The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing golden light across the dark stone walls of the study. Luciano stood with his back to her, a glass of something amber in his hand, staring out the tall windows into the rain that had returned.
Amethyst sat curled on the leather sofa, half-wrapped in a blanket, watching him like he was a storm she still couldn't predict.
He hadn't touched her since the nursery.
Not since the almost-kiss that said too much without saying a word.
But he looked at her differently now.
Like he was letting himself want her out loud.
And that was far more dangerous than anything he could ever say.
"I need to leave," she said quietly, for the hundredth time in her head.
Luciano turned then, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
"You're not a prisoner," he said. "You walk out that door, no one will stop you."
Her heart skipped. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "But if you leave… you'll never be safe again. And you'll never see me again."
He said it like a fact. Not a threat.
And somehow, that made it worse.
She stood slowly, facing him. "Then what do you want from me, Luciano? You've kept me here like I'm glass. You kissed me like I'm fire. But you won't tell me what I am to you."
He stepped forward.
One slow, deliberate step.
And another.
Until they were standing chest to chest, breath to breath.
"I want permanence," he said. "I want control."
"Of me?" she asked, throat tight.
"Of us."
Her brows drew together. "What are you talking about?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled something small, silver, and impossibly delicate.
A ring.
Not flashy. Not gaudy. Just sharp, elegant, and cold — like him.
"I want to marry you."
Amethyst stared, stunned. "What?"
"Make it official," he said, voice low. "No more hiding. No more pretending you're just a debt."
"That's what I was," she snapped, stepping back. "A transaction. A pawn."
"You were," he said, not denying it. "And that was my first mistake."
Silence pulsed between them.
"I don't love you," she whispered.
"Not yet," he said softly. "But you will."
Her heart thundered in her chest.
"You can't just decide that."
"I don't make decisions," he murmured, stepping closer again. "I make realities."
His fingers found hers, slow and careful.
"You want control," she said. "But marriage isn't control. It's surrender."
Luciano's mouth curled, just slightly. "Then surrender to me."
She should have run.
Should have screamed.
But instead…
She looked down at the ring — silver, sharp, beautiful — and her reflection in it. Not the girl who was sold. Not the girl who was afraid.
But someone else.
Someone choosing her fate, even if it looked like a cage to anyone else.
Her voice was a whisper.
"And if I say no?"
"I'll wait," he said. "But not forever."
Then, gently, he pressed the ring into her hand… and walked away.
Leaving her alone with the storm inside her — and a choice she wasn't ready to make.