The door closed softly behind her.
The sound echoed longer than it should have.
Trisha stood still for a moment, her hand resting lightly against the wood as if she could still feel the presence on the other side—Rowan, just beyond it. The space he occupied lingered, not physically, but in a way she couldn't explain.
Her pulse hadn't settled.
Not from the argument.
Not from the questions.
Not even from the fear.
But from something else entirely.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
She exhaled slowly and turned.
The room was… different from the rest of the mansion.
Not as vast. Not as overwhelming.
But still unmistakably part of it.
Soft golden lighting cast long shadows across the walls. The furniture was elegant but not excessive—dark wood, intricate carvings, a large bed draped in deep-toned fabric that looked far too luxurious for something meant for rest.
A tall mirror stood near the far wall.
Her eyes went to it immediately.
Unavoidable.
She hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Until she stood in front of her reflection.
For a moment—
she just stared.
Same face.
Same expression.
Same girl she had always been.
And yet—
something felt off.
Her gaze dropped slowly to her collarbone.
To the mark.
It wasn't glowing now.
But it didn't feel still either.
It felt… present.
Alive in a way that made her chest tighten.
Her fingers lifted unconsciously, brushing over it.
A faint warmth pulsed beneath her touch.
Her breath caught.
"Why does this feel like it belongs here…" she murmured under her breath.
Not her.
Here.
In this place.
In this world.
She stepped back suddenly, shaking her head as if to clear the thought.
"No."
This wasn't her world.
This wasn't her life.
This—
everything—
was temporary.
It had to be.
She turned away from the mirror, pacing slowly across the room, her thoughts tangled and restless.
Lucien.
The name lingered like something poisonous.
Rowan's voice replayed in her head.
He doesn't pursue anything without reason.
And that reason… was her.
Her chest tightened again.
"Why me?" she whispered.
No answer came.
Of course it didn't.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in.
Not just physical.
Mental.
Emotional.
Everything at once.
The bed looked far too inviting.
Too soft.
Too dangerous.
And yet—
she sank into it anyway.
Her body didn't resist.
Her mind tried to.
But it didn't take long.
Her eyes grew heavy.
Her thoughts slowed.
And before she could stop it—
darkness pulled her under.
*****
It didn't feel like a dream.
Not at first.
It felt… real.
Warm.
Soft.
Familiar.
Trisha stirred slightly, her breath catching as something shifted around her.
Arms.
Strong.
Wrapped around her.
Holding her close.
Her body reacted instantly—tensing for a fraction of a second before something else replaced it.
Recognition.
Not conscious.
Not logical.
But there.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly.
And he was there.
Rowan.
Closer than she had ever seen him.
Not distant.
Not controlled.
Not guarded.
His gaze was different.
Soft.
Warm.
Filled with something she had never seen directed at her before.
Something that made her chest ache in a way she didn't understand.
"Rowan…?" she whispered.
His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with a tenderness that felt… intimate.
Familiar.
Like he had done it before.
A thousand times.
"You're here," he said quietly.
His voice wasn't the same either.
It lacked the restraint.
The distance.
It was… open.
And that—
that scared her more than anything else.
"I—" she started, but the words slipped away.
Because he was looking at her like she was something precious.
Something he had been searching for.
Something he had finally found.
Her heart pounded.
"This isn't—" she tried again.
A dream.
It had to be.
But it didn't feel like one.
His fingers traced lightly along her jaw.
Then down her neck.
Resting briefly over the mark.
Heat flared.
Not painful.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Her breath hitched.
"You feel it," he murmured.
It wasn't a question.
She did.
God, she did.
"Why…" her voice trembled slightly, "why are you looking at me like that?"
His thumb brushed her cheek softly.
"Because you're mine."
The words should have scared her.
Should have pushed her away.
Should have made her fight it.
But instead—
her body leaned into his touch before she could stop it.
Before she could think.
Before she could understand.
His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer slowly.
Giving her time to pull away.
To stop it.
She didn't.
Her breath grew uneven.
Her pulse racing.
"This isn't real," she whispered weakly.
His lips hovered just inches from hers.
"Does it feel unreal?"
No.
It didn't.
And that was the problem.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping without meaning to.
He closed the distance.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His lips brushed hers—
soft.
Gentle.
And then deeper.
Her mind went blank.
Completely.
Every thought—
gone.
All that remained was sensation.
Warmth.
Pull.
Him.
His hand tightened slightly at her waist, anchoring her, holding her in place as the kiss deepened.
Her breath caught against his.
Her body responding in ways she couldn't control.
Didn't understand.
Didn't stop.
His forehead rested briefly against hers when he pulled back, his breath steady despite everything.
His eyes still on hers.
Still full of that same overwhelming emotion.
"I found you," he whispered.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"Don't—" she started, her voice shaking now.
Because something about this—
felt too real.
Too important.
Too dangerous.
"I don't understand this."
"You don't have to," he said softly.
"I do."
Her voice broke slightly.
"Because if I don't—this… whatever this is—it's going to take something from me."
His expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Something darker flickering beneath the warmth.
"It already has," he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond—
everything shattered.
*****
Trisha gasped as she bolted upright.
Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, her heart pounding violently against her ribs.
The room snapped back into focus.
Dark.
Still.
Empty.
No arms around her.
No warmth.
No Rowan.
Just—
silence.
Her fingers tightened against the bedsheets as she tried to steady her breathing.
"That was—"
A dream.
It had to be.
It had to be.
But—
her lips still tingled.
Her skin still burned where he had touched her.
Her hand flew to her collarbone.
The mark pulsed.
Once.
Sharp.
Alive.
Her breath hitched.
"No."
She shook her head, pushing the feeling away.
"This is just—"
Something else.
Stress.
Fear.
Anything but what it felt like.
Because what it felt like—
was real.
Too real.
A sound broke through the silence.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Urgent.
Not hers.
Not imagined.
Her head snapped toward the door.
Her body tensed instinctively.
Something was wrong.
She moved before she could think.
Pushing the covers aside, crossing the room quickly.
The door opened with a soft click.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit, shadows stretching along the walls.
And then—
voices.
Low.
Urgent.
Coming from down the hall.
She followed.
Barefoot.
Silent.
The air felt different.
Charged.
Like something had shifted while she slept.
She turned the corner—
and saw them.
Rowan stood at the end of the corridor, his posture still but alert.
Seraphina beside him, her expression sharper than before.
And a guard—
kneeling slightly, breath controlled but urgent.
Trisha slowed.
But didn't stop.
She was close enough now to hear.
"King," the guard said, his voice low.
The word made her pause.
King.
Rowan didn't react to it.
"Speak," he said.
The guard hesitated for only a second.
Then—
"There's a messenger at the gates."
Silence.
Tight.
Controlled.
"From the Blackwood clan."
Something cold settled into the air.
Trisha felt it immediately.
Before she even processed the name.
Seraphina's expression darkened.
Rowan's didn't change.
"State the purpose," he said.
The guard swallowed.
"They brought a gift."
A beat.
"For Miss Trisha Hart."
Her name landed like a shockwave.
Her breath caught.
Rowan's gaze shifted.
Slowly.
Landing on her.
He hadn't needed to turn.
He had known she was there.
Of course he had.
Her pulse spiked.
"From whom?" Rowan asked quietly.
The guard lowered his head slightly.
"Lucien Blackwood."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Not still.
But heavy.
Like something had just begun.
Seraphina exhaled slowly.
"He doesn't waste time."
Rowan's eyes didn't leave Trisha.
Not for a second.
And something in them—
something darker now—
made her stomach twist.
"What kind of gift?" he asked.
The guard hesitated again.
Then answered:
"A box."
A pause.
"Sealed."
Another pause.
"Addressed to her."
The air seemed to close in around her.
Her chest tightening.
Her thoughts scattering.
A gift.
From someone who wanted her.
Someone dangerous.
Someone she had never even met.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
"Bring it in," Rowan said.
His voice was calm.
Controlled.
But final.
The guard bowed.
Rising quickly.
Disappearing down the corridor.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't the same.
Not anymore.
Now—
it felt like something was waiting.
Watching.
Approaching.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
Seraphina turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Trisha.
Sharp.
Assessing.
"You should go back to your room."
Trisha didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because whatever is in that box—" Seraphina said quietly, "was not sent to make you feel safe."
Her pulse quickened.
"I'm not leaving."
Rowan stepped closer.
The distance between them closing in seconds.
"You are," he said.
Her jaw tightened.
"I want to see it."
"No."
The word was immediate.
Unyielding.
Her breath caught.
"You don't get to decide that."
"I do."
The authority in his voice wrapped around her, firm and absolute.
And yet—
something in his expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Not anger.
Something else.
Something protective.
Something that made her chest tighten again.
"You stay here ," he said more quietly now. "Until I know what he's sent."
"And if I don't?"
His gaze darkened.
"Then I make you."
The words weren't a threat.
They were a promise.
And that—
that sent a chill down her spine.
But still—
she didn't move.
Because something inside her refused to.
Refused to step back.
Refused to stay out of something that clearly revolved around her.
The air shifted again.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
And somewhere deep beneath her skin—
the mark pulsed again.
Stronger this time.
Like it knew.
Like it recognized something.
Like it was already reacting—
to him.
Lucien.
And whatever he had just sent her.