The air in the room shifted. The silence was so heavy it felt alive. Isabella's pulse pounded in her ears, loud and uneven, matching the frantic rise and fall of her chest. Her hands were trembling—partly from fear, partly from the anger boiling beneath it.
Her voice cracked through the quiet like a whip. "What did you do to me?"
Cyrus froze. He had never seen her like this—eyes wide, pupils trembling, every inch of her body bristling with confusion and fury. His brows furrowed, his tone soft, cautious. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't—" She cut him off, her voice shaking. "Don't play dumb with me."
She took a shaky step back, glaring at him like he was some wild animal she couldn't decide whether to fight or flee from. "You bit me," she said, her words barely above a whisper at first, but they grew louder, sharper. "You bit me on my neck. Did you—did you mark me?"
Her throat went dry. The question hung between them like a curse.
