Chapter 15: Seraphina

The room is quiet now, too quiet. The silence is suffocating.

Rafael's warmth still lingers on my skin like a brand—unshakable, unwanted, unforgettable. I sit on the edge of the bed, my body wrapped in the silk sheet, my fingers pressed to my lips as if I can erase the memory of his mouth on mine.

But it's seared into me. Just like the rest of him.

I should feel ashamed. Enraged. I should be plotting his death again, calculating the fastest way to slit his throat while he sleeps. But instead, I'm still trembling… not from fear, but from how good it felt to give in. How terrifyingly right it felt when it shouldn't have.

He didn't conquer me. I let him in.

And that might be worse.

Across the room, he leans against the doorway—shirtless, shadows cutting across the lines of his sculpted chest, his jeans riding low on his hips. The way his eyes track me isn't soft. It's possessive. Like he's still devouring me without a single touch.

"Are you regretting it already?" His voice is rough, almost amused. "You keep looking at me like you're about to run… or stab me."

I stare back at him, cold and unflinching. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just deciding which would feel better."

He smirks, and damn him for how good it looks on that arrogant mouth. "You think I'm scared of your knives, krasivaya? You had your chance."

"You think that's the only weapon I've got?" I rise from the bed slowly, sheet slipping just enough to make his eyes darken. I step toward him, keeping my expression unreadable. "Don't mistake surrender for submission, Rafael. That wasn't me giving in. That was me… playing with fire."

"You're not the only one burning."

His words stop me cold. I don't know what I expected, but honesty wasn't it. Not from him. Not now.

I swallow, hard. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Then why do you look like you want it to?"

He steps forward, and I hate that my body reacts before my mind catches up. Heat curls in my stomach again, this dangerous ache that won't let up. I don't trust him—but I crave him, and that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

"You're my prisoner," I snap, more to remind myself than him. "This changes nothing."

"No," he says, stopping inches from me. "It changes everything."

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, slow and deliberate. "And the sooner you stop lying to yourself, the easier this will be."

I jerk my head away, retreating a step. "Don't think a few orgasms give you power over me."

But I see the flicker of heat in his eyes when I say it—raw, hungry. And I realize I've just thrown gasoline on a fire that was already raging.

He chuckles darkly. "Careful, Seraphina. You're starting to sound like you want me again."

I clench my jaw, turning away before he sees the truth in my eyes. Want isn't the problem. It never was. The problem is how much I liked the way it felt to be wanted back.

To be claimed… even if it was only for a night.

But there are no happy endings in our world. There's only control and survival. And I'm not ready to give up either.

Not yet.