The clock struck midnight. Shadows stretched long across the cold marble floor of the mansion, where silence was more than an absence of sound—it was a warning.
Nora moved through the corridor like a whisper, barefoot and wrapped in one of Zayan's dark silk shirts that clung to her frame. Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from anticipation. She wasn't supposed to be here—not this late, not this close to him.
Zayan was waiting.
He stood by the tall window in his study, the moonlight etching silver across his sharp features. He didn't turn when she entered, but she knew he'd sensed her. He always did.
"You shouldn't be here, Nora." His voice was low, dangerous.
"I couldn't sleep."
He turned, slowly. His eyes locked on hers—black, bottomless, unreadable. "Liar," he said.
She didn't deny it.
Nora took a step forward, then another. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
He didn't.
She stopped just in front of him. "You told me once," she whispered, "that you don't feel anything. That your heart was buried long ago."
Zayan's jaw clenched. "It was."
"Then why do you look at me like that?"
His hand moved before she could think—rough fingers tilting her chin up. The tension between them sparked like lightning in a storm. For a moment, he just stared, as if memorizing the curve of her lips, the defiance in her gaze.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't soft.
It was claiming.
A war between sin and salvation, between a devil who never learned to love and a maid who never learned to run. Nora melted against him, her fingers digging into his shirt, needing more, needing him.
When he pulled back, his voice was raw.
"This is dangerous."
"I know," she breathed.
"I can destroy you."
"I'm already ruined," she whispered. "But I'd rather burn with you than freeze without you."
For a moment, the devil hesitated. But then he leaned close, his lips grazing her ear.
"Then let's burn, little maid."