CHAPTER 73
Isabella stood rooted to the spot, her mind a chaotic storm of logic and instinct tearing against one another like opposing tides beneath a blood-tinted moon.
Come to me.
The command—if it could even be called that—was softer than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a mountain settling onto her ribs. It wasn't force.
It wasn't coercion. It was invitation threaded with inevitability. Isabella's gaze drifted slowly across the room.
The tray of cold, untouched human food Clara had brought sat abandoned on the small table, the steam long gone, the scent faint and dull.
Beside it, the empty crystal cup Lucian had left behind rested like a quiet accusation. Her life here had become a series of carefully measured transactions—blood for breath, obedience for protection, silence for survival.
Nothing freely given. Nothing freely chosen. And yet… the smoke beyond the glass did not speak in contracts. It did not speak of bargains or kingdoms or duties carved in iron.
