The library was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a few scattered lamps. Liza's hands trembled as she leaned against a tall bookshelf, trying to steady herself. Books, heavy and silent, towered like witnesses to her fear and frustration.
"Julian…" she began, voice tight. "Elena… what is going on? Are you—"
He didn't look up from the ledger he was reviewing. "You sound jealous," he said finally, calm, almost amused. The faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I am jealous!" Liza snapped, stepping closer. "You invited her here, she—she insinuated things, and I…" Her throat tightened, her chest rising and falling faster than she could control.
Julian finally looked up, his gaze piercing hers. "You think this is about her?" he asked quietly, almost teasingly. "It's never about anyone else." His voice dropped, low and commanding. "It's about you, Liza. And whether you're worth keeping."
Her heart faltered. "Worth keeping? After everything?"
"Yes." He stood and circled her slowly, eyes tracing her movements. "You have one week. Seven days to prove that you are… not just a memory I revisit when I'm bored. Show me you are more than a fleeting indulgence, more than a whim."
The words struck her like a blade. Julian wasn't denying anything about Elena; he was presenting a challenge, a test, a twisted game of dominance.
"And if I fail?" Liza asked, her voice barely audible.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand brushed her cheek lightly—not tenderly, not cruelly, but deliberately, as if weighing her reaction. "Then you'll have learned exactly what happens to those who cannot claim me fully," he murmured. His lips hovered near her ear. "And you, Liza… you know I never take lightly what is mine."