensity.
I turned, intending to retreat down another hall, but he was suddenly there. Blocking my path, stride confident, blue eyes sharp with quiet challenge.
"ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?" His voice was low, almost teasing, and I flinched instinctively.
"W-WHO IS AVOIDING WHO?" I stammered, forcing a glare. "I'M BUSY!"
His eyes narrowed, unfooled. "REALLY? YOU WERE HIDING BEHIND THAT CHAIR LIKE A MOUSE."
My face burned hotter. Raul had wisely melted into the background, sensing my humiliation.
"HIDING? I ALREADY TOLD RAUL I WAS LOOKING FOR MY HAIR CLIP!" I defended weakly, arms crossed defensively.
Eiser let out a soft, amused HA! stepping closer. His sheer presence, calm and commanding, overwhelmed me in the quiet hall. He reached out, fingers brushing my hair almost tenderly, but the effect was electric.
"I DON'T THINK YOU EVER WORE A HAIR CLIP, SERENA," he murmured, dangerously close to my ear.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. His proximity was a physical assault on my composure.
"AND WHY ARE YOU FINDING ME SO AWKWARD ALL OF A SUDDEN?" His voice was softer now, a teasing challenge, his question lingering in the air like a taunt.
I could feel my heart pounding against my chest, eyes still shut. He knew. He knew exactly why. And he was relishing it.
He finally stepped back, the sudden absence of him almost worse than his closeness.
"WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE I'LL HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO MAKE THE FIRST MOVE AGAIN," he declared, voice returning to that familiar, possessive confidence.
I opened my eyes, watching him retreat down the hall, my body still vibrating with frustrated energy.
He always did this. Always managed to turn my carefully ordered world upside down, leaving me unbalanced, raw, and far too aware of him.
My heart was still racing—THUMP, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. Every step Eiser had taken down the hall seemed to echo in my chest. His confidence, that perfect, infuriatingly assured stride, pressed on me like a physical weight. He had seen through my flimsy excuses about a "hair clip," and I knew, without a doubt, that he understood exactly why I had hidden.
The night before, the raw intensity of our encounter—his words, his touch, the way he had claimed that I was his secret world—had left my composure in ruins. And now, even the thought of him made my palms sweat and my knees weak.
"AND WHY ARE YOU FINDING ME SO AWKWARD ALL OF A SUDDEN?" he had asked, and I knew he already knew the answer.
I drew in a deep, shaky breath, willing the image of his eyes—bright, piercing, impossibly blue—watching me flail into nothingness. But the memory clung stubbornly.
Then came his final, infuriating declaration:
"WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE I'LL HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO MAKE THE FIRST MOVE AGAIN."
Not a question. Not a suggestion. A statement of fact.
My eyes narrowed. That was Eiser's way—absolute, total control. His words were not a threat; they were a promise. A promise that my avoidance would not save me, only hasten his next move. That next move would, without fail, pierce whatever walls I still had, leaving me even more exposed, more vulnerable.
I could feel a tremor of anger flare within me. I FEEL LIKE HE'S LAUGHING AT ME… I clenched my fists so tightly I could feel the strain in my knuckles. He was enjoying it. Enjoying the fact that he could reduce me—the formidable Lady Serena, strategist and political operator—to a flustered, blushing mess.
HE'S PROBABLY THINKING THIS IS CUTE! The thought made my ears burn hotter. I was not cute. I was deliberate, precise, and commanding. Yet in his presence, I was helplessly aware of my own heartbeat, my own flushed skin, my own weakness.
I lifted a trembling hand and ran it across my brow, trying futilely to smooth away the lingering heat. My jaw clenched. I SWEAR I'M GOING TO MAKE HIM PAY FOR HUMILIATING ME LIKE THIS. The words slipped from my lips in a whisper, meant only for the empty hallway, but the sound carried a mixture of fury and a strange, compelling longing.
The truth was unavoidable. His simple nearness had thrown my entire agenda into disarray. Moments ago, my mind had been racing with plans: meticulous strategies to rescue Fredrick, to navigate the minefield of Meuracevia's investigation, to convince the police chief to cooperate. Every calculation, every contingency, every step of political and personal strategy had been clear. And now… all I could think of were my burning cheeks, the subtle, predatory curve of his lips as he had watched me panic, and the soft, commanding authority in his voice.
I shook my head, forcing myself to refocus. Fredrick. Meuracevia. The police chief. My mission could not be derailed by my own embarrassment, nor by Eiser's deliberate, infuriating power over me.
I drew one more deep, steadying breath, forcing my shoulders to straighten, my pulse to slow. The heat in my face lingered, but I refused to give in to it any longer. I turned deliberately, walking in the opposite direction from where he had retreated, each step a reminder that my priorities were not to entertain feelings or flustered thoughts—they were to rescue Fredrick.
The rescue had to be planned meticulously. I needed my full wits about me. Every second counted. And I would not allow the consequences of intimacy, no matter how intense, to jeopardize the mission at hand.