The chamber swallowed sound. Even the fire in the wall sconces burned too quietly, shadows twitching on the stone like nervous ghosts. My breath echoed louder than it should have. It made me feel trapped, as though the room itself leaned inward to watch me fail.
And then there was him.
Ronan.
He didn't just stand in front of me, he owned the air between us. My lungs fought for space, but his presence pressed heavier than stone. I had heard the whispers—everyone had. The ruthless Alpha, merciless in battle, savage in judgment, impossible to deceive. The kind of man whose stare could gut you before his claws ever touched flesh.
Now that stare was fixed on me.
His eyes weren't only gold, they burned with an edge that caught the firelight like blades. Bright enough to dazzle, hard enough to cut. They didn't blink. They didn't soften. They just stripped me bare, peeling me down to the raw truth I didn't dare show him.
A shiver tore down my spine.
"You're trembling." His voice was deep, low, dragging like thunder across stone. Not a question, a verdict.
I tried to steady my breath, but it came uneven. My fingers curled into my palms so tightly my nails bit crescents into my skin. "I'm cold," I lied.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in amusement. His head tilted, wolf-like. "Lies."
The word was heavier than a slap.
System online, the metallic voice slid into my skull like ice water, cold and absolute. Mission One: Earn the Alpha's trust within seven days. Failure results in immediate termination. Penalty: Pain infusion.
Before I could react, white-hot fire stabbed through my arm. My knees buckled, lips parting on a sharp gasp I smothered too late. Copper filled my mouth as my teeth cut into my tongue.
Ronan's eyes narrowed. He'd seen the flicker of pain.
"Cold?" He stepped forward, the space between us vanishing too quickly. The firelight brushed across his face, across the scar that cut a pale line along his jaw. It didn't weaken him. If anything, it crowned him, proof of battles survived, scars worn like warnings.
"You should have run while you had the chance." His voice was quieter now, but not softer. Quiet the way the woods go silent before a predator strikes.
I should have run. In the original story, Ayla—the real Ayla—never did. She stayed, betrayed him, and died by his hand. And here I was, foolish enough to try to rewrite fate.
"I don't want to run." The words slipped free, breathless, reckless.
His head stilled, like a beast scenting prey. "Don't want to run?" His mouth curved into something close to a smile, cruel and cold. "That's all you've ever done."
The name cut me open—Ayla. Her sins wrapped around me like chains. His words weren't aimed at me, not the soul trapped inside her flesh, but they carved anyway.
Maybe I was done running. Maybe I had no choice.
I forced my voice steady. "Maybe I'm done."
He laughed. Short. Empty. It cracked the air like steel on stone. "And now what? You'll stay? Pretend loyalty? Plot another scheme?"
Respond correctly, the System hissed. Trust points required.
I tasted blood from biting down too hard. "Not pretend," I said. "I want to try."
Silence stretched. He didn't move, didn't blink, just studied me with the kind of scrutiny that made the air turn sharp. I felt naked, raw under it, like my bones themselves were exposed.
Finally, he spoke, voice like tempered iron. "You think I'll believe that?"
I swallowed hard. My chest ached with the truth I couldn't give him. "I don't think you believe anyone. But you're still listening."
Something shifted in his eyes, quick and fleeting—an echo of old pain. But it was gone before I could breathe it in.
The System's cold voice echoed: Suspicion level remains high. Insufficient trust gained.
Ronan turned away, cloak dragging shadows as he moved to the tall window. Night bled through the panes, heavy and endless. He stood framed against it, like a figure carved from shadow and fire.
"You were supposed to poison me tonight." His words dropped like stones into still water.
My chest locked tight. This was it—the betrayal night, the knife-edge of fate.
"I didn't."
He spun, moving faster than breath. His hand locked around my throat, hot and unyielding, pinning me against the wall before my lungs could draw in air. His grip wasn't enough to choke, not yet, but my pulse thudded against his palm, betraying me.
"Why?" His voice was a growl close to my ear, the kind that rumbled low, vibrating through my bones. His breath brushed my cheek, warm, consuming. "Why stop now?"
Mission parameter triggered, the System announced, calm as death. Choice required: Resist or submit. Both paths contain failure points.
No safe option.
My voice came out ragged, forced past the tight clutch at my throat. "Because I don't want to see you fall."
His grip stilled. For a fraction of a second, the golden blaze of his eyes flickered with confusion. Like I had spoken a language he had never heard.
He leaned closer, so close our breaths collided. My vision filled with gold, burning and merciless. "You expect me to trust you after years of betrayal?"
"I expect you to watch me." My whisper trembled, but I clung to it. "See if I prove it."
The air between us burned. His hand tightened once, sharp enough to promise bruises, then released. I staggered forward, clutching my throat, air burning down my lungs in desperate gulps.
Ronan straightened, gaze never leaving me. Every line of him was steel and shadow, carved in power.
"Seven days." His voice was law, not threat. "That's all you'll get. Fail, and you'll beg for death."
The words sank deep, colder than the System's commands.
My heart pounded, each beat a frantic warning. But beneath the fear, something darker stirred. His hand on my throat, his gaze burning through me—it hadn't been just terror that bound me in that moment.
Something else pulled, wrong and fierce.
Something I couldn't let go of.
Mission accepted, the System purred, satisfied. Timer begins now.
The torches hissed low in the silence. He turned back toward the window, his profile cut sharp against the moonlight. I pressed against the wall, heart hammering, breath unsteady.
Seven days.
Seven days to bend fate, to twist the story that had already been written in blood.
But my body still betrayed me. My pulse still carried his touch. My lungs still remembered the heat of his nearness.
And in that moment, I realized something worse than the System's threat.
I wasn't only afraid of Ronan.
I was drawn to him.