She sat in front of him in his office, her expression as unreadable as ever. Ezrin, however, had been observing her closely from the moment she walked in. Something felt…off. She was composed, yet there was an underlying stiffness to her posture.
As she shifted slightly in her seat, reaching for the USB on his desk, her collar dipped just a fraction lower.
Ezrin's sharp eyes caught the briefest glimpse of something dark against her skin.
His gaze hardened.
"Fix your collar," he ordered, his voice deceptively calm.
Seraphina, caught off guard, froze for half a second too long. Then, maintaining her cool, she pulled the collar back up. Too late.
Ezrin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze locked onto hers like a predator sensing prey.
"What are you hiding?"
"Nothing," she replied smoothly.
Her answer was smooth, unwavering. But he could see through it.
Ezrin stood up, moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
"Seraphina."
She ignored the warning in his voice.
But before she could step away, he caught her wrist.
A sharp tug—and suddenly, she was now standing in front of him.
Ezrin's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt. But enough to trap.
Her other hand moved to push him away—he caught that too.
"Let go." Her voice was dangerously calm.
Ezrin tilted his head. "Why?"
His fingers brushed against her collar. Seraphina jerked back, but he didn't let her go.
Instead, he yanked her forward, so close their breaths mingled.
Seraphina stilled.
Ezrin's fingers traced the edge of her collar—then, without warning, he pulled it down.
There it was.
A dark bruise.
His entire body went rigid.
The silence in the room became deafening.
Then—his voice. Low. Deadly.
"Who. Did. This?"
Seraphina said nothing.
Ezrin's fingers flexed against her wrist.
"I won't ask again."
She kept her expression unreadable, her jaw locked.
Ezrin's patience snapped.
His hand caught her throat—not tightly, not to harm—but to force her to look at him.
Seraphina's breath hitched.
"You let him touch you," Ezrin murmured, his voice dangerously soft. His mind was very close to the man but he wants to listen the truth from her mouth.
Her eyes flickered with something—anger. Disgust. A warning.
But she didn't break.
Ezrin's lips curled into something dark, something unreadable.
"Say it," he ordered.
Silence.
His fingers tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her—
She wasn't leaving.
Not until she told him.
Seraphina's hands clenched into fists. "Ezrin. Let. Go."
He didn't.
Instead, he pressed closer, backing her against the desk.
"You think you can lie to me?" His voice was almost amused, but his eyes—his eyes were furious.
Seraphina refused to give in.
Until his fingers slid over the mark on her throat.
Tell me, Who did this?
Seraphina's heartbeat pounded against his fingertips.
Ezrin waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Until—
Her breathing wavered. Just slightly.
And then—
She refused.
Even as Ezrin's grip tightened around her wrist, even as his fingers traced the mark on her throat like a burning brand, she didn't let him see the storm raging inside her.
Ezrin's jaw tensed. He wasn't used to being defied—not like this.
His fingers moved, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You think your silence will stop me?" His voice was low, controlled, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.
Seraphina's lips curled in the faintest smirk. "Is that what this is? You losing control?"
Ezrin's expression darkened.
In one swift motion, he yanked her forward. Their bodies collided, the space between them vanishing.
Seraphina didn't flinch.
But she felt the way his grip changed—not just possessive, but something far more dangerous.
"You are going to tell me," he murmured, his breath brushing against her cheek, "or I will make you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You can't force me."
Ezrin chuckled—a quiet, dangerous sound.
He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he spoke. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Seraphina," he said, voice like silk over steel, "You already know what happens when people keep things from me."
Her breathing hitched for a fraction of a second. A fraction.
Ezrin caught it.
And it only made him more relentless.
His hand slid down, wrapping around her waist. Not tenderly. Possessively.
"You think I didn't notice?" His voice turned mocking, yet his grip on her remained unyielding. "The way you walked in here, trying to act normal. Your swollen eyes. Your injured hand."
Seraphina's nails dug into her palms.
Ezrin continued, voice dropping lower.
"But this—" His thumb ghosted over the bruise on her throat. "This is where you made a mistake."
Seraphina's fingers twitched.
Ezrin's smirk returned, but this time, it was nothing short of predatory.
"You don't want me to find out?" His head tilted slightly, amusement laced in his tone. "Then why are you shaking?"
Seraphina went still.
But Ezrin had already seen it—the slightest tremor beneath her mask of indifference.
His patience snapped.
He pushed her.
Not roughly, not violently—but with just enough force to trap her against the desk.
Seraphina exhaled sharply, her back hitting the edge.
Ezrin's arms caged her in, his presence overwhelming.
"Who did this?" he asked again.
Seraphina met his gaze head-on. Unwavering. Unyielding.
Ezrin watched her. Studied her.
Then, his fingers slid beneath her jaw, tilting her face up again.
"I'll give you one last chance," he murmured.
Silence.
A slow smirk curled on his lips.
"Fine."
And then—he leaned in closer.
So, close she could feel the heat radiating off him.
Ezrin's voice dropped into something impossibly soft, impossibly dark.
Seraphina's breath hitched.
Ezrin wasn't bluffing. He never did. If she didn't speak, he would tear through every layer of her defenses until nothing remained.
Her fingers curled at her sides. She had prepared herself for this interrogation—for his ruthlessness—but sitting beneath his unwavering gaze, trapped between his body and the desk, she felt her carefully built walls begin to crack.
She wasn't scared of him. But she was scared of what he would do once he knew.
Ezrin's thumb brushed her jaw, his touch deceptively gentle compared to the sheer dominance in his stance. His patience was thinning.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, deliberately, but Ezrin could see it now—the slight tremor in her hands.
"You're running out of time," he murmured, his tone eerily calm. "Tell me."
Her lips parted, then closed again. She hated how her pulse betrayed her, how her body reacted before she could control it.
Finally, she spoke.
"Elias."
Ezrin's entire body went rigid.
His grip on her waist tightened just enough for her to feel it.
A dangerous silence stretched between them.
Then, very slowly, he repeated, "Elias?"
She gave a tight nod, her throat suddenly dry.
Ezrin's fingers flexed against her skin, his jaw ticking. The air in the room shifted, the temperature dropping as his expression darkened into something unreadable.
"Explain."
Seraphina hesitated.
Ezrin's patience snapped.
"Every. Moment." His fingers dug into her waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message.
Seraphina swallowed, suddenly aware of just how close he was. She tried to keep her voice steady, but as she began recounting what happened—the way Elias had taken her to the club, the way he had trapped her, touched her, forced himself too close—her composure wavered.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breathing quickened.
Ezrin noticed everything.
By the time she reached the part where Elias had left the mark, she had to force the words out.
She didn't want to say them. Didn't want Ezrin to hear them.
But it was too late.
Because now, his hand left her waist and wrapped around her throat—not to hurt, but to hold. To claim.
Seraphina tensed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Ezrin's gaze burned into hers. He wasn't speaking. He didn't need to. His grip, his expression, the sheer fury radiating from him said everything.
The moment stretched too long.
Seraphina tried to speak, but her voice barely came out. "Ezrin—"
His thumb brushed over the bruise again. Deliberately. Possessively.
And then—he laughed.
A soft, dark, lethal sound.
"How dare he," Ezrin murmured, his voice chillingly quiet. "How fucking dare he."
Seraphina didn't breathe.
Because suddenly—the shift happened.
The air between them turned into something heavier, something unstoppable.
And for the first time since she walked in, she felt nervous.
Ezrin stilled.
For a second, his expression was unreadable, but the second stretched too long, turning the silence into something dangerous.
Then, in a voice quieter than a whisper, he asked, "Did he force you?"
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
She could lie. She should lie.
But instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice barely above a murmur.
"I let him."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Ezrin's grip on her throat tightened—not to hurt, but to feel. To make sure she wasn't slipping through his fingers.
Seraphina knew that she had just made a mistake.
Because something in Ezrin snapped.
Before she could react, he yanked her forward, twisting her body before throwing her over his shoulder.
"Ezrin—!"
Her protest was cut off as he marched through the room, ignoring her struggles. His grip was unyielding, his movements ruthless.
She didn't need to see where he was taking her. She already knew.
The secret room—his sanctuary, his domain.
The moment they entered, Ezrin slammed the door shut behind them, locking it.
And then—he threw her.
Seraphina barely had time to react before her back hit the mattress.
The bed dipped under his weight as he hovered above her, his arms caging her in. The dim lighting cast deep shadows across his face, but his eyes burned like embers—furious, possessive, something else she couldn't place.
Her pulse hammered.
"Say it again," Ezrin ordered, his voice low. Dangerous.
Seraphina clenched her jaw. "I—"
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.
The movement caused her shirt to ride up, revealing the expanse of her stomach.
Ezrin went still.
His eyes fixated on her exposed skin—red, raw, marked.
Something in him snapped.
A slow exhale left his lips, but it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him. His grip on her wrists tightened, pressing them against the mattress above her head.
Seraphina froze.
She knew that look. Cold. Calculating. The kind that sent shivers down the spines of men who dared to cross him.
Ezrin's fingers trailed downward—slow, deliberate, possessive—until they brushed against the tender skin of her stomach.
The moment she flinched, his anger sharpened.
His jaw clenched. "He did this to you."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Seraphina's heart skipped. "Ezrin—"
"He marked you here too, didn't he?" His voice was low, lethal.
Her breath hitched.
Seraphina struggled against his grip, her breaths coming in sharp and uneven gasps.
"Ezrin—listen to me," she forced out, her voice steadier than she felt. "It's not what you think. He didn't—"
But Ezrin's grip on her wrists tightened, pinning them harder against the bed. His body was caging her in, his breath warm against her skin, but his touch was anything but gentle.
"Not what I think?" His voice was quiet, too quiet. Dangerous.
Her pulse pounded. "I scrubbed myself—too hard. That's why my skin is red."
She saw the flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, doubt, conflict. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, swallowed by something darker.
Ezrin let out a low chuckle, but there was no amusement in it.
"And you expect me to believe that?" he murmured. His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing over the reddened skin with a slow, deliberate touch.
Seraphina tensed, her breathing uneven. "It's the truth."
"Liar."
Her eyes widened slightly.
Ezrin leaned in closer, his forehead nearly pressing against hers. His fingers curled slightly against her skin—not in a bruising grip, but with an unsettling amount of control.
"You let him touch you," he murmured, his tone mocking. "But you're trembling under me?"
Her body went rigid.
Ezrin smirked. "Was he gentle?" His lips hovered dangerously close to her ear. "Did he hold you like this? Or did he just take?"
Seraphina turned her head away, trying to breathe past the fury radiating off him.
"Ezrin." Her voice was quiet but firm. "He didn't touch me there."
But Ezrin's mind was already made up.
His fingers traced over the marks again, his touch anything but soft.
"You scrubbed yourself raw," he whispered. "You were disgusted." His gaze flickered over her, his jaw tight. "And yet you still let him."
Seraphina shut her eyes for half a second, willing herself to stay calm.
But Ezrin wasn't letting this go.
His grip didn't loosen. His presence didn't waver.
"You let him," he repeated, each word laced with quiet rage.
Seraphina's heart pounded, and for the first time, her composure began to crack.
For the first time, Seraphina didn't want him to misunderstand.
Her lips parted, and before she could stop herself, she spoke.
"It was part of the game. It meant nothing."
Ezrin stilled. His expression didn't change, but she saw the slight twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
Then—he moved.
Closer.
His grip on her wrists tightened, pressing them harder against the bed. The air between them grew thick, heavy with something dangerous.
"Nothing?" His voice was calm—too calm.
Seraphina swallowed, her breath catching. "Yes."
Ezrin tilted his head slightly, his dark gaze searching hers. And then, with agonizing slowness, he leaned in, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek.
"Then why," he whispered, "do you look like you're lying?"
She tensed.
Ezrin's lips ghosted just above her skin, not touching—just hovering. His presence, his sheer dominance, felt suffocating.
"You let him put his hands on you." His voice was like a blade, cutting through her defenses. "And now you expect me to believe it meant nothing?"
Seraphina's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse erratic. She had faced danger before—faced men who thought they could break her. But this… Ezrin was different.
Because he could break her.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she could stop him.
She shook her head, trying to gather the words, trying to make him understand.
"He didn't touch me there," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Ezrin, you're wrong—"
His grip didn't loosen. His fingers curled tighter around her wrists as he hovered above her, his body a cage, his presence suffocating.
"Wrong?" he echoed, his voice deceptively soft. But there was nothing gentle about the way his eyes darkened.
Seraphina's breath hitched.
"I scrubbed myself," she forced out, her voice raw, almost desperate. "I—I wanted to wash everything off. That's why my skin is red. It wasn't him."
For a moment, there was silence. A dangerous pause.
Then Ezrin laughed.
Low. Cold.
His gaze swept over her, slow and calculated. "That's your excuse?" His thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist, a sharp contrast to the steel in his voice. "That's what you expect me to believe?"
Seraphina flinched—not because of fear, but because of the intensity of his rage.
"You played along," he murmured. "Let him touch you. Let him mark you." His voice dropped, each word a slow, burning accusation.
Her pulse thundered beneath his grip, but she held his gaze. "It was necessary."
Ezrin's smirk vanished.
"Necessary?" His fingers released her wrists only to grab her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me, Seraphina," his tone was lethal, "was it necessary to let him kiss you?"
She froze.
Ezrin didn't blink. Didn't move. Just waited—waited for her to deny it.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Something in his eyes snapped.
And then, in a single breath, he closed the distance between them.
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat. "He didn't kiss me." Her voice was firm despite the storm raging inside her.
Ezrin stilled above her. His fingers, still gripping her chin, tightened just slightly. His piercing gaze searched hers, looking for any sign of a lie.
"Didn't he?" His voice was low, dangerous.
She shook her head, her heartbeat hammering. "No," she exhaled. "He didn't."
Ezrin's jaw clenched, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to crush something. "But he touched you," he stated coldly. "You let him touch you."
Seraphina swallowed. "I had to."
The room felt too small, too suffocating. Ezrin's presence was overwhelming, his body close enough to burn.
His expression was unreadable, but his grip on her chin suddenly loosened. His thumb brushed over the faint bruise on her neck, the touch deceptively gentle. "And did you like it?"
Her eyes widened, but before she could answer, Ezrin's other hand slid down her side—slow, deliberate.
Seraphina's breath hitched as he reached for the hem of her shirt, his fingers barely grazing the sensitive skin of her waist. She jerked against his hold.
"Ezrin—"
His grip on her waist tightened. "Did you enjoy it?" His voice dropped to a whisper, but it held lethal weight.
Seraphina's pulse raced. Not from fear, but from the sheer force of his presence. "No," she bit out, her voice sharp, unwavering.
Ezrin's breath was warm against her skin, but his eyes were ice. "Then tell me…" His fingers pressed slightly into her waist, where her skin was still red. "Why does it feel like you're hiding something from me?"
Ezrin's eyes darkened, his grip unrelenting. "What do you want me to do so you can believe that I'm telling the truth?" Seraphina's voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it—a challenge.
Ezrin stared at her for a long moment, his fingers still pressing against her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. The way she looked at him—defiant, yet vulnerable—made something snap inside him.
His jaw tightened. "You think words will convince me?" His voice was low, dangerous. "After what I saw?"
Seraphina's breathing was unsteady, but she held his gaze. "Then tell me what will."
Ezrin's fingers slid just slightly over the reddened skin of her waist, his grip possessive. "You already know the answer."
Silence stretched between them. The air felt thick, charged.
Seraphina did know. But she refused to say it.
Ezrin leaned in, his breath grazing her ear. "Prove it to me." His voice was dangerously soft. "Make me believe you."
Seraphina's pulse pounded. She could feel the weight of his demand, the intensity behind it. He wouldn't let her go until she shattered his doubt.
But how?