The glint in Rael's eye wasn't recognition anymore, it was ritual. Cold. Calculated. The kind of look that split skin before the blade even touched.
Vireya watched him, unmoving. Her fingers tightened on the sheet, knuckles pale. This was the ruthless side of Rael. The one who wore cruelty like cologne. The one the underworld whispered about like a ghost story with real corpses.
"You think you softened me," he said, voice low, almost mournful. "You think that night meant something."
Her breath faltered, but she didn't speak. That would mean admitting she'd hoped.
He stepped forward. "This… whatever it is between us… it's a liability. I don't keep liabilities."
There was a chair in the room. Heavy. Designed for restraint. He hadn't moved it in weeks.
Now, he did.
The silence was louder than any threat.
"If you're going to remind me what I am," he said, "you'll do it properly."
Vireya held his stare. No tears. No begging.
Just the quiet understanding between two people who'd danced too close to tenderness, and chose violence instead.
She hadn't flinched. Instead, she'd watched him with quiet intensity.
"So I didn't make you soft," she'd said, voice like velvet dragged across glass.
"Then what?"
Rael's lips had curved, not quite into a smile, not quite into contempt.
"You made me remember."
She had stepped closer, barely breathing.
"Remember what?"
"That wanting wasn't weakness. It was torture."
He'd spoken slowly, each word etched in iron.
Her eyes had flickered, but she'd held steady.
"Then why are you pretending it never happened?"
He'd exhaled, low and bitter.
"Because if I'd let it mean something… then you'd have become my ruin. That doesn't mean you can ruin me… I used you last night. There was no feelings attached, I was horny…and I own you. So I used you to satisfy myself."
"What if I tell you I orchestrated it. Maybe I did want you to use me… only to see how much you could fall into temptation". Vireya tried to challenge.
He pushed her gently, back against the wall, not to hurt, but to remind. His hand gripped her hip, the other pressed flat against her collarbone, keeping her pinned and exposed.
"You must feel so smart after that. I did tell you before that I am not interested in you. Or your body… but I must say, now I understand why the clients paid so much to have you for a whole night."
There was a long pause after his usual manipulative smirk.
"You should keep in mind that you can never be my type, I can only use you to quench boredom, you're not my taste of woman, too innocent, too chalant… too good for me".
He finally let go of her, retreating to the door, and stopped with a final statement. "You mean nothing to me. Toy girl".
This final statement may have pierced through Vireya's heart, but not enough to make her cry.
She'd already been through a lot in the past few months. She already rendered herself useless, she was dead on the inside. Just alive physically, living through hell.
She slowly sank into the bed, rethinking and recalling what Rael had said to her.
"Did he really mean what he said?" She thought.
On the other hand, Rael in his work office sat in his chair. "(Groans) What am I doing? What am I saying to her?!"
At this point, Rael was so unsure of his feelings for Vireya, he had a lovehate feeling for her but he couldn't express it. He didn't want it to grow nevertheless.
He reached for the drawer beneath the whiskey shelf. Not for a weapon.
For the rolled blunt.
He lit it slow. Dragged in deeper.
Smoke curled around him like memory. Like tension. Like the scent of her skin when she'd whispered his name without needing to.
He stared out at the skyline, Port Elgen shining like sin beneath a storm and wondered, not aloud, not clearly:
"Is wanting her... the same as feeling?"
He didn't love.
Men like him weren't built for softness.
But Vireya didn't demand softness. She made him ache.
Flashbacks flickered, her moan in his ear, her silence afterward, the way she hadn't asked for promises, only his presence.
His jaw clenched. The smoke curled tighter.
"She's too much. And not enough. And somehow everything."
The blunt burned low. The ashtray filled. He didn't move. Just sat there, high on doubt and craving, trying to remember what freedom felt like before she stepped into his world and dared to mean something.
Rael didn't say he was leaving.
He just stopped showing up where he used to: her corridor, the south balcony, the dinner table where silence used to carry weight. His absence wasn't loud, but it was intentional.
Vireya noticed first in the smallest ways.
No fresh wine delivered.
No new security details added to her route.
No word.
The man who had gripped her, claimed her, whispered possession into her throat now sent nothing but echo.
One night, she passed his office door.
Closed.
The sound of a lighter flicked inside, then silence.
He was in there.
But she kept walking.
Rael sat behind that desk surrounded by glass walls, smoke curling around his fingers, staring at nothing.
Her soft voice had been in his head all week. Not obnoxious. Just unexpected. He hated that he remembered it.
"Distance is control," he told himself.
Not for safety.
Not for strategy.
For survival.
Vireya made him feel.
And feelings were bullets he didn't know how to dodge.
So he stayed away.
But even behind locked doors, with no trace of her perfume in the air,
he still heard her voice when he blinked too long.
Rael stood at the edge of his office window, watching rain smear the skyline into a blur. The city below kept moving, dirty deals, silent kills, loyalty bought in diamonds and blood. It moved without him.
His blunt burned halfway down.
He didn't feel it.
Nirelle.
She'd been easy.
Polished, poised, agreeable. Everything a man like him could tuck into his arm without guilt or consequence.
She never made noise.
Never made too many demands.
Never made him feel.
That was her appeal.
Rael had chosen her because she came without warning signs. A companion. A mask. A name beside his in press releases, at gala dinners, in closed-door negotiations.
But now...
He closed his eyes, and all he saw was Vireya, red silk tangled around her legs, defiance in her eyes even when she laid beneath him, her silence louder than any scream Nirelle ever gave.
"Was Nirelle ever more than a placeholder?"
The question sat in his throat like smoke.
He remembered her laugh. Light. Thin.
He remembered her touch. Precise. Never hungry.
He had never seen Vireya laugh though.
She didn't touch with rules.
She crashed into his world like a storm and refused to be gentle.
And somewhere inside that chaos, Rael had started needing.
Feeling.
Burning.
Something Nirelle never gave him.
He finished his blunt, pressed it out slowly.
This wasn't about regret.
It was about realization.
And Rael hated realizations.
They made monsters wonder if they had hearts.
**Rooftop garden.**
The rooftop garden buzzed faintly with leftover party energy, string lights still blinking like they hadn't been told the night was over. Vireya stepped out for air, boots clicking against the concrete.
Malric spotted her from the glass hallway, cut through the kitchen, and reached her just as she leaned against the railing. The city glowed beyond them, endless and indifferent.
"You always ghost when the music fades," he said, voice low, not playful.
Vireya didn't respond immediately, just brushed hair from her cheek and kept her eyes on the skyline.
"Are they watching me… or hoping I crash?" she asked.
"I watch," he said, "because you remind me that chaos can look like art."
She glanced at him, barely amused, slightly wary.
"Why are you really up here?"
He exhaled.
"Because I'm tired of pretending."
Her lips parted just enough to ask,
"Pretending what?"
He moved closer, not enough to corner, just enough to confess.
"That I don't want to be the one you look for in a room. That every time he grabs your waist, I wonder what it would feel like if you chose me. Because knowing that you are Rael's bride hurt me more than anything in this world."
"Malric…" she started, but couldn't finish.
"I didn't plan this," he said. "Hell, I didn't even like you at first. But now I think about you when I shouldn't. And I hate that it matters this much."
Upstairs, Rael had stepped into the lounge for a refill. But he froze when he heard voices through the cracked balcony door. He recognized them instantly.
He didn't barge in.
Didn't say a word.
Just stood there, watching, listening, glass of bourbon clenched tight, like every syllable was being carved into him.
And when Vireya placed her hand softly over Malric's, unsure but not pulling away.
Rael turned, slow and silent, and walked to the far side of the room.
But his silence wasn't consent.
It was strategy.
**Night hours.**
The message arrived via intercom. No fanfare. Just one line, crisp and commanding.
"Vireya. Upstairs. My room. Now."
She didn't reply, only glanced at the hallway clock, stood slowly, and moved toward the lift. Her body felt heavier than usual. Not with dread. With knowing.
She'd felt the shift in him, since Malric, since the rooftop. Tonight, he didn't summon her out of desire.
He summoned her out of discipline.
His penthouse suite was dim, sleek, quiet except for the faint hum of speakers playing something instrumental and cold.
Rael sat back on a black leather chaise, dress shirt open at the throat, one pant leg rolled just enough to bare the ankle.
"Take off your shoes," he instructed.
"Then kneel. I want a massage. And don't speak unless spoken to."
Vireya obeyed.
No questions. No hesitation.
Her hands worked slowly over his feet, firm pressure, careful strokes. She didn't look up, didn't flinch when he shifted slightly, watching her like every movement was being evaluated.
"You do this better than most trained staff," he said after a long silence.
"You know why?"
She remained quiet.
"Because I don't pay you. I own you."
The words didn't sting. Not tonight. Not anymore.
After he stood, he moved toward the marble bathroom.
"Tub. Hot water. No distractions."
She walked in and turned the tap, steam rising quick. Rosewood bath salts. Just enough heat to please, not to scald.
He watched from the doorway as she tested the water with her wrist.
Vireya had adjusted the water carefully, her thoughts scattered between steam and silence. She didn't expect him to undress in front of her.
But Rael didn't pause.
He pulled the sash from his robe and let it fall open, unbothered, unapologetic. His body was all clean lines, battle-earned scars, and the kind of strength that didn't need to speak.
Vireya froze.
Not because she hadn't seen him like this before.
But because it felt different now.
Deliberate. Controlled. Like he was reclaiming something.
Rael stepped into the tub slowly, the heat curling around him like obedience. He settled into the water, neck resting against the porcelain edge, eyes closed for three quiet seconds.
Then they opened.
And found her.
Still dressed.
Still stunned.
"You undressed your dignity long before you stripped off your clothes."
His voice was low, heavy with calculated edge.
"You broke the boundary. Now you sit in what you made."
She swallowed. But didn't look away.
"So what am I now?"
He stared for a moment, then reached out, slow and precise, brushing two fingers down her wrist.
"Mine. Fully. Completely. Even if I don't love you."
"And if I did?" he added, voice soft and bitter, "it'd be the last thing you survive."
Rael leaned forward, water shifting around him in slow ripples. His gaze hooked onto hers like gravity itself.
"Get in."
It was a command.
And Vireya obeyed instantly.
Steam laced the space between them. Vireya's breath caught, not from fear, but from the knowing that something irreversible lived in that moment.
She stepped closer, shedding her layers like confessions. One by one. Until nothing remained between skin and heat.
Rael didn't flinch.
As she slid in beside him, his arm found the edge behind her, unthreatening but sure. Their knees brushed. Her heart raged.
"Tell me," she said, voice thin but steady, "what do I become now?"
Rael let the silence sit, just long enough to turn soft into sharp.
"You become what you have always been… a spare part."
The steam clung to skin like breath held too long.
Vireya turned away, but Rael was already closing the distance.
No words. No accusations.
Just heat and an expression carved in hunger and restraint.
He reached for her, the water rippling as his hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him, anchoring her where no air could fit between them. His grip was steady. Commanding. Possessive.
"Why do you not try to resist me… or push me away?" He asked, rubbing lips on her shoulder slowly, seductively.
"Because you have used me enough, times without numbers too…" she paused halfway with a slight moan.
Not angry. Not gentle.
But absolutely certain.
She felt his breath before his lips touched her skin again, a trace over her cheek, down her jawline.
Rael didn't speak, didn't ask, didn't explain.
He simply claimed.
After some minutes in the tub. Vireya pulled back. She stepped out of the tub first, water streaming down her body like melted tension. Rael watched her, still in the heat, still unreadable.
"Towel. Dry me."
No softness in his voice. Just expectation.
She obeyed, wrapping a thick towel around his chest, her hands moving slower than necessary. He didn't stop her.
When she finished, he stood, towering close, and brushed past her like dominance could be draped over a shoulder.
"On the bed," he said next. "No clothes. Face down."
Her eyes flicked to his. "You want obedience or honesty?"
Rael paused, towel still clinging to his hips.
"They're the same, when you belong to me."
The room was heavy with silence. Moonlight crawled in from the slats, tracing soft lines across her thighs as she sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself.
Rael stood near the door, his chest bare, the flicker of power in his jaw, not yelling, just waiting.
"Lay down," he said.
"You know what I want."
Vireya stood instead.
Put on her Simple nightwear . No lace. No seduction. Just skin and cotton and defiance blooming in her throat.
"I'm not here to be peeled open at your command." She confronted, already heading to the door.
Rael's body moved before his mind could leash it.
He grabbed her arm.
Not gently.
Not savagely.
Just possessively, like stopping her from slipping away was as instinctive as breathing.
"Don't walk away like that," he said.
She yanked back.
"… Like… what?"
"Like I disgust you."
Her eyes meeting his in emptiness and grief.
"I don't think you disgust me," she said.
"I think you scare me."
That twisted something behind Rael's ribs. He wanted to say good.
But it didn't feel right anymore.
Her eyes met his.
Not fragile. Not fearless.
Just painfully hers.
And in that standoff, neither of them moved first.
She stepped back, not fast, not panicked, but purposeful.
Her nightdress clung damp against her skin, and the heat of Rael's grip still lingered on her wrist like a warning and a memory.
She didn't speak.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she'd already learned: words with him were often used, not heard.
Vireya reached for the door.
Rael blocked the way again. His hand on the frame. His breath too close.
"You think you can just walk out?"
She looked up at him, not defiant, not broken. Just tired. Steady.
But she didn't answer. She didn't flinch.
She stepped around his arm like it didn't matter. Like he didn't matter in that moment.
And Rael let her.
Not because he wanted to.
Because forcing her to stay wouldn't mean she was his.
It would only mean she was gone in ways he couldn't undo.
Vireya woke to soft light bleeding through the blinds, her body tangled in sheets that didn't feel like hers. Not Rael's bed. Her assigned bed.
She sat up, groggy but lucid, and that's when she saw the box.
Black. Structured. Sitting on the chair near the door like a declaration.
Inside: silk blouses, tailored pants, red-bottom heels, perfume she hadn't dared wear before. Labels so high-end they felt like apology wrapped in luxury.
On top lay a card.
Not handwritten. Not soft.
Typed. Controlled.
"Wear what fits the mood. Adventure starts at noon. My driver will find you. – R"
She stared at it for a long moment. No emojis. No flirtation. Just possession disguised as elegance.
A knock followed minutes later, soft, professional.
Rael hadn't come.
But one of his aides stood outside with a tablet, a polite smile, and a schedule.
"He said not to keep you waiting. He planned something different today. Said it's not about business."
Her heart didn't race. But her fingers curled slightly around the card.
Because Rael didn't say sorry.
He said silk, destination, arrival.
And somehow that meant more.
The marina was quiet that morning, waves tapping against polished hulls, sunlight yawning across the bay. The kind of hush only money could buy, tucked between private docks and views that made secrets look romantic.
Vireya arrived in silence.
She wore the silk blouse Rael had sent, and everything other outfit in the box.
At the pier's end floated a masterpiece: glass-panelled, triple-decked, and arrogantly named Sovereign Drift. A crew member welcomed her aboard with a nod.
"He's waiting up top."
Rael stood on the upper deck, wind curling through his shirt, sunglasses disguising whatever mood brewed beneath that unreadable face. He didn't smile when she approached, but he didn't look away either.
"Thought we'd move past walls and floors today," he said.
"Try water. It doesn't judge."
The yacht hummed to life. Quiet. Expensive. Intimate.
A table had been set. Champagne already opened.
But Rael didn't pour a glass. He walked to the rail, leaned over the sea, and tossed something, a small velvet box.
It sank instantly.
Vireya blinked.
"What was that?"
"A symbol I don't need anymore."
She wanted to press. To ask.
Instead, she walked to the other side of the deck and stared into the horizon.
Rael watched her.
Not possessively.
Not demandingly.
Just... aware.
The sea sprawled behind them in silver strokes, wind soft against the tension sitting heavy between their ribs. Vireya leaned against the railing, her blouse dancing faintly in the breeze, fingers curled loosely around the stem of untouched champagne.
Rael stepped beside her. Close. Not possessive this time, just present.
"You didn't ask why I brought you here," he said.
She didn't look at him.
"You don't bring people here," she murmured.
Rael was quiet for a beat. Then:
"You're not people."
That made her turn. Just slightly. Not enough to engage, just enough to brace.
He reached out, fingers grazing hers, a touch that felt too soft for the kind of man who taught violence to breathe.
"I needed something to fill what… Nirelle left behind," he said.
"That's what you are."
Her body stilled.
Not shocked.
Just resigned.
And that's when he kissed her.
Not with hunger. Not with fire.
But with a kind of sorrow, like lips pressed against a bruise instead of a mouth. Like he needed to believe he still could.
She didn't push him away.
But she didn't kiss back either.
When he pulled away, her eyes were glassed, not teary, just distant.
Vireya stood below deck, fingers grazing the edge of the counter as the yacht hummed forward across a sea that felt too wide for what she carried. The silk blouse clung gently to her back, but the regret on her lips hadn't faded. Rael's kiss still burned, not with desire, but with the ache of knowing she'd been made into a placeholder for Nirelle.
She didn't cry.
She didn't storm.
She peeled an orange from the fruit bowl, slow, methodical, letting the quiet do the talking.
She walked to the mirrored wall and looked at herself, really looked. No bruises. No cuts. But something invisible had cracked and shifted.
The crew moved quietly around her, pretending not to notice.
A few minutes passed.
Then she heard his steps.
Rael reappeared, sunglasses off now, eyes sharp and unreadable. But this time, he didn't come with hunger or apology.
He held a small velvet box in one hand , different from the one he'd tossed into the sea earlier. He stepped beside her, opened it wordlessly.
Inside: a custom diamond necklace. Silver thread chain. Stark, cold beauty.
"Wear it," he said.
She didn't reach for it hesitant enough to mean she didn't want it.
"Why?"
His jaw clenched.
"Because I said so."
Vireya shook her head slowly.
"I do not want to wear this, Rael… I do not want to wear something gifted by you."
His fingers curled tighter around the box.
"You don't get to rewrite what you are now, remember, I own you. I get you whatever and I tell you to put it on whenever."
She stood. Not yelling. Not emotional. Just firm.
"I… do not want it."
Rael moved quicker than she'd expected.
No warning.
No fury in words , just fury in action.
His hand gripped her arm, and in one violent blur, he shoved her over the rail and into the ocean.
The splash echoed louder than the silence had ever dared. Crew scrambled instantly , ropes thrown, one man diving in. Gasps filled the deck. Rael didn't speak. He just stood there, knuckles white on steel, breathing like he'd outrun something inside himself.
Vireya resurfaced seconds later, cold, gasping but alive.
Dragged aboard.
Drenched, shaking, furious , but quiet.
She didn't scream.
She just looked up at him once, soaked hair curling against her cheek, and turned away.
Rael stepped forward.
No apology. No hesitation. Just a velvet box extended in one hand, its lid flipped open like a verdict.
Inside: the necklace.
"Wear it," he said.
Voice level. Measured. As if the throw hadn't happened.
Her breath caught.
She didn't move. Not at first.
The crew watched from a distance, tension thick as the breeze, but no one dared speak.
Vireya's fingers hovered near the chain, shaking ever so slightly.
"Now," Rael said.
She closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek.
And she took it.
Slow. Careful.
Fastening the clasp behind her throat, the cold metal kissed her skin like ownership drawn in silence.
She didn't say thank you.
She didn't say anything.
Only the sea answered, restless and wide.
The towel wrapped around her shoulders did little to stop the shiver. Not from the sea, not from the wind, but from the silence left in Rael's command.
Vireya sat below deck on a leather bench, strands of wet hair stuck to her cheek, legs pulled close to her chest. The necklace pressed against her collarbone like a verdict etched in diamond.
She hadn't taken it off.
Not yet.
Her fingers toyed with the clasp absently. Not to remove it, just to feel where choice might still live.
Outside, the hum of the yacht blended with the hush of waves, distant laughter from crew echoing like they belonged to another world entirely.
She blinked slowly, tracing the edge of a water droplet trailing down her arm.
She was still seated below deck, the leather bench pressing faint creases into her palm. The hush of the sea outside was constant, like breath held too long. No knock. No warning.
The cabin door opened slowly.
Not a dramatic entrance, not a scene. Just quiet authority. A crew member stepped in, holding a folded bundle. Her gaze met Vireya's , not cold, not kind, simply aware.
She placed the clothes beside her: silk trousers, a soft gray blouse, flat sandals gleaming with silver buckles. An elegant perfume bottle followed, silent punctuation.
"Sir Rael thought you might want these."
Vireya didn't nod. Didn't move. The woman lingered a moment, not enough to be rude, just enough to make herself known, and then disappeared through the closing door.
She stayed there for a while.
Looking at the clothes, pristine and untouched, like offerings to a queen or a ghost.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the linen.
Vireya didn't rush.
She took off her soaked clothes, the scent of sea clinging to her like a bruise, and reached for the fresh clothes laid beside her. The silk trousers slid over her hips without effort, the storm-gray blouse buttoned lightly to her throat. She took a towel and wrapped her wet hair tight in silence.
Then she stood before the mirror.
Still pale from the ocean.
Eyes pensive. Face bare, unpainted, honest, unbothered.
No mascara. No blush.
Just the kind of beauty that didn't need asking.
The kind that silence enhanced.
She dried her hair slowly and brushed it back into a high, neat bun. Simple. Structured. Forgettable, if you weren't paying attention. But she was always unforgettable, even when trying not to be.
Then she stepped onto the upper deck.
No dramatic entrance.
Rael stood by the rail, back turned, speaking with two others about coordinates and timings. He glanced sideways when her footsteps echoed quietly across the floor.
And stopped mid-sentence.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't even look at him.
She folded into a seat nearby, hands resting on her lap, posture careful. Present. Calm.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just empty.
Just… existing.
In the space he kept trying to own.
The sea murmured in the distance, soft and slow, like it knew too much.
Vireya sat still, folded into herself. Her blouse clung in gentle waves to her frame, her slicked-back bun untouched by wind, face bare but radiant in the way only quiet could make beautiful.
A crew member approached cautiously, mid-twenties, composed, eyes darting between her and Rael, who hadn't looked at her since she returned.
She stopped beside Vireya, clutching a tablet, voice careful.
"Ma'am… Would you prefer tea or tonic? The schedule's light, just some scenic drift and lunch prepared by the chef. I can adjust anything for you."
Vireya looked up. Her gaze didn't flicker. No smile, no reply right away.
She just nodded once.
"Tea's fine."
Her voice was soft. The kind you lean toward without realizing.
The woman hesitated, glanced at the necklace glinting faintly beneath the collar of Vireya's blouse, then left.
Rael shifted nearby, only slightly, but enough to tell he'd heard.
Enough to know she wasn't avoiding him.
The yacht's dining lounge was minimal but rich , glass walls washed in sunlight, a black mahogany table set with white linens and silver utensils so polished they looked untouched. Only two seats had been prepared.
Vireya stepped in quietly, still in her storm-gray blouse and silk trousers. The necklace tucked beneath her collar clinked faintly as she moved, barely audible.
Rael was already seated, back straight. A bottle of chilled white wine sat half-poured between two crystal glasses. He didn't look up.
She took her place across from him.
No greeting. No nod. Just the sound of waves brushing against wood.
The first dish arrived.
Seared scallops in lemon butter with saffron threads, served by a silent hand.
She hesitantly reached for her fork. Steady. Poised.
Rael finally glanced up.
His gaze lingered longer than it should have. She was seated across from him. Her face was bare, her bun slick and unbothered. Still damp around the ends. No makeup. No noise.
He cleared his throat, leaned back slightly.
He didn't smile.
"You know what your problem is?"
Vireya sliced into the scallop, didn't answer.
"You think silence makes you untouchable."
She paused and lowered her fork down.
"…it makes me tolerable."
Rael chuckled, low and bitter.
"Tolerable? I threw you into the sea this morning."
She kept her gaze down.
"… I dried off."
Another pause.
Rael leaned forward, voice dark and slow.
"You think I care for you?"
No response.
"I don't. I use you. I will keep saying it to your face."
He said it without a blink. No drama. Just a truth twisted in silk.
"And yet you show up. Wear what I send. Sit where I tell you."
She pushed food around her plate, calm.
Then quietly:
"I am aware that you do not have feelings. Just like every other monster…"
He studied her for a moment.
Smirked.
"You should be grateful that you are living a luxurious lifestyle sponsored by me… I'm just helping your wretched life."
She didn't respond.
Because quiet wasn't weakness.
"Everyone knows we married by contract. I never wanted you, I do not want you still. You act tough like you are someone to be valued."
With a smoulder, he continued,
"Your father will be somewhere up there, thanking me for giving you this lifestyle, you have no idea".
Vireya locked eyes with him, appalled,
"Let my papa rest in peace. You should have some shame for being the way you are… I feel nauseated…"
"Mhmm… feel however you want Vireya. It changes nothing. I expect you to say thank you to me. I took the poverty stricken old man away from you and gave you what they call life…"
This statement pierced Vireya's heart like a sharp blade. The chair scraped violently against the sole as she stood .
"I will not sit and listen to you speak disrespectfully about my papa. You have no idea what he has gone through for me to survive."
"Okay. Talking about speaking disrespectfully to your 'papa'… who is he? Who was he Vireya?!"
Rael slammed his palm against the table, the sound as sharp as a gunshot, rage spilling over without restraint.
"Your 'papa' like you said! He was a wretched old man. A debtor. A coward. Everything you think you had because your 'papa' made you survive… was from the money he loaned from me. He really had nothing."
Vireya stood, tears streaming down her already red eyes. She was silent, pained, pierced. But she watched him speak, she watched in bitterness.
Now Rael rose from his chair, calm and confident, but inside him, he was filled with rage.
He walked towards Vireya.
"Everything you touch now… everything you wear, eat, breathe, paid for by the filth he left behind."
"I didn't inherit you, Vireya. I acquired you."
He stopped beside her, close enough for the air to stiffen between them.
Her throat tightened, but she kept still.
Rael leaned down.
"You'll serve me," he said, voice low but sharp.
"You'll satisfy me, answer when I speak, follow when I move. Until your last breath."
"And you'll smile while you do it."
His hand gripped her wrist. Not enough to bruise , just enough to own.
Vireya didn't struggle.
"Go on your knees and kiss my feet. Right now Vireya." Rael spoke, with so much command in his voice and seriousness on his face.
Vireya didn't flinch.
The command settled into the quiet like ash, soft, weighty, irreversible. Rael stood before her, unmoved, his gaze flat and unblinking.
Vireya's breath caught. Her spine locked in place, fists clenching at her sides. A thousand protests flared behind her ribs, but none found voice. Slowly, like a string being pulled taut from within, she lowered herself to the sole.
Each movement felt alien. Her knees met the sole. Butterfly nerves skittered across her skin. She hesitated.
Then, without ceremony, without grace, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the worn leather of his shoes.
When she looked up, her eyes weren't pleading.
They burned.
Rael hadn't moved.
He'd watched her, still on the floor, lips parted, eyes dulled with something deeper than pain. Not rebellion. Not surrender. Something he couldn't name and didn't like.
He stepped back.
"You'll remember this every time you think you have a choice."
Then turned and walked away, his footsteps deliberate.
For a moment, Vireya hadn't stirred.
The air around her had pulsed with his absence, a silence more jagged than any scream. Then, slowly, she rose, the floor reluctant to release her.
She didn't fix her blouse.
She didn't look around.
She walked out too.
The corridor hummed beneath her heels, not loud, not sharp, just constant. A low vibration that lived in the bones of the yacht, like a secret it refused to share.
Vireya walked slowly, trailing Rael's path, the soles of her heels absorbing the quiet thrum of unseen engines buried deep below deck. They didn't roar. They whispered. Mechanical breath, steady and cold, pulsing through polished wood and steel.
The walls around her gleamed, untouched by time or salt. Every surface was curated, every light dimmed to elegance. But beneath it all, the yacht moved, not because of wind, not because of waves.
Because of power.
Rael's power.
And she was walking inside it.
Evening draped itself over the water in rich indigo folds. The yacht slowed into port, engines humming softer now, as if the sea had decided to hold its breath and let Rael pass.
Vireya stood near the glass, watching the coastline grow closer, silver streetlamps blinking like distant stars. Behind her, Rael.
No words passed between them.
The crew moved quietly, lowering steps from the deck to the pier. At the bottom, Rael's convoy waited: six matte-black sedans, headlights low, engines already purring, flanked by silent guards in sharp silhouettes.
He stepped onto the dock first.
Vireya followed.
Not because she was called.
But because the moment demanded it.
Her heels clicked softly against the polished teak as she descended, face unreadable, eyes burning red, hair slightly in the neat bun she styled earlier.
Rael's driver opened the rear door.
He didn't speak, just looked toward her once. Brief. Cold.
She climbed in.
Rael joined her. The door shut. The convoy rolled out, slow, smooth, like the whole city had agreed to make space for him.
The windows swallowed the last of the marina's light.
And they headed home.
The mansion rose like a whisper off the coastline, all stone, glass, and shadows shaped to Rael's taste. The convoy slipped behind its gates, swallowed by steel and privilege.
Vireya followed him inside without a sound.
Servants greeted them. No questions were asked. The house, grand as it was, moved like it knew not to disturb its owner.
Rael disappeared down one corridor.
Vireya was guided the other way by a silent figure in black. No words. Just a door opened to a room washed in low evening gold. It was a different room now.
Inside:
Muted furniture in shades of ash and ivory. A velvet armchair beside a tall window. One lamp glowing with amber restraint. No cameras. Tall mirror by the bedside. A bathroom in it.
Just stillness.
Vireya stepped in, closed the door gently behind her. Not surprised. Not wondering.
The engines of the yacht had stopped. The hum inside her hadn't.
She crossed to the window and sat. The sea was gone now, just land and stone and glass. Still, her body swayed faintly, like it remembered motion. Like it hadn't decided to stop obeying the waves.
Her fingers curled around the armrest.
This room didn't ask anything of her.
But it also didn't offer anything back.
Rael's room was low-lit, sleek with brutal elegance, concrete-gray walls softened by expensive linen, a single watch on the side table ticking like it had secrets of its own.
He sat alone, shirt collar loosened just slightly. The city's twilight pooled in the windows behind him.
His phone buzzed.
**Unknown. No ID. No trace.**
He answered without a word.
The voice crackled, filtered, distorted. But the message was razor-clear.
"We're coming. You know who. Not just for your blood. For your holdings. Your bonds. Your ghosted accounts. And her."
"You've got forty-eight. Maybe less."
Rael didn't blink.
The line went dead.
He stared at the screen for a beat, then placed the phone down gently beside the watch. The room felt tighter now, air stilled and sharpened.
He stood.
Crossed to the inner cabinet, thumbed a hidden panel.
A small console emerged.
Rael tapped once, no code needed. His fingerprint was enough.
MAFIA PROTOCOL – ACTIVE
Sweep Team – Mobilized
Encrypted Pulse – Sent to Units V, IX, and XIII
Asset Re-lock: ON
Somewhere across the city, encrypted phones buzzed in black-gloved hands. Cars shifted lanes. Safehouses sealed. Eyes turned back toward him.
Rael exhaled slowly.
"Let them come."
The lounge deep in Rael's estate was darker than usual, only one pendant light hung above the bar, its amber glow drawing sharp shadows beneath cheekbones and silence.
Malric stood by the glass shelves, scanning the rows of untouched bourbon. He didn't drink anymore, but the ritual grounded him. Behind him, Rael sat in a low armchair, one leg crossed, fingers laced.
"You asked to speak with me," Rael said, voice clipped.
Malric turned, expression unreadable beneath the weight of years and loyalty.
"She's not meant for this."
Rael didn't flinch.
"She's contracted. She's breathing."
Malric stepped forward, deliberate.
"You don't touch women you don't value. Not like that. Not with your history. If you do not have interest…cut her loose."
"So?" Rael said, eyes narrowed over the rim of the glass. "You're in here for what? To play savior?"
Malric didn't blink.
"To play conscience," he said. "Somebody has to."
Rael gave a dry laugh, more venom than humor.
"I married her legally. She signed. That contract binds her. She isn't a prisoner."
"She isn't free either."
Rael set his glass down harder than he meant to. The quiet clink echoed between them.
"Why should I end it?" he asked, stepping forward. "Because you suddenly feel sentimental? That's not how debt works."
Malric's voice turned colder.
"She's in here being wasted. Used. Paraded when convenient. You killed her father, he was the one who owed you."
Rael's expression didn't shift. But his shoulders squared.
"You think I owe her now?"
Malric didn't move. But something in his eyes burned deeper.
"I think someone else is interested in her. Someone who doesn't see her as reparation. Someone who could give her light instead of darkness. But she's stuck here with you… carrying grief that wasn't hers."
Rael's temper twisted at the edges, slow and quiet. He walked toward Malric, stopping inches from him. His presence was iron.
"Stay out of it."
Malric didn't step back.
"She deserves better."
Rael's voice dropped to a razor's whisper.
"You don't speak about Vireya to me again. Not once. Not ever."
Malric's jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.
They stood locked in silence, old pain, twisted duty, and something dangerously close to regret humming in the air.
**Morning hours.**
The sun crept in like a quiet visitor, its warm fingers brushing against the curtains that danced just slightly in the breeze.
Vireya woke up to see Rael right in front of her bed, standing tall and confident.
"Get up. Get freshened." He simply commanded.
She sat up slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Where are we going?"
He turned toward the door.
"Don't ask questions."
Then left, no other words, no glance behind.
Hours later, after silence, after dressing in something elegant but meant to impress no one, she followed him to the black car waiting outside. The city passed like a mirage, until they arrived at a structure that looked carved out of forgotten history, an opera house breathing dust and magnificence.
Inside, it was lightless but warm. Velvet curtains hung like bleeding shadows. Rael led her through the narrow aisles and into a gallery above the stage.
Paintings lined the walls, faded masterpieces, some she recognized from forbidden catalogs, others stolen from obscurity.
He paused at one:
A woman standing barefoot in the snow, eyes wide, mouth stitched shut.
"She was famous once," he said.
"Until silence made her more valuable than sound."
She watched him.
"Why did you bring me here?"
He hesitated. Just long enough to make her wonder if he'd lie.
"I'm trying to make sure you're not too bored in my mansion."
His eyes stayed on the painting.
"Be grateful."
The words fell like silk-wrapped glass, sharp, beautiful, and designed to injure quietly.
She said nothing.
But her fingers curled slightly against her coat, the only rebellion she allowed herself.
The gallery's hush held its breath.
Vireya paused mid-step, drawn by a shimmer of oil and memory. There, among the gilt frames and fading spotlights, hung a painting of Rael and a woman whose smile curled like secrets.
It was Nirelle.
Vireya stared.
Something pressed inside her, low and unspoken. Not jealousy. Not rage. Just friction.
Rael drifted beside her, almost lazily.
"Four years ago," he said, glancing up.
"Corsica. The last place I was happy without consequence."
She didn't respond.
He studied the painting longer.
"She'll come back, it's certain."
His gaze sharpened.
"You think I compare you? I do.
She's expensive, you're worthless.
She's confident and standard, you are the opposite.
She's bad for me, just how I love my woman. You… you are too good."
Vireya's lips parted.
Just to breathe.
Then calmly:
"I do not want to meet your expectations or standards."
She turned toward the next hallway.
Not as retreat.
As choice.
Rael didn't move.
She was gone, again.
No argument. No violence. Just that quiet, deliberate exit that stung more than slammed doors or broken glasses ever could.
He stayed in front of the painting, staring at the oil smile of someone who hadn't walked away, not like that. Nirelle left with fire, a storm wrapped in silk. Vireya left with restraint. That unnerved him more.
He didn't understand it.
He'd built his life on control. Women did not walk out on him. They stayed or were dismissed. But she, she disobeyed quietly. And worse… he let her.
Not once.
Not angrily.
But consistently.
"Why does she keep doing that?
Why do I let her?"
He hated the word let. It implied permission. Weakness. But every time she walked out, he wasn't moved to retaliate.
Rael turned from the painting.
His footsteps echoed softer now.
Not because he'd softened.
Because she had changed the silence.
And it stayed changed.
The hallway was quiet. Vireya wandered alone, not fleeing this time, just drifting on instinct.
Then she saw it.
A small, square photograph in a brass frame. Not grand. Not staged. Just a candid shot: a younger Rael beside a tall man in a white shirt with storm-colored eyes and a stare carved from judgment.
"… Who's this?" she said , voice shaking.
Rael was behind her before she realized.
"My father."
No warmth. No ceremony.
She glanced back at the image.
"One could easily tell…"
Rael's jaw flexed slightly.
"He never liked Nirelle," he said.
"Said she wanted the spotlight more than the silence beside it."
Vireya stayed quiet, staring into the photograph. Then, after a moment, unexpected, unguarded, her voice slipped out, empty but shaped.
"Do you… think… he… would've… liked me?"
Rael hesitated.
Not for lack of answer.
But because the question wasn't meant for logic.
He stared at her.
Her face held no challenge. Just emptiness.
And for a breath, something fractured quietly between them, not loudly enough to echo, but enough to change the air.
Rael looked at the photograph, then at her.
The light from the hallway stretched quietly between them, thin as breath.
"He would've liked you," he said, voice low but unflinching.
"He had a taste for quiet women with steel beneath their skin."
Vireya's fingers barely touched the brass frame. The man in it stared at her like time itself had judged her presence.
She didn't speak.
Rael did.
"But I wouldn't have cared."
His tone wasn't cruel, just clipped, stripped of romance.
"This isn't his world. It's mine. I don't keep his rules. I don't borrow his tastes."
He stepped closer, slow and precise.
"Nirelle was the only woman I ever wanted."
"The only one who ever fit the storm without asking questions."
Then his eyes locked onto hers, not softer, only clearer.
"You're here because silence makes better company than noise."
"Don't confuse presence with preference."
The quiet held firm.
Rael turned.
This time, he walked away first.
Vireya's voice sliced the lingering silence, quiet but sharpened by something raw beneath restraint.
"Then why didn't you stop her?"
Rael paused mid-step.
He didn't turn, not immediately. But his spine straightened, shoulders squaring like the words had cracked a door he didn't intend to open.
When he did face her, the answer came without flicker or falter.
"Because I'm a man," he said.
"I don't beg women to stay. And I don't cage them when they decide to leave."
Vireya's lips parted, not from surprise, but from the way the words settled inside her, hot and hollow.
Rael stepped closer.
"Nirelle left."
"That was her choice."
"But she'll come back. There's no doubt."
His voice wasn't hopeful. It was factual. Like the tides. Like inheritance.
"She always returns when the world stops clapping."
He looked at Vireya then, not with venom, not with pity. Just cold clarity.
"That's the difference. You walk away to breathe. She walked away to be heard."
Vireya didn't respond.
Not yet.
But her breath came deeper, steadier, as if bracing for a new kind of storm.
Vireya stood still. The silence between them had weight now, like something she was trying not to carry but couldn't put down. Her eyes didn't blaze. Her voice didn't rise. But it came, slow, bitter, and shaped by too many moments swallowed whole.
"You say she'll come back. Maybe she will."
Her arms crossed, a shield stitched from emotion she'd never asked to feel. The photo lingered behind her like a witness.
"But I wonder what she'll find when she does. You… unchanged. Still waiting for applause. Still giving crumbs and calling it choice."
Rael's eyes darkened.
She didn't care.
"I didn't ask for preference. I didn't ask to be compared, or collected, or tolerated."
Her voice wavered, not from weakness, but from the burn pressed beneath the words.
"But every time you tell me I wasn't wanted, it feels a little too rehearsed. As if you're trying to convince yourself louder than you're convincing me."
Rael didn't reply.
And that, that silence was the most honest part of him she'd seen in days.
"Because even when you told me you didn't want me… your eyes told me that your words were lies. If you really do not want me, you'd have me hung, drowned, butchered, shot… name it. But you still decide to keep me, and you lie that you are using me to satisfy yourself. The eyes never lie… Rael."
Rael didn't answer her right away.
He stood still beneath the muted hallway light, as if her words had paused something inside him. Not broken it, just made it flicker in a place he didn't usually inspect.
His voice, when it came, was quiet. Not softened. Just stripped.
"You mistake my silence for struggle," he said.
"But I don't need convincing."
He stepped closer, gaze unreadable but anchored.
"You think I say I don't like you because I'm wrestling with myself? I don't. And I'm not."
The words weren't shouted. That made them sharper.
"You're bitter because you want to mean something to me. I'm firm because I refuse to let you."
He stopped just in front of her, not towering, but immovable.
"You were never meant to be part of the narrative."
"You were meant to be the quiet between chapters."
Then he glanced once more at the photograph behind her. His father, rigid as legacy. Watching.
"He would've liked you," Rael repeated, colder now.
"But I've spent my life carving distance from who he was. I choose who I need and who I remember. And it's not you."
He turned again.
This time, the hallway didn't echo.
But Vireya did.
In the breath she took, clenched teeth behind a closed mouth. In the way she didn't follow, didn't crumble.
In the silence that refused to be dismissed.
Hours passed like whispered pages, and the opera house grew dim behind the stained glass. The sharp edges of the morning had dulled. Even Rael's presence felt quieter, not softened, just less performative.
He signaled the driver without a word.
Vireya followed, steps silent, posture composed. Not out of peace , but survival. Neither of them spoke as the car pulled away, tracing roads that hummed with late light and indifference.
Outside the tinted windows, the city dripped in sunset, rust, wine, and a hint of sorrow in the air. Rael stared forward, fingers tapping once against the armrest.
She sat beside him.
The tension wasn't gone.
It was just folded.
Tucked into the corners like regret that hadn't unpacked yet.
Back at the mansion, the door opened like it always did, heavy and slow, as if weighing whether to admit them again.
Rael walked in first. She didn't wait for permission. But she didn't race past him either.
Upstairs, the corridor yawned open. No staff lingered. The walls wore silence like perfume.
Inside her room, Vireya paused at the window, the same glass that once framed distance. Now, it just reflected her own breath.
That night, Vireya sat alone in her room, the low hum of the fan the only witness.
She hadn't asked for the memories, but they came.
Rael, in the guest room, alone with her on that night of the party.
Rael, being drunk and saying shallow words to her.
Rael, telling her to undress and get in the bathtub with him.
They weren't sweet moments. But they weren't hollow either.
She clenched the bedsheet tighter.
Her chest didn't ache.
But it wasn't calm.
Whatever she felt, it wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it had direction. And it was heading toward him.