Anika didn't remember falling asleep.
But when she woke, the world was quiet. Too quiet.
The silk sheets still clung to her legs, heavy with perfume and danger. For a moment, she thought it had all been a dream — the black rose, the mansion, the man with eyes like smoke and winter steel. But the chill in the air reminded her.
She was still his bride.
And he was still a monster.
Anika sat up slowly, her body aching with questions. Her robe slipped from her shoulder, revealing a faint mark — a bruise left by his grip last night. Not cruel, not kind. Just… possessive.
She flinched as the door slid open.
Rai entered without knocking, as if he owned the air in her lungs — and maybe he did. His suit was crisp, his expression unreadable. But his eyes— they flickered when they met hers. Not soft. Not sorry. But different. A pause. A glitch in his armor.
"You didn't run," he said.
Her voice cracked. "Where would I go?"
He stepped closer. "Most try. Even when I warn them."
"I'm not most." She regretted the words the moment they escaped.
But instead of anger, he chuckled. Dark and low. "No. You're not."
He walked to the table by the window and poured himself tea from the delicate iron pot. His movements were fluid, precise. Deadly in their elegance.
"You broke protocol last night," he said. "You spoke out in front of my men."
Anika swallowed. "I didn't mean—"
"Do you know what that makes me look like?"
"Weak," she whispered.
He turned, holding the cup between his fingers. "Exactly. And I don't allow weakness. Not in myself. Not in others."
She stood, suddenly desperate. "Then why me? Why not pick someone trained to smile and obey?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he crossed the room in two long strides and stopped just inches from her. She could smell the faint scent of cedarwood and blood on his collar. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a warning bell.
"I chose you," he said, voice low, "because you were quiet. Because you were invisible. But now…" He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with unexpected gentleness. "You're becoming… inconvenient."
His fingers lingered.
She didn't move.
Not when he leaned in.
Not when his breath touched her skin.
Not when his hand traced the curve of her neck.
"I should punish you," he murmured. "But I won't."
"Why?"
His eyes locked with hers, and for the first time, something broke in them — a crack in the monster's mask.
"Because I don't know if I want to tame you…" he whispered, "or watch you burn."
The room held its breath.
And then, just like that, he stepped back. "Get dressed. You're coming with me tonight."
"Where?"
He smiled — cold, quiet, dangerous.
"To meet the people who think they own me."