After she left his study, the door slammed behind her in a loud echo, but the fury in her chest didn't break. It burned hotter since they were treating her like some exchange goods, something that she would not tolerate, not in the slightest.
Her shoes echoed down the endless marble hallway like war drums, each step faster, sharper. If she didn't leave that house, that man, she would do something she couldn't take back. She wanted to run again, but she knew deep down there was no way out of the mansion; everything around there was ruled by her grandfather.
"How dare he..."
"How dare he use Kael like that?" Use my grief and my silence against me, my love... He is treating it like it is worth nothing..." She muttered angrily to herself.
One of the bodyguards moved to follow, but one look from her stopped him cold. Her eyes were slightly red, and her long, raven hair made her look deadly to any outsider, even if she was beautiful.
The moment she was alone again, she pressed a hand to her ribs. Her pulse was beating so hard it hurt and there was nothing she could do to ease the pain churning inside like a storm, waiting to be unleashed.
She didn't cry. She wouldn't. Not here. Not under his roof.
She went to her room to call it a night, since she was tired and had barely any energy left in her. She felt hollow, anger and sorrow swirling within her, a toxic concoction.
After a long night, one with dreams and memories of her past, she woke up the next morning with a sigh, then got up and went to freshen up. She did not want to do anything, but she had bigger issues to deal with and she knew that.
Once she finished, she got dressed and left her room; she needed to do something. When she reached the end of the corridor, she came to a pause just to catch her breath by a tall window. The gardens stretched beyond the glass, dark and immaculate. Not a single leaf out of place, it was a peaceful place, but one that felt like captivity.
A perfect cage.
She clenched her jaw and turned away, only to stop short.
There she saw something again and her eyes narrowed.
A shadowed figure, half-visible down the hall.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
Her breath caught. "Who the hell are you?"
But when she blinked, he was gone.
Again.
She took a shaky step back, but something deep in her chest whispered:
You know who it is.
And that was the problem.
She didn't want to believe in ghosts. But Kael had always promised he would come back for her, even if death tried to take him first.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself. "You are being ridiculous. He's dead."
And yet… A part of her, the delusional part, wished he was not.
'Stop going into fantasies; this is your reality. Focus and try to find a way out,' she thought.
She ignored everything that she was feeling at that moment and she stormed back inside of the mansion, down the corridor, hands clenched at her sides. Lucien could go to hell and take his twisted idea of family with him.
She needed air. Distance. She needed—
"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"
The voice was like velvet, dark, smooth, and sharp around the edges. It stopped her mid-step.
She turned.
And froze.
There he stood. Darian Vellgrave.
He leaned casually against the stone archway ahead, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, dress slacks tailored to perfection. Every inch of him screamed control, danger, and quiet dominance. The kind of man who didn't raise his voice to command a room—he looked at it.
His hair was dark and tousled like he didn't care and knew he didn't have to. His jaw was sharp enough to carve marble. His eyes were like cold silver, nearly colorless; he studied her like she was an asset, a puzzle, or prey.
He was beautiful. Terribly, violently beautiful, the kind of man that would make a woman's knees weakned and she would fall to her knees for him.
And completely untouchable.
But she, on the other hand, was not that woman; she was an angry, grieving widow. She looked at him and her eyes narrowed. Miran rolled her eyes. "You are finally here. What, no leash today?"
Darian stepped forward slowly, each movement measured, like a predator sizing up something that had forgotten it was already caught.
"I figured we would skip the games. After all, we are not strangers to each other, but you have been summoned by me."
"I am not a damn dog," she snapped. "I am not going anywhere with you."
Hearing her defiant words, a smile appeared on his lips, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "You think this is still up for discussion, my dear future wife?"
She braced her stance as she glared at him; the words from his mouth were like spitting venom onto her heart. "Do not call me that; a man like you would know little of such affairs. touch me, and I swear—"
"You will what?" he asked softly, stepping closer. "Throw a tantrum? Scream? Run?"
He leaned down, his voice a whisper in her ear.
"Your grandfather owns every road out of here. Every credit trail. Every ally. And me? I am the only one who came for you. So go ahead, try to fight me. I would love to see how far you get."
She shoved him, but he caught her wrist, gently but unrelenting.
The air between them burned with tension and the servants who were nearby exchanged glances.
"I don't belong to you," she hissed.
"Not yet," he said. "But the contract's signed. The engagement is sealed. And you, darling, are officially mine."
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs; she did not want any of this.
"You can't just take me like that. I do not want this. I am already a wife."
"I did not take you; they gave you to me," he corrected as he tilted his head a little to the side. "You were a wife, not anymore and I am here to collect."
He released her wrist like it was nothing. Like he knew she would have to follow him.