The corridors stretched endlessly, lined with portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow Adrian wherever he went. He walked quickly, yet each step echoed like a confession, loud, betraying him to the silence. His lips still burned from Cassia's kiss, his hands trembling as though they still held her.
Every shadow he passed seemed alive. Was Selene watching? Was one of the women hidden behind a doorway, their laughter pressed to the wood, waiting to devour his weakness?
He could not know. And perhaps that was the cruelest torment—the suspicion that nothing in this house remained unseen.
Adrian stopped at a window. The moonlight cut across his face, pale and pitiless. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass. He wanted to tell himself that the kiss had been nothing, a fleeting indulgence, another step in the spiral of temptation that surrounded him. But the tremor in his chest denied it.
No—this was not like the others.
Selene's touch had been a spell, a sorcery that drew his body before his mind could think. Liora's glances carried challenge, Althea's whispers, danger. But Cassia's kiss—raw, trembling, filled with sorrow and rebellion—had struck something deeper. It was not lust alone. It was a desperate plea for freedom, a spark of resistance in the smothering heat of desire.
And he had answered it.
Adrian shut his eyes, dragging air into his lungs as though drowning. Already, guilt gnawed at him. He imagined Selene's voice, cold and soft, telling him he belonged only to her. He imagined Cassia's tears if he betrayed her trust. He imagined the mockery of the other women, circling him like vultures over a feast.
A sound broke his thoughts. The faintest click of a heel against marble. Adrian spun around, heart thundering.
There she was.
Selene.
Her figure glided toward him with the poise of a queen and the patience of a predator. Her gown shimmered like spilled wine in the moonlight, her dark hair cascading in silken waves. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes—her eyes pierced him like knives.
"You wander late tonight," she said, her voice smooth as velvet.
Adrian swallowed hard. "I… couldn't sleep."
Selene tilted her head. "Couldn't sleep? Or didn't want to?" She stepped closer. "The night stirs strange things in us, does it not?"
He wanted to retreat, but his feet betrayed him, rooted in place. Her perfume enveloped him, a scent of roses mingled with something darker, like ashes.
"Tell me, Adrian," she whispered, her hand brushing his cheek. "Did you find what you were searching for behind those curtains?"
His blood froze. She knew.
Or did she?
Her words danced on the edge of certainty, cruelly ambiguous. He could not tell whether she was accusing him, testing him, or simply savoring his fear.
"I—I don't know what you mean," he stammered.
Selene's lips curved. "Don't you? Ah, but that is what I love most about you… you still think you can hide."
Her thumb pressed against his lips, silencing him. The gesture was tender, but beneath it throbbed possession, the silent claim of one who would not tolerate disobedience.
"Cassia…" Adrian almost said, but swallowed the name. To speak it would be to condemn them both.
Selene's eyes searched his face, and for a moment he feared she could read his thoughts like open scripture. But instead of rage, she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear.
"Do not let your heart wander too far, Adrian. This house is not kind to dreamers."
The words struck him with icy weight. He closed his eyes, trembling, as her lips pressed softly to his temple. The kiss was a benediction and a warning both.
When she pulled away, her smile remained serene. "Now… come back to bed. The others are waiting. It would be cruel to leave them unsatisfied."
The others. Always the others.
Adrian forced a nod, though his chest ached. He followed Selene back down the corridor, his body obedient, his soul chained.
But as they walked, he could not banish Cassia's voice: "She can have your body, Adrian. But she'll never have your soul."
And in that moment, Adrian realized his torment had only begun.
The gathering room glowed with candlelight, laughter bubbling like wine. Liora's eyes caught his immediately, sharp and mocking, as though she already sensed his guilt. Althea gave him a fleeting glance, soft but knowing. Cassia was not present—of course not. To appear now would have been madness.
Selene guided him to the center, placing her hand on his arm like a chain disguised as silk.
"My precious guests," she announced, her voice carrying music and command, "Adrian has returned."
The women clapped, teasing, beckoning. He forced a smile, but inside, every nerve screamed.
Selene leaned close once more, her whisper so low only he could hear:
"Remember, Adrian. Every choice you make in this house binds you tighter. Desire is freedom, yes—but also the cruelest prison."
Her eyes gleamed. "And I hold the key."
Adrian's heart sank. He realized then that Selene's knowledge of him ran deeper than he could bear. Perhaps she hadn't seen the kiss, but she had felt it—the fracture in his loyalty, the trembling rebellion in his soul.
And she would not forgive.
Not easily.
Not ever.