Victoria's pulse thundered in her ears, every heartbeat echoing like a drum of surrender. Alexander's grip on her wrist was unyielding, his heat seeping into her skin, pulling her into a storm she both feared and craved.
Cassandra's words still lingered, sharp and warning: *"You've doomed her."*
But the warning had already dissolved into embers compared to the fire burning inside her.
Alexander tilted his head, his gaze devouring her, black as midnight and twice as dangerous. "Do you know what she meant, Victoria?" he asked, his voice low, threaded with a restraint that trembled on the edge of breaking.
Victoria swallowed, her throat dry. "I… I don't know."
But she did know—deep inside. She knew Cassandra's words were chains, and Isolde's touch was poison. And yet none of it mattered when Alexander was this close, when his presence swallowed every reason, every fear.
"Lies," he whispered, drawing her closer. His breath brushed her lips, and she trembled, betraying herself.
Cassandra slammed the ledger shut, the crack of leather on wood like a thunderclap. "If you claim her tonight, Alexander, you will burn her. You'll leave nothing but ashes."
Alexander's gaze never left Victoria's. His thumb traced a line along her jaw, so gentle it felt like worship. "Perhaps…" His lips hovered a breath away from hers. "…but even ashes remember the fire."
Her knees nearly buckled. The pull between them was unbearable, dangerous—every instinct screamed to run, yet every desire begged her to stay.
Suddenly, from the doorway, Isolde's voice drifted back, mocking and soft:
"Careful, my darling Alexander. I remember your fire all too well… and I still wear its scar."
Victoria gasped, her eyes flicking to the faint line along Isolde's collarbone. The room seemed to constrict, the walls pressing in with secrets unspoken.
Alexander's hand tightened possessively at her waist, dragging her against him. His eyes burned into hers, fierce and defiant. "You are not her, Victoria. You will never be her."
But in that moment, with Isolde's shadow lingering and Cassandra's warnings hanging heavy, Victoria realized the truth—whether she resisted or surrendered, she would still burn.
And then his lips claimed hers.
The kiss was not gentle. It was hunger, raw and consuming, the kind that demanded and devoured. Victoria clung to him, her breath stolen, her body ignited. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her deeper into him, as if he could fuse her body into his own.
A gasp escaped her, half pleasure, half fear. Because she felt it—the chain Isolde had spoken of, tightening with every heartbeat.
Cassandra turned away, her voice breaking like glass. "You damn her, Alexander… and yourself."
But neither of them heard.
The chamber was flame and shadow, kiss and claw, desire so fierce it left no room for reason.
When Alexander finally tore his lips from hers, his breath was ragged, his forehead pressed against hers. "You are mine now," he whispered, voice hoarse, raw. "No shadow, no past, no ledger will change that."
But in the corner of the room, half-hidden in candlelight, Isolde lingered still, her smile a haunting promise.
"Oh, Alexander," she murmured, her eyes glinting like daggers. "You should know by now—what is claimed in shadows never truly belongs to you."
And with that, she vanished again, leaving behind only the scent of danger, the echo of old scars, and the burning kiss that tasted like fire and ashes.
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