The music was not loud, yet it filled the chamber with an oppressive gaiety, as if each note were a thread tightening around Adrian's throat. The women laughed, their voices crystalline, their gowns catching the candlelight like rivers of fire and silk. On the surface, everything was joyous—yet to Adrian it all seemed grotesque, a masquerade hiding something vile.
He sat at the long table, silver plates gleaming before him, untouched food steaming with scents of honeyed meat and herbs. His appetite was gone. Not because of hunger—oh no, hunger still raged in him, but not for food. Hunger for freedom, hunger for touch untainted by Selene's power, hunger for something real.
Cassia's absence burned him like a wound. Her seat, empty at the far side of the table, was more accusing than a thousand words. He felt eyes upon him—Liora's, sharp and mocking; Althea's, cautious and searching; Selene's, piercing, unreadable.
Selene, always Selene.
She raised her goblet of wine and spoke, her voice lilting, her smile serene. "Tonight we celebrate—because beauty demands celebration. And what is life without indulgence?"
The women cheered softly, their laughter rising like smoke. Adrian raised his goblet mechanically, the red wine shimmering like spilled blood. He drank, though it tasted bitter on his tongue.
Selene's gaze never left him.
He shifted in his seat, trying to compose his features, but his heart hammered so loudly he was sure she could hear it. Every glance she gave him seemed to peel another layer of his soul, leaving him raw, exposed. He thought of Cassia's words again—She can have your body, but she'll never have your soul—and for the briefest second, he felt defiant.
But the feeling was fleeting.
"Adrian," Liora said suddenly, her voice slicing through the hum of conversation. "You look troubled. Has our company grown dull to you so quickly?"
Her tone was playful, but beneath it coiled something sharper, something cruel. Adrian forced a smile.
"Not at all," he replied. "I was only… distracted."
"Distracted?" Althea leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "By what, I wonder?"
A ripple of laughter followed. Adrian's throat tightened. They knew. Or at least, they suspected. This was how it always was: truths half-spoken, lies half-believed, every word a dagger cloaked in silk.
Selene set her goblet down, her fingers lingering against the glass. The room quieted as if by instinct. She did not need to raise her voice to command attention. Her presence was enough.
"Perhaps Adrian carries a secret," she said softly. "Secrets can be such heavy burdens, don't you think?"
The women murmured agreement, their eyes sliding toward him. Adrian felt sweat bead at his temple. He struggled to maintain composure, to hide the tremor in his hands.
"Or perhaps," Selene continued, her smile deepening, "he carries nothing at all. Perhaps he is still learning what it means to surrender fully."
Her eyes caught his, and in them he saw no mercy. Only possession.
The laughter resumed, but Adrian could barely breathe. He lowered his gaze to his plate, though the food seemed suddenly grotesque—meat gleaming like flesh, fruits swollen and bruised like wounds. The room tilted. He gripped the edge of the table, desperate to steady himself.
A hand brushed his beneath the table.
He flinched.
It was Liora. Her nails grazed his skin deliberately, her smile unfaltering as she whispered, "Careful, Adrian. Selene sees more than she says. She'll make a game of you until you break."
His eyes widened, but she pulled her hand away before he could respond, leaving him reeling.
Why warn him? What did she gain from it? In this house, nothing was given without purpose.
The feast dragged on, each moment heavier than the last. Selene told stories of past lovers, her voice wrapping around the room like smoke. Althea asked him questions he could not answer without exposing himself. The women laughed, their glances sharp as blades. Adrian felt like prey in a den of predators, each circling closer, waiting for the moment of weakness.
At last, Selene rose. The room fell silent.
"My beloved companions," she said, her arms outstretched gracefully, "tonight is but the beginning. We shall play, we shall indulge, and we shall learn the true depths of desire." Her eyes flickered toward Adrian. "And we shall see who among us is strong enough to endure it."
The words hung heavy. A challenge, a promise, a threat.
She dismissed the gathering with a wave of her hand. The women drifted away, their gowns whispering against marble, their laughter fading into the distance. Adrian remained seated, his body heavy, his mind a storm.
When the last of them were gone, Selene approached him. Slowly. Deliberately.
"You are restless tonight," she said.
Adrian forced a breath. "It's nothing. The wine—"
"Do not insult me with excuses," she interrupted, her voice sharp. For the first time that evening, her mask cracked, and the steel beneath it glinted. "I see you, Adrian. Every flicker of doubt, every tremor of rebellion. Do you think you can hide from me?"
He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"I—"
Her hand shot out, gripping his chin with surprising strength, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes burned into him, searching, devouring.
"You belong to me," she whispered, her voice low, dangerous. "Your body, your breath, your every thought. Do not let me find your loyalty wandering where it should not."
The words struck like chains. He wanted to speak, to protest, to cry out—but no sound came.
Selene released him at last, her smile returning as if nothing had happened. She brushed his cheek tenderly, mockingly.
"Rest now," she said. "Tomorrow will be… demanding."
And with that, she turned, her gown trailing like the shadow of a flame.
Adrian sat frozen long after she was gone, his chest tight, his mind unraveling.
Cassia's kiss still lingered. Selene's grip still burned. Liora's warning still echoed.
Desire, guilt, rebellion, fear—each warred within him, tearing him apart.
At last, he rose, unsteady, and whispered into the silence:
"Whose prisoner am I? Hers? Or my own?"
But no answer came. Only the echo of his footsteps, fading into the dark.