Chapter 5: The Thread Begins to Fray (Main Character’s Point of View)

I knew what I had done to him.

The glance, the fleeting smile—it was a leash disguised as a gift. A masterstroke of restraint, a promise unspoken yet inescapable.

And now, I would do nothing.

I would let him simmer in it.

I let the night fade into whispers, departing the ballroom without another look in his direction. My carriage awaited me in the grand courtyard, the horses shifting restlessly beneath the moonlight as I stepped inside.

The door shut with a quiet finality.

And still, I felt him.

Watching.

I did not acknowledge him. I merely settled against the velvet interior, fingers trailing absently along the fabric as the carriage began its slow, measured journey home.

He would not act.

Not yet.

Because he did not understand how to want without taking.

But he would learn.

Oh, he would learn.

Days passed.

I went about my affairs, attended engagements, entertained conversations that meant nothing to me. And all the while, I waited.

Waited for the inevitable.

Because men like Caspian D'Argent did not know how to be ignored.

And then—he faltered.

It was during an afternoon at the gardens of Lady Montclair's estate, where the nobility gathered under the pretense of civility, gossiping behind lace gloves and pretending they were not wolves dressed in silk.

I sat at a marble bench, idly twirling the stem of my untouched wine glass, aware of him the moment he arrived.

Caspian was never subtle.

He did not approach immediately, but his presence was a storm at the edges of my awareness. I could feel the tension in the air, the way conversations shifted as he passed, how the women stole glances and the men held their postures a little too rigidly in his presence.

He was looking for me.

And he hated that he was.

I let him suffer.

I let him linger at the periphery, pretending he had not come for me when we both knew otherwise.

And when at last I felt him drawing closer, I did the cruelest thing I could.

I left.

I stood with an effortless grace, placing my untouched wine on the table beside me, and turned toward the garden's exit.

I did not look at him.

I did not acknowledge him.

I simply… walked away.

I had taken his patience, his waiting, and I had made it meaningless.

That would break him faster than any cruel word ever could.