The dining hall was too large for two people.
Aurelia sat at one end of the long table, Calvus at the other, the distance between them feeling less like furniture and more like a battlefield. The servants had set out steaming plates and then vanished, leaving only silence behind.
Aurelia hadn't touched her food.
She just stared—unblinking, rigid, watching every move Calvus made.
Calvus finally lifted his eyes.
The tension in the room thickened instantly.
He swallowed slowly, feeling the weight of her gaze drag across his skin. His fingers tightened around the goblet in his hand. He could pretend to ignore it… but her stare was too direct, too accusing, too unsettling.
"Flavia," he muttered, voice rough from alcohol and exhaustion, "if you keep looking at me like that…"
He leaned back in his chair, expression darkening.
"…you'll make me think you want something."
Aurelia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She didn't even shift in her seat.
Calvus's jaw flexed.
He hated that he could still feel her eyes on him, even from across the table. He hated even more the truth pulsing under his skin—every part of him wanted to get up, cross that impossible distance, and drag her close.
No words were spoken, but the air had already changed.
Calvus's gaze traced down her face, her shoulders, the way her hands tightened in her lap. It was wrong—he knew it, hated it—but that didn't stop the hunger knotting in his stomach.
They were alone.
Too alone.
And his thoughts were traveling to places they had no right to go.
Aurelia finally spoke, voice icy enough to slice through the thick, heated tension between them:
"Stop staring at me."
Calvus's head lifted slowly.
His lips curved—not a smile, not quite a threat—something twisted in between.
"Then stop staring first."
Aurelia's heartbeat kicked hard. "How did you know my name is Aurelia?"
Calvus didn't answer.
His brown eyes looking straight at hers.
He shoveled more food into his mouth, chewing like he didn't hear her—or like he didn't want to. His coffee brown eyes stayed low, but even through the haze of drunkenness, she could feel him watching her. Waiting.
That made her angrier.
Aurelia pushed back her chair so hard it scraped sharply across the floor. She stormed toward him, fists clenched, movements tight with fury.
"Why do I think it's you and Tenebrarum that paid Marcus to kill my father?"
Her voice shook—not with fear—but with rage.
Marcus.
Was it a coincidence… or something else?
Calvus froze, the name hitting him so hard he almost dropped the cup in his hand.
He knew that name.
He knew it too well.
But he was too drunk to remember.
Calvus froze halfway through lifting another spoonful.
His jaw tightened. Not with guilt. With warning.
"I told you," he muttered, voice thick, slurred, "to stay away from me."
He stood—too fast. The chair nearly toppled.
He stumbled backward, instincts tangled with drunken panic.
"If I hurt you…" he growled under his breath, "…it won't be my fault."
Aurelia stepped closer anyway.
Calvus backed up.
Then—abruptly—he climbed onto the chair, unsteady hands gripping the top of it as he perched there like some half-wild creature trying to keep distance between them.
He pulled his legs tight against his chest, curling himself into a ball, trying desperately to stop his own drunken impulses from dragging him toward her.
"I said stay away," he muttered again, chest rising and falling too fast, the alcohol making him unpredictable. "I'm not… in the right state to be anywhere near you."
Aurelia's eyes narrowed, scanning him from head to toe.
Something about Calvus felt… wrong. He looked too human. Too much like Gaius.
The way he moved, the way his shoulders slumped even under the weight of urgency, it didn't fit the man she had expected — or feared.
A shiver ran down her spine. I'm sure this is Gaius. I know my brother too well.
Without another word, she seized a plate of rice and walked away. This time, the house was silent, almost reverent, and she moved with a quiet confidence. She did exactly as she wanted—no one to stop her, no Tenebrarum hovering to enforce rules upon endless rules.
Still, the villa felt wrong. Every corner whispered the echoes of old fears, twisted memories clawing at her mind.
The death of Felicia, her virginity, every thing he did to her.
She hated the place, hated what it had become, and hated how easily it reminded her of everything she had lost.
She didn't wait for time.
The moment she stepped out of that suffocating dining room, the decision hardened in her chest like iron.
She had to find a way to kill Tenebrarum.
Every memory of his touch, his voice, his control—every corner of the villa that whispered of him—fueled her. The hallways felt quieter now, too quiet, as if the house itself knew what she was planning and dared her to continue.
She would.
She had no intention of stopping.
Most of the estate was made of silver, cold and gleaming—mocking her with how easy it should've been. All she needed was a shard, a sliver, something small enough to hide yet sharp enough to matter.
"Where would I even hide this?" Aurelia whispered under her breath, scraping silver from the wall. Her fingers trembled—not from fear, but from the rush of finally doing something dangerous on her own terms.
Her eyes darted around the room, scanning every corner, every shadow.
"Where will these monsters not go?"
The villa was filled with eyes—servants, guards, shadows that seemed to move on their own. Tenebrarum might not be here, but his presence clung to every corner like smoke. Even her breath felt watched.
If she kept anything on her body, they would find it.
If she hid it in her room, they would search.
If she buried it, she might never reach it again.
But unknown to her, the villa was no longer the place she thought it was.
Tenebrarum wasn't returning.
The King had summoned him to the palace to stay—permanently. A new life, a new title, a new throne. Which meant Aurelia's time in this silver‑coated prison was nearly over. She would be moved soon, taken elsewhere, shifted like a piece on someone else's board.
She didn't know any of that.
She pressed her hand to the cold wall, still planning, still imagining how to hide what she hadn't even stolen yet. Her breaths came sharp, fueled by fear and determination, building strategies that would never be needed here.
Because this villa, with all its shadows and memories, would no longer hold her.
She had less time than she thought.
And every plan she made was already falling apart.
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To be continued...