Azrael didn't loosen his grip. He held her like she was something fragile and irreplaceable, something that could shatter if he exhaled too hard. His face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin like he needed it more than air. He didn't kiss her. He didn't try to. There was something holy in the way they just stood there — still, bruised, but together.
Isabella's fingers slowly curled into the back of his shirt, her body trembling as the weight of the past days finally broke through. Tears, hot and silent, slid down her cheeks. Not because she was weak. But because she had been holding herself together for too long.
He felt it. He felt every sob that shook her. Every breath she sucked through clenched teeth. And he didn't say a word. He just held her tighter, grounding her with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were swollen, but her gaze was clearer. She looked at him — really looked — and saw not just the man who had hurt her, but the one who had stayed. The one who had come back.
"I need time," she said, voice raw.
He nodded. "I'll wait. As long as it takes."
She stepped away from his arms, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Did you eat?"
He blinked, surprised. "No."
She sniffed and turned toward the kitchen. "Then sit down."
Azrael obeyed without argument. He sat on the stool by the counter, watching her move about the kitchen. She didn't speak much, didn't glance at him often, but there was something in her movements — something gentle, something resigned. She pulled out ingredients with calm precision, her fingers slightly trembling when they brushed over the edge of a pan.
She fried eggs. Toasted bread. Poured orange juice into two glasses. She didn't do it because she had to. She did it because she wanted to take control of something — anything — in the chaos.
Azrael couldn't stop staring. Her back. Her profile. The tired strength she wore like armor.
When she placed the plate in front of him, he whispered, "Thank you."
She didn't respond. She picked at her own food with distracted fingers, eating in silence. The kind of silence that wasn't cold. Just thoughtful.
Halfway through the meal, he spoke again. "I never told you her name."
Isabella looked up.
"The woman at the party. Her name's Callista. She's… she was once promised to me, years ago. A political match my father pushed for. She vanished from the country. But she came back, and clearly, she still believes there's something between us."
"And is there?" Isabella asked, voice flat.
"No." He met her gaze. "There never was. My father liked her. I didn't. He saw her as a good match, someone who could help us rise further in power. I never saw her as anything more than a tool. I didn't even kiss her when we were younger. Not once. I didn't want to."
Isabella stirred her juice with the tip of her straw. "Then why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Because I was ashamed. Because you're not a tool, Isabella. You're the one person I don't want to manipulate. And I thought… if I acted like it didn't matter, you'd believe it too. But that was a mistake."
She nodded slowly. "Yes. It was."
He studied her carefully. "What do you want from me now?"
She looked at him for a long time, then stood. She moved around the table until she stood beside him, placing her palm on his shoulder.
"I want honesty. Not tomorrow. Not when it's convenient. Always."
He turned slightly, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "You have it."
She looked down at him, the tiniest softness in her expression. "Then prove it."
"How?"
"Start by being here. Not just in the house. But here."
Azrael stood, his body towering over hers, but his presence wasn't threatening. It was grounding. Solid. "Then I'll start by doing something I should've done a long time ago."
She raised a brow. "And what's that?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key. He held it in his palm and placed it gently in hers.
"The key to my study. The one room I've never let anyone in."
Isabella looked at it. "Why now?"
"Because what's in there is everything about me. My past. My future. And if we're going to do this — really do this — you should know who I am, not just what I show you."
She stared at the key for a while before curling her fingers around it.
"Come," he said softly.
She followed him upstairs, through the wide hallway, past the guest rooms and library, until they stood before a tall wooden door at the end. He unlocked it, pushing the door open.
The room was dim, the air thick with scent of aged paper, sandalwood, and something else — something deeper, almost sorrowful. Walls lined with bookshelves. A fireplace at the center, unlit. On the far side, a large desk covered with papers, maps, documents. And at the corner, a cabinet of old letters, sealed envelopes, and ancient photographs.
She stepped inside slowly. "This looks like a second mind."
Azrael chuckled quietly behind her. "It is."
She touched one of the old photographs. A little boy — him — standing beside a woman with sharp features and tired eyes.
"My mother," he said.
"She looked… sad."
"She was. Trapped in a marriage she didn't choose. Loved me, though. More than anything. When she died, I promised myself I'd never become like my father."
Isabella turned to him, her eyes softening.
"But somehow," he whispered, "I still let him control me. Even when I didn't mean to. Until you."
"Me?"
"You made me remember I'm not his puppet. You made me want something for myself."
He walked toward the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her.
She unfolded it and read the top line. It was the original contract — the marriage agreement. But something had changed.
"I canceled it," Azrael said. "Officially. Legally. It's void. You're not bound to me anymore. Not by law."
She looked at him, stunned.
"I want you to stay because you want to," he said. "Not because you signed a piece of paper."
Isabella's fingers trembled as she held the document. Her eyes met his.
"And if I leave?"
"I'll let you." His voice was quiet. "But I'll fight like hell to make sure you don't want to."
For the first time in days, her lips curved — not into a full smile, but something close.
"I'm not leaving tonight," she said, folding the paper carefully.
Azrael exhaled in relief.
She stepped closer, placing her hand over his chest, where his heart beat loud and firm beneath her palm.
"And tomorrow?" he asked.
She met his gaze. "Tomorrow depends on you."
Then, she leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't hungry. It wasn't desperate.
It was slow. Measured. Real.
The kind of kiss that didn't beg or take — it gave.
And in that moment, they weren't two broken people bound by secrets or contracts.
They were just Azrael and Isabella.
Finding their way in the silence.
Their kiss was slow until Azrael slide his warm tongue inside her mouth, she moaned as she did the same. They didn't stop as time passed by, they were drowning on pleasure.
Isabella could feel his hard rock poking her.
Azrael liked the taste of her lips, it was almost impossible for him to stop, he tried so hard not to rip her clothes. It was pleasure and restraint for him. He didn't want to scare her, he doesn't want her to see him like a demon the way his father did
He roamed his large hands on her body as he touched her pants.
"Fuck, Iza" he cursed "You're so wet"
Isabella shivered when she felt his fingers on her pants. She wanted to push him, but he drew her closer, kissing her neck and earlobe driving her insane, he carried her and placed her on the table without removing his mouth from hers
"You're so wet Iza" he murmured in her ears, his voice was husky.
He couldn't stop himself from ripping her shirt immediately she stated moaning, leaving her breast opened and easily accessed, he lowered his head, leaned forward and sucked on her nipples and caressing her bare legs in the process
Isabella bit the lower part of her lip as she moaned, she grabbed the back of his head, she loved this feeling, how can this make her feel this way? She felt his hot tongue and teeth playing with her nipples, she was craving for more, she wanted him, his body, his lips, she wanted everything
Her hands traced his trousers, she touched his belt and then his manhood.
"Fuck!!!! Isa, you're driving me insane " he said and kissed her lips. He needed to stop, he doesn't want his first time with her to be in his study, he needed to stop himself.
He withdrew himself from her and looked at her face, then her lips and then her bare chest, he was hungry for her, he gulped his saliva.
"You've to take a shower now Iza" he said and kissed her forehead
Isabella on the other hand wasn't satisfied, she wanted him badly but she couldn't say a word, she doesn't want to look desperate