The riverbank lay quiet beneath the pale sweep of morning light, dew clinging to the reeds like scattered pearls. Linda's breath came fast, both from the quick walk she'd stolen from the mansion and from the nervous weight of her own decision. Every step away from Daniel's home felt like stepping deeper into treachery — not against her husband, she reminded herself, but against the rules that chained her.
And then she saw him.
David Armani leaned casually against the broad trunk of an old willow, its long branches bowing low toward the water. He wore no coat this time, only a dark vest over a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, as though even nature itself bent to his ease. When his gaze caught her, a slow smile tugged at his mouth.
"Linda," he drawled, his eyes sweeping her form, lingering perhaps too long. "The red looks… exquisite on you."
Heat pooled in her cheeks, unbidden. She had thrown the traditional Turkish wedding dress over her shoulders only because it was expected at the celebrations — a heavy silk gown, deep crimson, embroidered in gold threads that glimmered when the sun kissed them. But the way David's voice wrapped around the word exquisite, it felt as though he had turned a simple tradition into something dangerous.
"It is just a dress," she answered briskly, willing her voice to hold steady.
"Ah," he countered softly, pushing off the tree with unhurried grace. "No, it is not. It's a statement. Red has always been the color of fire, of women who dare to be seen. That's why it suits you more than anyone else here."
Her throat tightened. She opened her mouth to dismiss the flattery, but before she could, his hand moved — sudden, certain — and caught her wrist. His fingers closed around her henna-painted hand, lifting it to the light.
"The designs…" he murmured, his thumb brushing just near her palm. "So intricate. They suit you."
Linda's breath caught. For the briefest instant, it felt as though the warmth in his tone was genuine, uncalculated. But then, memory pierced through — Daniel's words, sharp and possessive, murmured just two nights ago when she'd shown him the same hand: I don't like it. I like your skin bare, untouched.
That echo surged through her like a shield. With a quick motion, she pulled her hand back, hiding it in the folds of her gown.
David chuckled low in his throat, though his eyes glittered with something unreadable. "Ah, forgive me. I forget that boldness sometimes startles. But you shouldn't hide beauty, Linda. The world hides too much of you already."
Her heart raced. She hated the way his words made her chest swell with both defiance and fear.
"What was it you wanted to tell me?" she asked, sharper than she intended.
For a moment, silence stretched. Then David's smile returned, softer this time, almost conspiratorial. "There is going to be a fair. A book fair. In a village not far from here."
Linda blinked. A book fair? Her pulse quickened with something close to joy.
He saw it — of course he did — and leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if they were partners in a secret. "Not just any gathering. Dozens of texts, some from travelers, some smuggled from libraries across the empire. Rare histories, even philosophical works." His eyes locked on hers. "And more than that — you will not be the only woman there."
Her breath stilled.
"Yes," he continued smoothly, weaving the net tighter. "There are others like you. Women who refuse to let their minds be caged. Women who hunger for more than what is cooked in kitchens or sewn into cloth. At that fair, you could meet them. Speak with them. Share your fire with theirs. Imagine what that could mean, Linda."
She swallowed hard. For so long she had felt alone in her secret rebellions, alone in her nightly visits to the library, alone in the way her heart burned for pages instead of parties. Could it be true? Could there truly be others?
Her voice came soft, almost trembling. "You… you really think so?"
"I don't think," David said, with that dangerous conviction that made his lies feel like gospel. "I know."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She felt the weight of possibility pressing down on her chest, intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
David tilted his head, watching her closely. "Come. See it for yourself. You'll walk among the stalls, your eyes devouring pages you've never touched, your hands reaching for knowledge that no one can forbid. And maybe… just maybe… you'll find you are not alone."
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the image bloom. Rows of books, like treasures laid open. Women like her, voices low but fierce, whispering of freedom. Her heart ached with longing.
But then — Daniel's face rose in her mind. His dark eyes, his sharp jaw, the way his hand had broken the zipper of her dress with careless strength. His voice, firm with rules, warning her to stay within boundaries. He would never allow her near such a place.
Her lips trembled. "I… I'll think about it," she whispered.
David smiled again, not triumphant but patient, as though he had expected nothing less. "That is all I ask. Think." He stepped back, the willow shadows swallowing him once more. "And when you are ready, the fair will be waiting."
Linda's hands clutched the fabric of her gown as she turned away, each step back toward the mansion heavier than the last. The red silk swayed around her ankles like the fire he had named her after.
By the time the mansion's gates came into view, her heart was a battlefield — one half burning with forbidden hope, the other trembling with loyalty and fear.
And then —
A hand shot out from the shadows just beyond the gate and seized her wrist.
She gasped, eyes wide, as the world seemed to stop.
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