The water was scalding.
Steam blurred the edges of the marble tiles, fogged the mirror, hissed through the silence like a warning she couldn't decipher. Celina stood beneath the spray, unmoving at first—then slowly, violently, she scrubbed.
Her hands, still gloved in leather minutes ago, now clawed at her skin with a rough bristle sponge. She scrubbed her arms, her thighs, her collarbone—anywhere he'd touched. Anywhere he might've breathed too close. The skin turned red. Then pink. Then blotched and raw.
She didn't stop.
Water ran down in rivulets, swirling pink at her feet.
Rafael's breath against her ear. His hand on her wrist. The weight of him, burning.
"No," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to be like that. Not like this."
But her body remembered. That was the problem.
She scrubbed harder.
Tears blurred her vision now. The steam mixed with them, until she didn't know where one ended and the other began. She bit down on a sob, biting her lip until it bled. She wanted to erase everything—his voice, his scent, the heat, her own reaction.
After she was done, she stood half-dressed before the mirror. Her hair dripped steadily down her back, leaving wet trails on her bare skin. A towel clung precariously to her hips, damp and heavy, threatening to slip with every breath.
She stared at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror looked… wrong. Faint bruises on her shoulder. A red patch near her collarbone. Her eyes were hollowed, tired, swollen from crying she never remembered doing. There was a shadow in her face she didn't recognize—a silence behind her eyes that hadn't been there before.
What now?
She could go to her father. Tell him everything. Blame Cassia. Watch her sister burn for it.
But the thought of explaining, of putting words to what had happened, made her stomach twist. What words could she even use? What had even happened?
If she spoke, she ruined everything. Their family. The structure. The control.
But staying silent?
It might ruin her more.
Her jaw clenched.
It's all Cassia's fault.
She stormed out of her room, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor, towel forgotten on the floor behind her. Every step was a pulse of rage, of fire building beneath her skin. She didn't know where Cassia was, but she would find her.
And she found her in the study.
Glass of wine in hand. Legs curled over the edge of the chaise. A soft instrumental playing from the corner speaker. She looked like a queen enjoying a private joke, as though nothing in the world could touch her.
Celina stepped inside. Didn't bother to sit.
"What did you give him?"
Cassia looked up, feigning surprise. "Who?"
"Rafael." Her voice sharpened. "Don't play with me. What did you do to him?"
A pause. Cassia's eyes flicked over Celina slowly—up and down—like she was amused by her disheveled state. Her lips curled.
"Did something happen?" she asked, almost laughing, tilting her head with mock concern. The way she looked at her made Celina feel small. Ridiculous.
Anger flared behind her ribs.
"Why did you drug him?" Her chest tightened, breath shallow. She knew Cassia had never been warm to her, but this? This was something else. Something colder. She couldn't believe her sister would put her in danger like that.
"Why would I drug him?" Cassia said with mock innocence. "He's already a caged animal. I just wanted to see if he'd growl."
Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her glass, her smile sharp as broken glass.
Celina's hands curled into fists.
Cassia tilted her head, smiling. "Funny though… he only acted up when you were there. Makes you wonder what you did to him."
Celina stepped forward. Inches from her.
Cassia didn't move.
"Careful," she said, voice like a blade. "You're shaking. Is it because you're scared of me or because you liked it?"
Celina's palm twitched.
She wanted to slap her.
God, she wanted to.
But she turned. And walked out.
The sound of Cassia's laugh followed her down the hall.
It echoed in her bones.
The room was dark. Too dark.
Celina curled under the blanket but found no comfort. The silence rang in her ears.
She could still hear him.
Could still feel him.
Not his hands. His voice.
That voice, low, rasping, wrong. Whispering please like it meant nothing. Like she was the one who brought it on.
She turned on her side and shook.
It wasn't fear of Rafael.
It was fear of what had awakened in her.
Of how close she'd come to something she didn't understand.
What her sister had done. What she had felt. Even for a second.
Cassia had caged a man.
But she had broken something else.
Something inside me.
And I didn't even know how to put it back together.