Aresha
The guest chamber was luxurious, as expected of a man like Darius Vale—every detail calculated, not for comfort but for control. The velvet drapes were too heavy, muffling sound. The windows overlooked the city like a watchtower. Even the faint scent of cedarwood in the air felt intentional, designed to soothe, to lower defenses.
Aresha sat at the edge of the bed, still dressed, the glass of wine she had brought from the dining hall untouched in her hand. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror across the room—silver hair spilling like molten metal, eyes shadowed with thoughts she would not speak aloud.
She had felt him watching her all night. Not the hungry gaze of men she despised, not the worship she had always commanded, but something colder. Something deliberate.
He knows.
Not what. Not how much. But he was circling her like a predator that already smelled blood.
Her fingers brushed against the faint burn on her wrist, hidden beneath silk. The mark of the phoenix-dragon seal, the chain holding back the poison of her childhood. It pulsed once, faintly, as if mocking her unease.
She whispered to herself, "Control, Aresha. You are the storm, not the prey."
Yet even as she said it, she thought of the twins—Draven's gaze dissecting her secrets, Saleena's laughter tugging at a part of her heart she had long declared dead.
Damn them. Damn him. Damn this entire fragile thread that tied her to a man who saw too much.
Darius
On the other side of the estate, the study glowed dimly with the light of multiple screens. Darius sat before them in silence, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin.
The feed from the dining hall replayed across one screen—Aresha's posture, every flick of her gaze, every pause in her speech catalogued with the precision of a machine. He rewound the moment Draven spoke of "heavy things." He zoomed in on Aresha's stillness, the half-second tremor in her pulse at her throat.
A second screen displayed confidential reports:
Nine Cloud Abyssal – rumored maritime syndicate.
Nine Peaks – untraceable power structure.
The Silver Woman—a ghost whispered across continents, a phantom pulling strings.
Every thread led back to her.
Darius's lips curved faintly, though it was not amusement. "You've hidden well, Aresha Lilith Silas."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. He had already traced fragments of DNA sequences—stolen from glassware she had touched, compared against confidential databases. What the results suggested was impossible.
And yet, here she was. Breathing. Alive.
He could have confronted her already. Thrown the evidence on the table, demanded truth. But something colder kept him patient.
Control.
Let her circle closer. Let her believe she still held her secrets. The more she thought she had power, the deeper she would step into his cage.
Still, as he watched her frozen frame on the screen, sipping wine without tasting it, something twisted in his chest. She was beautiful in her silence, in her unbroken walls. A woman born of fire and venom, yet still—fragile in ways she did not admit.
He forced the thought away, his voice low, more to himself than the empty room.
"You're dangerous. But I can't let you go."
Aresha
Hours later, unable to sleep, she walked to the window. The city sprawled beneath her like a beast of glass and steel, indifferent and endless.
Her reflection merged with the night sky—silver hair, cold eyes, and something softer beneath that she despised seeing.
She hated this feeling. The sense of being cornered, of walls tightening invisibly. It reminded her too much of the laboratory, of Vivian's cold eyes, of the moment she realized her blood was nothing but a tool.
But this was not her mother. This was a man. And worse, a man who stirred something deeper than hatred.
Her fingers brushed against the windowpane, and she exhaled slowly.
Stay detached. Stay in control.
But she could still feel his eyes on her, even in the empty room.