The knights moved closer, voices echoing down the hall, but when they reached the corridor, there was nothing. The sconces flared to life again as though nothing had happened.
In that same breath, Umbrose's shadows curled and twisted—then the world shifted.
Abigel and Aria reappeared within the greenhouse, hidden in its glass walls and lush greenery. The night air was cooler here, carrying the soft scent of roses. This was no ordinary garden—it was the sanctuary Queen Alexandra had once tended with her own hands, a place Liam fiercely guarded as a memory of his mother.
The silence was thick, broken only by their uneven breathing. They were so close that every exhale mingled between them, loud enough to betray how shaken they were.
Aria finally stepped back, breaking the heat of his presence. The loss hit Abigel like a blade—his chest hollowing at the sudden distance.
"It was close," she whispered, steadying herself.
Abigel didn't answer. His gaze was still fixed on her, the moment replaying in his mind—her lips, the warmth of her body, the word yes whispered in the dark.
"We should go back," Aria said, turning to leave, her braid swaying with the movement.
But she didn't get far. Abigel's boots whispered against the floor as he closed the distance again, a predator stalking what he'd already claimed. His eyes locked on hers, dark and dangerous—but to her, there was no fear in them, only hunger, only her.
He stopped just short of touching her, his voice low.
"Why do you run when you've already admitted the truth?"
Abigel's words hung between them, thick as the scent of roses.
Aria's breath caught—her heart was betraying her, racing far too loud in the quiet glasshouse.
"I…" she tried to speak, but the rest was stolen the moment he leaned in, closing that last sliver of space. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her in before she could retreat. His mouth found hers, rough and desperate, like a man starved.
Aria gasped, her hands pressed against his chest as if to push him away—yet they curled into his uniform instead, gripping tight. The heat of him, the force of him, was overwhelming. And still, she kissed him back, matching his fire with her own.
Abigel deepened the kiss, pressing her into the cool glass wall of the greenhouse, roses brushing against her shoulder. The world outside no longer mattered—the music, the nobles, the rules. All that existed was her.
When he finally broke for air, their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths ragged.
"You drive me mad, Aria," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Do you even know what you've done to me?"
She lifted her gaze to him, decision blazing in her eyes.
"Take them off." Her voice trembled with a desperate command.
In moments, silk and linen spilled to the floor, baring them to one another. Abigel swallowed hard, his throat tight as he drank in the sight of her flushed skin. Her face burned crimson, but she didn't look away.
He closed the distance, capturing her mouth with his. His hand slid lower, fingers teasing, testing, until her breath broke into gasps. His lips brushed her ear, teeth grazing her lobe as his other hand caressed her breast, coaxing a shiver through her body.
Her arms locked around his neck, pulling him closer. A moan escaped her lips, raw and helpless, filling the space between them. Her body arched against his touch, nails clawing at his back as waves of pleasure broke over her.
"Abigel…" she cried, his name a plea, a confession.
He bit down gently at the curve of her neck, his voice low, promising, dangerous.
"It's not over yet."
His hands clamped her waist, pushing her to the desk as if she weighed nothing. He slid her back across the polished wood, forcing her bare skin to meet its cool, unyielding surface. She shivered, not from cold, but from the way his gaze devoured her as though she were prey laid bare for him alone.
His mouth trailed lower, worship and torment in every kiss—lingering over the swell of her breasts, tracing fire along the hollow of her stomach, biting gently at the sharp curve of her hip. By the time he dropped to his knees before her, her body trembled, her thighs tightening together in instinctive need.
Abigel pushed them apart with firm, unyielding hands, claiming the space between them. His dark eyes lifted to hers, silent, demanding. Not a plea, not a question—an order waiting to be obeyed.
Her lips parted, the word torn from her like surrender.
"Please…"
A dangerous smile ghosted his lips as he lowered his head. His kiss pressed against her inner thigh first, slow, deliberate, a promise of ruin. Then he slid closer, tasting her, teasing her until her body writhed helplessly against the desk. Her fists curled at the edges, knuckles white, her lip bitten until she tasted the copper sting of blood.
"Say my name," Abigel growled, his voice vibrating against her.
"Abigel… please—" Her moan broke, pleading, desperate.
That was all the permission he needed. He rose over her in one smooth motion, his kisses leaving a trail of fire as he ascended her body. And then, without hesitation, he drove himself inside her, a sharp invasion that tore a gasp from her throat.
"ahhhhh…"
Her head snapped back, lips parting in a soundless cry as he set a brutal rhythm, burying himself deeper, harder, until her body clamped around him. His mouth found her neck, biting and kissing in turns, marking her throat, her shoulders, her collarbone, leaving proof she belonged to him.
Her arms wound tight around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair as though clinging to the very storm breaking her apart. He felt every tremor in her body, every whimper caught in her throat as she shattered against him, pulsing and clenching in a wave that threatened to drag him under.
But he didn't stop. His grip bruised her hips, his thrusts driving her into the desk until the wood groaned beneath them. Only when her cries became ragged, pleading, did he bury his face in her shoulder, his release tearing through him, muffled against her skin.
Their bodies collapsed together, slick with heat and sweat. Her pulse thundered beneath his lips as he pressed a final, lingering kiss to her cheek. Slowly, he withdrew, though his touch never left her, as if he couldn't bear to let her go.
Her hair spilled around her face in wild tangles, lips swollen from his kiss, cheeks flushed a fevered pink. She was ruined, beautiful, radiant—and it took every shred of his will not to drag her to the floor and take her all over again.