VRayan's Perspective
He should hate Kael.
He should run the moment he had a chance.
But when Kael's shadow stretched across the marble floor toward him, his body betrayed him—his chest loosened, his panic eased by the mere presence he had come to fear.
It terrified him.
How much of him belonged to Kael already?
And how much of it had been stolen without his consent?
"Don't…" Rayan's voice cracked, his throat raw. "…don't touch me."
Kael froze mid-step, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those eyes—burned like wildfire, caught between anguish and obsession.
Kael's Perspective
He stopped. For once, he obeyed.
But inside, something snapped.
He turned his gaze toward the far wall where a hidden panel concealed the security feed. A flick of his wrist, and the live footage appeared: Senna, pacing inside her glass-walled prison deep below the penthouse.
Even caged, she smirked as if she had already won.
Kael's hands curled into fists.
