Selene told herself she should be happy.
Adrian had said yes.
He walked her home every day now, carried her books without complaint, and sometimes—when he thought no one was watching—his fingers brushed hers and lingered.
On paper, it was everything she had begged for.
And yet…
Their first "date" was nothing more than sitting on a park bench, sharing cheap drinks from the corner store. Adrian talked about sports, about classmates, about exams. Selene nodded, laughed at the right moments, even leaned against his shoulder when the sun dipped low.
But inside, something gnawed at her.
This was love? This easy, shallow sweetness? Where was the thunder she had longed for, the fire that burned until it consumed?
She closed her eyes, resting her head against him, pretending. Pretending this was enough. Pretending this was the future she had traded her soul for.
And then—
"Selene."
Her eyes flew open. Adrian hadn't spoken. His head was tilted back, eyes closed. The voice had come from elsewhere—low, velvet, dripping with mockery.
The air had shifted, colder, thicker. The shadows beneath the park trees stretched too long, too deep.
She sat bolt upright, pulse racing.
Adrian stirred. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just thought I heard… something."
But she knew. She knew.
That night, when she returned home, her reflection in the mirror didn't match. Her own face stared back, yes—but behind her eyes, for the briefest instant, crimson burned.
And a whisper followed her into sleep.
"You can dress it in rose petals, little bride. You can call it love. But you know emptiness when you taste it. And when the hollow boy fails you… you will crawl back to me."
Selene pressed her hands to her ears, curled beneath her blanket, heart hammering.
"No," she whispered into the dark. "No, I won't. I won't."
But even as she said it, she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—Veythar, or herself.
Selene buried her face in the pillow, forcing her eyes shut. If I don't look, if I don't listen, he can't reach me.
But sleep betrayed her.
The darkness shifted, peeling away the safety of her room. She stood again in the cathedral, the smell of burning roses thick in the air. Veythar waited at the altar, his silhouette haloed in firelight.
He did not touch her—he didn't need to. His presence pressed against her skin, as intimate as a hand sliding down her spine.
"You tremble so sweetly, bride," he murmured. "Does he see it? The cracks in your smile, the longing that gnaws at you? Or is he too blind, too mortal, to taste what you crave?"
"Stop," Selene whispered, though her voice carried no strength. "You said—you said I could have this. That I could be free."
Veythar's laughter was soft, dangerous. "Free? I gave you time, not escape. You run through the garden, clutching borrowed blossoms, while your roots remain bound to me. You cannot cut what is part of you."
The cathedral floor gave way beneath her, a chasm yawning wide. Selene fell, air rushing past her, until—
"Selene?"
Her eyes flew open. Adrian's voice, close. Real.
She jolted upright. Morning light streamed through the curtains, golden and ordinary. Adrian stood outside her window, balancing on the garden fence with a grin that was far too easy for her storm-filled heart.
"You're still in bed? Lazy." He tapped the glass. "Come on, I'll walk you today."
Selene pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound. The shadows clung to her still, whispering in memory. And yet—when Adrian smiled like that, when he stretched out his hand to her through the window—she wanted to believe in him. In this fragile, imperfect love.
She forced herself to smile back, opening the window. "Just give me five minutes."
Adrian laughed. "I'll time you."
As he hopped down, Selene closed the curtains, leaning against the wall. For a moment, her reflection caught in the glass pane—a fleeting shimmer of crimson eyes staring back before dissolving into her own.
Her hands shook.
Even in daylight, Veythar was bleeding through.
And somewhere in her chest, buried deep beneath the frantic beat of her heart, a whisper stirred:
What if… he was right?