The study still smelled faintly of tobacco and old parchment, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Nerine could feel her pulse in her ears as Kael's shadow loomed over her. He had been watching her in silence for too long, those eyes—dark, unreadable, yet glimmering with some secret knowledge that made her skin prickle.
Then, as if it amused him to wait for the moment she grew most restless, he finally spoke.
"Why tell me this now, Nerine?"
Her heart stuttered. She blinked, her lips parting in shock.
"H–how did… did you… you know?!" she whispered, her words tumbling over one another. Her eyes widened, disbelief and fear written all over her face.
Kael smirked, leaning closer until his breath ghosted across her skin, sending chills racing down her spine. His presence was overwhelming—like standing too close to a storm.
"Do you really expect me," his voice dropped low, almost a purr, "not to know about my to-be bride?"
Nerine's throat tightened. She had prepared herself for many things, but not this—never this. She swallowed, forcing her trembling voice to speak.
"That's… that's cheating," she muttered, her eyes darting away from his piercing gaze. "I didn't even know who my groom was—let alone that he was a vampire—until the engagement was already sealed!"
His smirk widened, sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade. "A smart mouth, I see."
Her breath caught. Forcing courage into her tone, she lifted her chin and whispered fiercely, "Then since you know this… you should go pick up your bride, the real bride. And I am free to go, right?"
Kael's laugh was silent, nothing but a curl of lips and the faint narrowing of his eyes. He leaned back slightly, but the weight of his gaze pinned her where she stood.
"You seem to have forgotten," he said slowly, deliberately, "that we are engaged."
Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "But I am the wrong bride," she insisted, her voice gaining urgency. "It doesn't matter—as long as the name Sofia is in the papers. That's what everyone believes, isn't it? And I—I don't want to marry. Please," she added frantically, her words spilling without order, "please, you must see this for what it is. It's a mistake, a deceit I never chose."
But Kael did not soften. He turned away from her, walking back toward his chair with the quiet grace of a predator who had decided not to strike—yet. His voice was smooth, almost dismissive.
"It is not a problem," he said. "You are forgiven. And I will still marry you."
Nerine's heart dropped to the floor. Forgiven? Married? That was the opposite of what she wanted. She hurried after him, nearly tripping over her own skirts as she reached the table, leaning forward with desperate eyes.
"You shouldn't forgive deceit!" she cried. "This should go before the council—we should make the truth known, adjust the records, undo this before it's too late!"
Kael's fingers, poised over the armrest of his chair, curled. Slowly, he raised his head. His aura shifted, cold as ice, oppressive as a winter storm rolling in over the mountains.
He was getting irritated by her rejection.
"Sure," he said, his voice a frozen blade. "We can go to the council. And when I stand before them, I will be sure to ask that your family—and every loved one of yours—be eliminated to appease me. What do you think about that, little bride? Would you be satisfied then?"
Nerine's lips parted, but no words came. The air was heavy, suffocating, as though she had been plunged into dark water. She forced herself to take a deep breath, the sound trembling in her throat.
"You're threatening me," she whispered.
Kael's eyes narrowed, amused but dangerous. "Not a threat," he said. "A situation I can create. I am known for trouble, after all." He tilted his head slightly. "And you already know of my reputation."
Nerine shook her head rapidly. "I didn't know," she confessed. "Not until after the engagement. Before that… I didn't even know you existed."
Her gaze flicked up, catching his for a fleeting second before dropping again " I only just found out that… you are a stubborn, troublesome boy or man ..... whatever it is," she murmured under her breath, forgetting in her panic that a vampire's hearing missed nothing.
Kael froze. His jaw tightened. Slowly, dangerously, he leaned forward. "What did you just say?"
Her eyes widened, realizing too late what had slipped past her lips. She laughed nervously, waving her hands as though shooing away a stray bird. "Ah—no, no, I wasn't talking about you. Not at all." She reached out instinctively, placing her hands before him, palms out, as though coaxing a wild creature. "Look, I'll marry you, alright? See?" She took a deep exaggerated breath in, then out, demonstrating as though calming a child. "In and out. You need to relax."
Kael's expression darkened further, but before he could reply, Nerine darted for the door, her skirts swishing as she escaped.
Later, in the quiet of her chamber, Nerine sank into the steaming bath. The scent of lemon juice filled the room as she poured it into her hair, working it through the dark strands. She tilted her head back, letting the warmth wash over her skin, her eyes fluttering shut.
But the memory of Kael's words in the study room refused to leave her. His smirk, his cold threats, the way his voice wrapped around her like a snare.
She frowned, dipping deeper into the water, wishing it could drown out the sound of his voice in her head. Why had he said that? Why insist on marrying her, even after she had told him the truth?
And then, like a spark lighting in the dark, an idea struck. Her lips curled slowly into a smirk.
Of course. She had already confessed everything—her true name, her wrong place in this arrangement. If Kael insisted on ignoring it, then surely, eventually, he would send her away himself. And when he did, no one could accuse her of deceit.
Relief loosened the knot in her chest. Nerine sank back against the tub, the lemon-scented water lapping at her shoulders. She smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in weeks. She was not powerless. She could make this work.
When she rose from the bath and stood before the mirror, droplets sliding down her pale skin, she paused. Her reflection stared back, and she gasped softly. The strands of her hair—once disguised by dyes and false shades—had begun to show their truth. White, pure as snow, threaded through with faint traces of black.
Nerine reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the mirror. "I'm back," she whispered.
A fierce smile spread across her lips. She was back—Nerine, not Sofia. The girl who had been silenced, hidden, forced into shadows.
Her hand rose to the ruby at her neck, and she gripped it tightly. "I'll make you pay," she vowed, thinking of her stepmother. "For everything. I promise, Mother."
A knock startled her from her thoughts. Clara stepped inside, only to freeze at the sight before her.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a sharp scream.
Nerine jumped, nearly dropping her towel. "What—what is it?!"
Clara's hand flew to her mouth. "Your… your hair!"
Nerine turned toward the mirror again, then back at Clara, and gave a small, amused laugh. "Oh, that?" She waved a dismissive hand. "It's just my hair."
Clara blinked rapidly, trying to process. "But… but it wasn't—it wasn't like this before!"
"Well," Nerine said lightly, smoothing her damp strands with her fingers, "hair has a way of causing a ruckus, doesn't it?"
Before Clara could respond, a knock came again. The butler's voice carried through the door.
"Lady Sofia? Is everything alright? I heard a scream."
Nerine cast Clara a quick glance and raised her voice. "Everything is fine. Perfect, in fact!"
Clara hesitated, then moved to help her into her dress. Nerine's smile lingered as she studied her reflection one last time. The white hair glimmered under the morning light.
When she entered the breakfast hall with Clara, Penelope's sharp eyes immediately noticed.
Her brows furrowed. "Your hair… it's changed?"
Nerine forced a small laugh. "Yes. This is its true color. Do you like it?"
To her surprise, Penelope's frown softened, and a curious smile touched her lips. "It suits you," she said, leaning forward as though fascinated. "Tell me more about it later."
Nerine nodded, relief softening her chest. But when the butler stepped in to announce that Lord Kael would not be joining them for breakfast, her hand paused midway to her cup.
Her chest sank, just a little.
Why should she be disappointed? She reminded herself sharply—no, she should be glad. His absence meant freedom, meant peace, meant breathing room.
And yet, as she lowered her gaze to the meal before her, she could not shake the hollow ache pressing against her ribs.