The morning light had no mercy.
Adrian opened his eyes and felt the weight of it first—the dull heaviness in his chest, the memory of last night pressing down harder than any hangover. His shirt was half off, his body still carrying the scent of Selene's perfume, though the bed beside him was empty. She'd slipped away sometime before dawn.
He sat up slowly. His head throbbed, not from wine, but from thought. The library. Selene's lips. Liora's smile at the door. He could still hear her voice: Perhaps we should share our secrets more openly.
The words lingered, poisonous, thrilling.
He washed, dressed, tried to steady himself before leaving his room. The hallways were quieter in the morning. The house seemed innocent again, but Adrian knew better now. The estate wasn't a home—it was a stage, and last night, he had played his part too well.
The dining room buzzed with low chatter when he entered. The women were already there. The long table gleamed with silver trays, bowls of fruit, steaming bread. The air smelled of honey and citrus, bright enough to mask the undercurrent of tension.
Selene sat two seats down. She didn't look at him at first, but her fingers tapped lightly against her cup. A rhythm only he would recognize. A secret knock.
Across from her, Liora did look at him. Her gaze lingered, steady, almost daring him to flinch. She was smiling again, but it wasn't warmth—it was possession. Like she knew something about him that he wished she didn't.
Adrian forced a polite greeting to the table. His voice cracked once, too sharp in the silence, and a few heads turned. He took a seat, trying not to let his hands shake.
Conversation resumed. Idle chatter about the garden, the roses, the evening's entertainment. But beneath it all, Adrian could feel the invisible threads tugging. Selene brushing her hand against the edge of her plate—his eyes catching the movement. Liora leaning slightly forward, her lips curved in quiet amusement whenever she noticed. The game hadn't ended in the library. It had only shifted.
"Did you sleep well?" one of the women asked him—Mariel, her hair braided with pearls.
"Well enough," Adrian answered, though his throat was dry.
Selene glanced at him then, just for a heartbeat. He caught it. So did Liora.
The table felt like a battlefield. He was outnumbered, outmaneuvered. Every word, every glance, was a weapon. He wondered how the others didn't see it—how they could laugh and gossip while a war was quietly burning under the surface.
A hand brushed his knee. He stiffened. Selene, pretending to reach for a fallen napkin, her fingers pressing for just a second too long. His pulse jumped. He darted a glance at her, but she had already straightened, her face composed, eyes fixed on her cup.
Liora's voice cut the air. "You look tired, Adrian."
He froze. The table went quieter. Her tone wasn't mocking—it was knowing. She tilted her head, studying him as if she'd been the one to wake beside him.
"I suppose the estate can be overwhelming at first," she continued, swirling her wine lazily though it was barely past morning. "So many… temptations."
A few women giggled at that, not sensing the knife hidden in her words.
Selene's hand clenched around her spoon. Her jaw tightened. Adrian saw it and hated himself for noticing, for feeling a flicker of guilt he couldn't name.
"I'll manage," he said, more sharply than he intended. His voice cracked again, and the words rang too loud in the room.
Liora only smiled, slow and satisfied.
The rest of breakfast blurred. He ate little, drank less. Every sound seemed magnified—the scrape of silver, the echo of laughter, the occasional rustle of skirts. He kept catching Selene's eyes, each glance a spark. He kept feeling Liora's gaze, each one a chain tightening around his throat.
When it was over, he escaped into the hall. His breath came ragged, as if he'd been running.
But he hadn't run. He couldn't.
The house wouldn't let him.
And maybe—if he was honest with himself—he didn't want to.