The sun was nothing but a ghost behind the clouds when Isabella rose from the cold edge of her bed. She hadn't slept. Not truly. Not since the kiss. Not since the heat of him clung to her skin like invisible bruises.
She wandered to the vanity — pale, barefoot, dressed in one of the silk nightgowns Liza had laid out. The fabric whispered over her skin like a lover's breath, and it made her shiver. Not from cold. From memory.
The ring was still there.
In its black velvet bed.
Watching her.
Judging her.
Beckoning her.
She pressed her fingers to her lips. They were still tender from his kiss. The worst part wasn't how cruelly he took it. The worst part was how her body responded. How her breath hitched, how her knees weakened, how a traitorous ache bloomed between her thighs.
I hated it, she told herself.
Didn't I?
But hate was loud. This feeling was quiet. It slipped under her skin like smoke, wrapping itself around her lungs.
She didn't hear the door open. She only heard the shift in the air, the change in gravity — the moment he entered.
Drystan.
He filled the room like thunder, all calm violence and calculated presence. His eyes — endless, void-dark — found her immediately.
"You're still awake," he said, voice low and amused.
Isabella straightened. "I couldn't sleep."
"Because of the ring," he guessed. "Or because of the kiss?"
She flinched.
He smirked. "You dreamt about it."
"No," she whispered.
"But you wanted to."
She turned away from him, cheeks flushing with shame. "What do you want from me, Drystan?"
He was behind her in three steps. His breath grazed her neck, and she swore the air crackled between their bodies.
"Everything," he said. "Your fear. Your resistance. Your trust. Your surrender. I want to peel you open, Isabella, and see what's underneath that sweetness. I want to know what sound you make when you're begging. And not just for mercy."
"You're sick," she breathed.
"No," he said gently. "I'm starving."
His fingers brushed her wrist. She expected force. He gave her something worse.
Tenderness.
A thumb stroking the pulse beneath her skin, like he wanted to memorize the rhythm of her. She hated how she leaned into it. How her eyelids fluttered at the gentleness in his touch. How part of her wanted him to move higher, closer, lower—
Then, he pulled back.
"Let me make you a deal," he said. "Wear the ring for one day. Just one. And I'll give you something in return."
"What kind of something?"
"Something your heart's been screaming for since you walked into my house."
A pause. "Answers."
She swallowed hard. "I don't want anything from you."
His smile was slow, patient. "You already want too much, little dove. You just don't know how to ask yet."
Then he left.
No goodbyes. No threats.
Just that soft, terrifying promise.
Isabella stared at the door long after it shut. Her breath was shallow. Her legs, unsteady.
She turned back to the ring.
The velvet box looked smaller now. Less like a gift, more like a trap. But wasn't she already trapped?
One day.
One ring.
One chance to unlock a truth that might burn her alive.
She closed the distance. Reached down.
Her fingers hovered… then curled around the ring.
It was cold at first. Then it warmed in her hand. Like it knew it had won.
She slid it onto her finger.
A perfect fit.
And suddenly, she couldn't breathe.
Not from fear.
But from the terrible, aching knowledge that something inside her had just changed.
---
Later that night…
In a dark room filled with monitors, Drystan sat with his eyes locked on the screen. The live feed from her bedroom flickered softly. And on her hand—small, delicate, shaking slightly—was his ring.
"She put it on," Kain said from the doorway. "Didn't think she would."
"She's not stupid," Drystan murmured. "Curious girls never are."
Kain crossed his arms. "You're getting obsessed."
"No." Drystan leaned forward, watching her every move. "I've passed obsession. I'm somewhere much, much deeper."
He touched the screen with his fingertips.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, "she finds out the truth."
He smiled.
"It'll destroy her"