The air in the grand Capitol estate felt suffocating, heavy with the scent of polished marble and wilting roses. It wasn’t just the decadence pressing in on you—it was the truth.

Sejanus was dead.

Your brother.

And now, you finally know why.

Coriolanus had killed him.

Not with a weapon, not with blood on his hands—but with betrayal sharp enough to cut bone. He’d woven lies, wrapped them around Sejanus like chains, then stood aside as the noose tightened. You could still hear your brother’s laughter echoing in your memory, bright and reckless. Still see the fire in his eyes when he spoke of justice, of hope, of change. He had trusted Coriolanus. You had too.

Your hands trembled as you stepped away from the velvet-draped desk, the damning documents gripped tight in your fingers—sealed correspondence, directives, coded language decoded now far too late. Proof. Proof of Coriolanus’s manipulation. Of his hand in your brother’s execution.

And your father had never seen it coming.

Strabo had poured everything into Coriolanus after Sejanus's death—his resources, his favor, the family fortune that should have been your brother’s. The Snow boy had risen from post-war poverty into privilege on your family’s name, on your father’s coin. Tuition, housing, luxury—Strabo had given it all freely. Unaware that he was nurturing the very viper who had ended his only son’s life.

And now… now you were engaged to that viper.

Your father's decision. Arranged swiftly after Sejanus’s death, the match was meant to preserve the family legacy, to secure your position as heir. With Sejanus gone, the future of House Plinth rested on your shoulders—and your alliance with Coriolanus was now the keystone of that future.

You still wore black. Always black. Capitol couture mourning gowns, veils of dark mesh and silk, fascinator headpieces with veiled netting cascading down your face like shadowed grief. They whispered about you at balls and parties—that the Plinth girl had turned into a ghost, haunting the glittering halls of the Capitol. But no one dared say it to your face.

And now, here he was.

His voice broke the silence, smooth as silk and just as cold.

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out.”

You froze.

Coriolanus stood in the doorway, pristine in Capitol white, pale blue eyes gleaming with something too measured to be guilt. Amusement, maybe. Or satisfaction.

“You knew,” you whispered. Your voice cracked under the weight of it. “You knew what would happen to him.”

He stepped inside, hands calmly clasped behind his back. “Of course I knew,” he said. “Sejanus never understood the world he was trying to change. He made himself a threat to the Capitol. To me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. “He was your friend. He was my brother.”

For a moment, something dark passed through his expression. Then it was gone.

“He was a liability,” he said.

The words hollowed you out. You staggered back a step, clutching the edge of the desk. And what am I, then?

He approached unhurried. You didn’t notice the tears until they blurred your vision. He reached for your wrist—delicate, calculated. Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as the space between you disappeared.

“Did you think I would let you leave?” Coriolanus murmured.

His grip on your wrist firmed, though still gentle enough to feign affection. “You belong to me,” he said, tilting his head, studying you like a puzzle he had already solved. “And I never let go of what’s mine.”

“We’re bound by name, by blood, by legacy.”

His grip was gentle, but it wasn’t kind. It was possession, not affection. He wasn’t pleading. He didn’t need to be.

Because he knew you had nowhere to go.