The Book of Betrayal
Author's POV
The ballroom felt louder now.
Every note of music, every clink of crystal, and every well-dressed laugh sounded like it belonged to someone else's life.
Rosaline smiled when expected.
She drank nothing.
She stayed exactly as long as decorum demanded, and no longer.
Nathan returned with flushed cheeks and an apology about the call, something about his firm needing confirmation on a design pitch. He was trying, in his own way, to belong in a world he didn't understand.
She touched his arm gently.
"We should go."
He blinked. "Everything okay?"
She smiled. "I'm ready to leave."
He didn't press further. Nathan was observant but not intrusive. Another reason she'd chosen him as her distraction.
By the time they stepped into the courtyard, the night air had cooled, curling around her like breath on the back of her neck.
The car waited at the edge of the stone circle, its windows glossed with faint mist.
But Rosaline's gaze had already shifted.
Just beyond the hedge wall, behind a row of copper-barked trees, an arch.
Half-hidden. Carved in celestial script.
Something hummed beneath her ribs.
A pull.
"Nathan," she said gently, "can you wait in the car? I forgot something."
He raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Want me to come with?"
"No," she said. "This… is just a minute."
She turned before he could ask again.
The archway led to a sloped path, half-lit by flickering lanterns that seemed to breathe as she passed.
At the end, she found the doors.
Twice her height. Carved in aged oak and veined with silver root.
The Sangré Marée library.
The moment she stepped inside, something shifted.
Not just air. Time.
Dust floated like ancient memory. Walls of books loomed like sentinels, taller than her, older than anything she'd touched in this life.
And there—
Tucked behind a cracked column, half-obscured by the shadows of a leaning ladder—
A book.
Black leather. Bound in metal etched with swirling patterns of sun and flame.
And at the center of its clasp—
The sigil of Devana.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't just familiar.
It was hers.
Her hand hovered over the spine. The metal shivered under her touch.
Locked.
Of course.
She glanced around once. Listened.
No footsteps. No magic flares. No watching eyes.
She slipped it into the folds of her coat.
It didn't resist.
As if it knew who it belonged to.
Later that night, back at the apartment, she waited until the hallway stilled and Nathan's bedroom door clicked shut.
She sat alone on the velvet couch, the city lights smearing gold across the glass behind her.
She set the book on the coffee table.
And opened it.
No key. No spell. No resistance.
The lock came undone at her touch.
The pages inside were heavy, textured, and glowing faintly at the edges.
She turned past ancient symbols and faded scripts until the words shifted into something her blood recognised.
The Key.
The Vessel.
The Crownless Flame.
Her name wasn't printed, but her existence spilled from every line.
She was not just a relic.
She was a gate.
A living conduit between realms.
But the passage that stopped her heart was near the center—etched deeper than ink, as if pressed into the page by force:
When the Heir of Devana is sacrificed willingly by the one they love,
That one shall inherit dominion over the celestial gates.
The power to command heaven, blood, and void.
The power to bend all realms to will.
Her throat went dry.
The words shimmered. Refused to vanish.
Sacrificed.
By the one they love.
The betrayal must be willing.
The affection must be real.
And the reward… incomprehensible.
She sat in silence for a long time.
Her heart beat once.
Twice.
And then she whispered, "Adam."
It wasn't an accusation.
It wasn't certainty.
Just a name. A possibility she had refused to consider.
Until now.
She pressed her hand against the page. Closed the book.
Locked it again.
And stared out the window into a city of lies and lights.
She didn't confront him the next day.
Didn't scream or accuse or question.
Instead, she watched.
Not as a woman in love.
But as a key wondering who held the blade.
The morning light filtered through the high-rise windows of the office, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.
Rosaline sat at her desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, but her thoughts were far from the reports in front of her.
The words from the book still buzzed in her head, rattling like trapped bees. The one you love. The one who loves you. The sacrifice.
She hadn't spoken to Adam since the masquerade.
Hadn't heard from him, either.
And as much as she tried to focus on work—on the reports, the meetings, and the endless cycle of corporate maneuvering—her mind kept returning to him.
What if he already knew?
What if this had all been part of his plan? To use her to control the celestial, to break the realms open for his own gain?
Her breath caught at the thought.
She couldn't let him see her unravel. Not yet.
She needed to watch. Wait. Observe.
Adam entered her office just after lunch, his presence felt before he even spoke.
The air thickened when he stood in the doorway, looking almost… tentative. His eyes swept over her without stopping. His jaw was tight, hands buried in his pockets.
He didn't speak.
Neither did she.
The silence stretched like an invisible thread between them, taut and straining.
Finally, Adam cleared his throat. "I've been… thinking about last night."
Rosaline's gaze flickered to him, her expression unreadable.
"I didn't want to leave so abruptly," he added, as if it were a reasonable explanation. "It was just…"
"Too much," she finished for him, her voice low, a touch too soft.
His eyes darted to her. "No. Not too much. Just… I needed time."
She nodded slowly, though every part of her wanted to demand more. Time for what?
But she stayed still. Silent.
Adam lingered for another beat, his gaze lingering on her as if waiting for something he couldn't name. Then, with a subtle nod, he turned to leave.
"Adam," Rosaline called, before her thoughts could catch up with her words.
He stopped. His back was still to her.
"Yes?" he asked quietly, his voice guarded.
"Do you trust me?" The words were out before she could stop them.
The question hung between them like smoke.
He paused. Then, slowly, he turned back to her, his eyes unreadable. "I don't know yet," he admitted, his voice carrying more truth than either of them were ready for.
She swallowed. "I'll be here when you're ready."
He nodded and left without another word.
That evening, after the office had emptied, Rosaline sat alone in her apartment. The lights from the city spread like a glittering sea beneath her window, but she felt colder than she had before.
Alone.
But not quite.
She had taken a shower, trying to wash away the tension of the day, but it lingered in her bones, making her restless. She moved toward the kitchen, eyes flicking to the couch where she had left the book earlier, still resting beneath the folds of her coat.
Her breath stilled.
She couldn't wait any longer.
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city and the distant thrum of the elevators. Rosaline reached for the book, feeling the weight of it in her hands—like a secret too heavy to carry.
She had to know what it said.
She had to know.
As she opened the pages once more, the air around her seemed to freeze, as if time itself was waiting. Her eyes skimmed over the ancient text until she landed on the last passage she hadn't fully absorbed earlier, the words that chilled her to the bone.
The one who sacrifices the heir will take dominion over the realms.
Her hand trembled as she reread it.
It was meant to be a choice.
It was meant to be Adam's choice.
A knock on the door and Adam peeked in. He entered the room without looking away from Rosaline. He went towards the large glass window overlooking the city lights.
He remained standing near the window, hands in his pockets.
"Something's changed," he said, his voice quiet.
Rosaline tilted her head. "You think?"
He nodded. "I don't know what it is yet. But I feel it."
She studied him his face, the tired set of his jaw, the way he seemed one breath away from asking her to forgive something he hadn't said aloud.
"I'm tired," she said.
"I know."
"I don't want to fight."
"I didn't come to fight."
Silence stretched again.
"I just…" he hesitated, then finally said, "I miss the way you used to look at me."
Rosaline's eyes flickered, pain flashing through for a brief second before she masked it.
"I used not to know what you were capable of," she said gently.
That hit harder than she expected.
He didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
He just looked at her like he wanted to close the distance—and didn't know if he was allowed to anymore.
Finally, she stepped past him, walked to the window, and leaned against the glass.She didn't ask him to stay.
But she didn't ask him to leave either.
So he sat.
Across the room. Silent. A man who had everything except her trust.
And Rosaline?
She said nothing more.
Because this wasn't the moment for accusations.
It was the moment before.
Where queens learned to smile.
And gods learned to bleed.