The club's lights flashed like the pulse of a living beast, thumping to the rhythm of deafening music. Yet, despite the dazzling colors and the sea of dancing bodies, Isabella felt a gnawing unease crawling beneath her skin. Her smile had faded long ago, replaced by a fragile mask of calm. She tried to keep up with Emily's energy, but the atmosphere overwhelmed her. It was too loud, too crowded, and too suffocating.
Azrael noticed.
He had been observing her from the shadowy edge of the lounge, his tall figure almost blending with the darkness. A single nod to Xaren, and moments later, he was beside Isabella.
"You don't seem to like it here," he said in a low voice, almost drowned out by the music.
Isabella looked up at him, startled. "I—I'm fine."
He tilted his head slightly. "You don't have to pretend."
Without another word, he gently took her hand, leading her out of the noisy club. She hesitated for only a moment before following. There was something in the way he moved—assured, quiet, commanding. The kind of presence that didn't require words to lead.
The street outside was calm, night air brushing softly against her cheeks. His car was already waiting.
"My house is too far from here. I'll take you somewhere to rest," he said.
She nodded, too drained to argue.
---
The hotel room was elegant and quiet, bathed in warm, ambient light. A large window overlooked the sleeping city below, curtains drawn halfway as if to offer a glimpse without surrendering the entire view.
Azrael closed the door behind them, locking out the world.
Isabella stood still, close to the door, her arms crossed as her eyes darted around the room. The scent in the air was subtle—cedar and smoke. Her heart was pounding.
Azrael sat at the edge of the bed, his black coat now off, resting neatly over the chair by the window. He looked at her, studying her the same way a painter might examine a canvas—carefully, thoughtfully.
"I can hear your heartbeat, Isabelle," he said suddenly.
Her eyes widened. It was the first time he called her by her name. And yet, she had never told him.
"How do you know my name?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable.
She walked toward him, slow and unsure, stopping just in front of him.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"No," she replied firmly, even though her heart betrayed her.
"What do you think I'll do to you, Isabelle?"
His voice was calm, but something in the air crackled with tension. Isabella blinked, trying to quiet the storm inside her.
"What are your intentions toward me?" she asked, her voice barely above a breath.
He leaned back slightly. "Place your knees on the bed."
Her breath caught in her throat. She hesitated. Then obeyed. She climbed onto the bed, her knees nestled between his thighs. Azrael held her by the waist, gently pulling her closer until she straddled him.
Their eyes locked. The silence wrapped around them like a thread pulled taut, every second stretched like eternity.
Meanwhile, Emily sat lazily on her couch, legs tucked under her. She glared at Xaren, who stood near the kitchen, his arms crossed. He leaned against the wall with a nonchalant air, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound between them.
"I said don't touch anything," Emily said, her tone sharp but tired.
"I'm not touching," he replied calmly. "I'm observing. Big difference."
"You were about to open my cookie jar."
"I was checking to see if you had good taste."
"I don't remember inviting you into my apartment to judge my snacks."
"You didn't," he said with a smirk. "But I stayed because you didn't ask me to leave."
She rolled her eyes and turned her head away. The warmth of the room, the soft lighting, the quiet—it all made her feel too exposed. Vulnerable. And with Xaren standing there, it felt worse. He had a way of reading her that made her uncomfortable, like he saw parts of her she didn't want noticed.
He finally moved from the kitchen, walking over to the couch and sitting at the far end. Emily kept her legs tucked under her, arms crossed now, the cushion firm between her and the rest of the world.
Xaren glanced at her but didn't speak.
For a while, neither of them did.
The silence was thick, but not heavy. It carried unspoken things—questions, thoughts, warnings.
Emily finally exhaled. "You're just going to sit there?"
"I don't want to leave yet," he said.
She didn't look at him. "You don't belong here."
"Maybe not. But right now, neither do you."
Her eyes darted toward him, narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "You're in your own home and still look like you're waiting for someone to let you breathe."
Emily blinked once, then looked away quickly.
"I'm tired," she muttered.
"Then sleep."
"I can't."
He leaned his head back against the couch, turning to face the ceiling. "Why?"
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, "Because my head doesn't shut off."
He said nothing for a moment. "I know the feeling."
"Do you?" she asked, voice quieter.
"I live in it," he said simply.
She unfolded her legs, stretching them out a little, her feet brushing the edge of the cushion. The silence returned, this time more reflective. Xaren turned his head to glance at her.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
Emily raised a brow. "What did you expect?"
"Someone louder. Wilder. Someone who fit the version of you everyone thinks they know."
She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at her lap. "Maybe I got tired of being that version."
"Good," he said. "That version wasn't real."
Her throat tightened. She didn't know why his words got to her the way they did. She didn't know why, out of everyone who had walked into her life and tried to touch her, he was the one she didn't want to push away.
Emily pulled the throw blanket over her lap and leaned her head on the arm of the couch, eyes half-lidded now.
"You talk too much," she murmured.
"And you listen too hard."
She smiled faintly.
"I still don't trust you," she said.
"I don't want your trust tonight," he replied. "Just a little honesty."
She turned her face toward him, lying on her side now, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"Fine," she said. "Here's honesty: I don't know what I'm doing. With you. With anything."
Xaren nodded once. "Then we're the same."
She looked at him, really looked this time. His jaw was sharp, his profile cast in shadows. He looked calm, but something about his stillness felt practiced. Like he was always holding something back.
"Do you always hide?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away.
"Not from people who see me," he said.
Her chest tightened again. She hated how easily he said things that touched the parts of her she'd spent years building walls around.
"You should go," she whispered, but it sounded more like a plea than a command.
"I will," he said, making no move to rise.
Emily stared at the ceiling for a long time. "Just five more minutes."
"Take ten," he said.
She closed her eyes, pulling the blanket closer. Her body ached from dancing, from walking, from pretending. But now it just ached from the presence of something unexpected. Xaren didn't touch her. Didn't move closer. But he didn't feel far, either.
"Why did you really follow me out of the club?" she asked.
He shifted slightly on the couch. "Because you looked like you needed someone to."
"I didn't ask."
"You didn't have to."
She sighed. "You make everything sound poetic."
"I'm not trying to."
She opened her eyes again, watching him.
"I don't want to fall for someone like you."
He met her gaze. "Then don't."
"But you're making it hard."
He said nothing. Just looked at her with that unreadable expression, like he was letting her say the thing neither of them was ready to admit.
Outside, a car drove past, the lights flickering against the window.
Inside, the room was warm.
Quiet.
Still.
Emily's breathing slowed, and for a moment, she forgot about everything else—about the noise, the fear, the expectations. She forgot how to build walls.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt something close to peace.
With him sitting silently across from her.
And nothing else between them but space... and maybe something more.