The drive back to Damien’s castle was a quiet one, but it was a comfortable silence, a shared decompression from the battle we had just won. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the ancient trees blur past in the moonlight, Damien’s hand still holding mine, a warm, solid presence in the darkness. He had chosen me. The thought echoed in my mind, a quiet, powerful drumbeat that was slowly replacing the frantic pounding of my earlier fear.
Back in our chambers, the sheer scale and warmth of the room felt like a protective embrace after the cold, cramped formality of Isabella’s manor. But even here, the chill of her threat lingered. I found myself pacing, the adrenaline from the confrontation leaving a restless, buzzing energy under my skin.
Damien watched me from the doorway, his jacket off, his tie loosened. He had been about to suggest sleep, but he saw the coiled tension in me, the way I couldn’t seem to settle.
