ODETTE/OPHELIA'S POV
Something feels weird.
A soft heartbeat presses against my cheek. These aren't Azriel's arms. I know because the hold around me feels oddly, devastatingly familiar—protective in a way I've never felt before.
I try to open my eyes, but my head is heavy, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyelids.
A warm, firm hand cups the back of my head, holding me gently.
"It's okay. I have you, ma chérie."
His voice is deep, smooth as silk, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket.
"Kayros."
I whisper his name before I even see him. He exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath for hours—maybe days.
My mind is still foggy. His arms are too comfortable to move. This is strange.
Is this a dream?
Why is he here? How is he here?
The Medici island is off-limits to outsiders. Yet here he is, holding me, tucking me inside his coat as if to shield me from the world.
Slowly, I open my eyes. My eyelids are heavy, my vision blurry, but his face catches the light like the sun after a long darkness.
His heartbeat is steady. His warmth feels too real, too solid to be an illusion.
"You came?" My voice is strained. "I thought you'd be glad I was gone."
Kayros clenches his jaw. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and messy stubble roughens his jawline. He looks like a man who's been through a private war.
He pulls me closer, his grip tightening. "Yeah. I had to."
My eyes flutter, focusing. He's real. Not a dream.
"Turns out I'd rather hate you with you next to me," he says, his voice trembling slightly with a bone-deep weariness.
And that does something to me.
Something catches in my throat—a choked sound, close to a sob. Embarrassing. Raw.
And suddenly, I realize it.
How fucking scared I've been this whole time.
Since Gabriel pressed a knife to my throat. Since I woke up chained. Since I put on a mask of strength, convinced no one was coming for me.
Even when the Medici intelligence said Kayros and Daddy had "gone crazy," I didn't believe it was for me.
Kayros rests his head on top of mine. His hands are shaking—just slightly, but enough to break something fragile inside me.
"It's okay," he whispers, soft and sure in a way no one ever has been for me.
I hold my breath, fighting the tears that threaten to betray how scared and lonely I've been.
He reads my face faster than I can hide it.
"Cry," he murmurs. "You don't have to be strong."
And I break.
One tear. Then two. Before I know it, I'm clutching his coat like a lifeline, sobbing—ugly, undignified, unrestrained.
"I—I was s-scared," my words crack between wails.
Kayros pulls me closer, shifting me onto his lap, one arm wrapped around my back as if he can physically become a fortress between me and the world.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma chérie," he whispers desperately against my hair, his own breath ragged.
I want to say something sarcastic. Dismissive. Funny. But all I can do is cry, weeping into his chest like a lost child.
This time, I have someone to hold me when I'm scared.
Slowly, my sobs subside into shaky hiccups. I lift my head. He smells fresh, like a rainforest after rain, mixed with something citrus and uniquely masculine—a scent that makes me feel safe and small all at once.
Kayros runs his fingers gently through my hair. "Better?"
My cheeks flush. I've never cried like this in front of anyone. And definitely not in this position—tucked against him, his hand steady on my back.
I take in the room around us.
High ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows framing the London skyline. My heartbeat kicks up again.
"We're—"
"Back in London. My private penthouse," he finishes.
I snap my head toward him, shocked. He looks calm, composed—if you ignore the fact that he looks utterly wrecked for a man who gets monthly spa treatments.
"I got you back from the Medicis," he says, then shakes his head slightly. "Not exactly. I threatened them into giving you back."
I choke on my breath. All the earlier softness evaporates under the weight of what he's saying.
This dangerously handsome man—the one who's been ruining my life and my standards since I first read about him in a book—just casually admits to threatening one of the most powerful families in Europe.
"With what?" I ask, suspicion twisting in my gut.
Kayros looks utterly nonchalant. "I kidnapped the lost daughter of the Medici family—your brother's assistant. Threatened to kill her if they didn't give you back. And that's how you're here."
I sit back so fast I almost headbutt his chin. He moves just in time.
"Wait—WHAT?!" My voice rises, shrill against my better judgment.
Kayros Nathaniel—the same man who was cradling me like something fragile—just shrugs, as if he didn't drop a live grenade in my lap.
I refuse to acknowledge how soft the bed is, how gorgeous the room is, or how much his absolute lunacy is making me fall for him.
Using Sarah as leverage against the Medici men is like taunting hungry tigers. It means risking the fragile balance of the entire underworld.
I narrow my eyes. "It's not just that, is it?"
He blinks, then nods. "I blew up five Black Widow hideouts. Two in Serbia, two in Colombia, one in China."
My eyes widen further. "FIVE?! Wasn't it three?!"
Kayros doesn't seem fazed. He reaches out, turns me gently, and starts combing my hair with a brush—tenderly, expertly.
My heart flutters like a trapped bird as he works through the tangles.
No. No, no, no!
"Excuse me! We're talking!" I grumble, trying to sound offended—not betray how good it feels to have my hair brushed after days of tension.
My breathing relaxes. My shoulders loosen.
"Keep talking," he murmurs, amused. "I'm not stopping."
I roll my eyes, wanting to throw something at him. To tell him how reckless he is.
Then he leans close, his breath warm against my ear. "By the way… you remind me of someone."
I frown. He smirks—I can feel it.
"I had a cat when I was a kid. She threw endless attitude and tantrums. One day, she ran off and got stuck in a bush. When I finally got her back, she cried and clung to me…"
My eyes widen. I snap my head toward him.
Heat creeps up my neck. "Y-you—!"
I stutter, embarrassingly flustered, and groan in frustration.
He just laughs, finishing my braid.
"KAYROS!"
"Yes, ma chérie?"
Oh, God. I hate that I cried like a lost kitten in front of him.
And more than that… I love how natural it feels to have him back in my orbit.
I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room. Red cheeks. Puffy eyes. Hair neatly braided by the same hands that have killed, buried, and signed deals worth billions.
"You…" My voice is small, vulnerable. "Did you really do all that… for me?"
His laughter fades. His face darkens as he turns to look at me.
My breath catches under his gaze—possessive, obsessive, dangerous in a way I've never seen before.
"Next time," he growls, low and rough, "think twice before letting yourself get kidnapped."
My blood runs hot. My pulse quickens under his thumb.
"What will you do?" I whisper.
"Burn the underworld to ashes," he says, his eyes holding mine with terrifying certainty. "Like the monster I'm trying not to become."
Holy shit.
Why the fuck do I like that so much?