The ballroom had not emptied. The music had resumed, the masks had returned to their hollow laughter, and yet for Adrian the world had gone still, frozen in the memory of Cassia's fire and the judgmental stares that followed.
He fled. Not in the dramatic sense of a man sprinting into the night, but in the slow, disjointed stumbling of one who has lost all sense of direction. Down marble corridors, past flickering candelabras, into a chamber whose name he did not know. The walls were lined with mirrors, tall and narrow, each reflecting a fragment of him—his flushed face, his trembling hands, his eyes swollen with shame.
He could not look away.
"Who are you?" he whispered to the reflection, voice cracked, broken. "Who is this man who dances for ruin?"
His own face stared back, pale and contorted, but the silence mocked him more cruelly than Selene's calm pronouncements, more bitterly than Liora's fury, more piercingly than Althea's quiet sorrow.
For a moment, he thought of fleeing altogether—of breaking from the estate, running through the gates, never looking back. But where would he go? To the world outside, barren of such intensity, barren of such fire? To a life where mornings came without mystery, where nights ended in sleep and not delirium? No. The truth was merciless: he was bound, not by Selene's chains, nor Cassia's fire, but by his own thirst.
He sank to his knees. The stone floor was cold, almost merciful in its chill, but it could not quiet the fever that consumed him. He buried his face in his hands.
Selene is right. Freedom is an illusion. Every choice I make is poisoned by desire. Every step is already fated, dictated by weakness. I am no master of myself—no, I am slave. Slave to her, to them, to myself.
He laughed then, bitterly, a laugh that turned into a sob. His own voice echoed through the chamber, hollow, pathetic. He despised it. He despised himself.
The memory of Liora's eyes burned most of all—eyes not of judgment but of grief, of a woman betrayed. And Althea, who turned away not in anger but in pity. Even Selene's cold pronouncement stung less than those silent wounds. Cassia had smiled, yes, but hers was the smile of one who delights in collapse.
"God," Adrian whispered—not in prayer, but in desperation. "If You exist, what do You want of me? To suffer? To learn? Or only to burn?"
He pressed his forehead against the stone floor. He felt no answer, only the weight of silence crushing him deeper into himself.
Moments, minutes, hours—he could not measure time. At last he rose, staggering, and stared again at the mirrors. His reflection had changed—or perhaps his vision had. The face before him seemed alien, twisted by lust and shame, eyes sunken, mouth cruel. He recoiled, striking the glass with his fist.
The mirror cracked.
Lines spread across the surface, breaking his reflection into a hundred fragments. Each fragment stared back at him with different expressions—mocking, accusing, indifferent. He wanted to smash them all, to shatter every piece, but his strength had fled.
He sank again to the floor, whispering through clenched teeth: "I am damned. And yet—I want more."
The words horrified him, for they were true. His body ached still with the memory of Cassia's touch, even as his soul writhed in disgust. It was not merely temptation anymore; it was hunger, a gnawing thirst that no judgment, no shame, no prayer could silence.
And in that hunger lay his terror.
For he saw it clearly now: no chain was needed to bind him, no whip to drive him. He would crawl to his own ruin, begging for it, even while cursing it. That was the essence of his slavery. That was his damnation.
From the corner of the room, a sound—a footstep, soft but deliberate.
Adrian turned sharply, breath caught. Selene stood there, her black gown trailing like shadow, her face unreadable. She had followed him, or perhaps she had always known where he would flee.
Her voice, when she spoke, was not cruel, not mocking. It was calm, almost tender. "You see it now, don't you? The truth you tried to deny."
Adrian trembled. He could not meet her gaze.
"You are bound," she continued, kneeling beside him. "But do not despair, Adrian. Chains are not death. They are purpose. And in purpose lies salvation."
Her hand touched his cheek, cold as marble. He wanted to recoil, but his body leaned into it, desperate for any comfort.
Selene's eyes burned softly, not with fire but with certainty. "Cassia offers you fire, yes. Liora, rebellion. Althea, patience. But I—" She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I offer you truth. And once you taste it, you will never flee again."
Adrian's heart pounded. His soul screamed. But his mouth betrayed him, whispering the single word that sealed his weakness:
"Teach me."
Selene smiled.