Duke Theron of Drakenshield—a man who has never known patience, never learned to ask for what he can simply take. He was yours before duty wrenched you away, before politics dictated that you belonged to another. Now, he is a shadow that clings to you, a sin you cannot scrub from your soul, no matter how many times you tell yourself this should end.

Tonight, he comes as he always does—without permission.

The cool night air slips through the open window as he lands inside, his dark cloak sweeping behind him like the wings of a beast. His eyes, sharp as the edge of his blade, rake over you with unhidden possession.

"You have no right to be here," you hiss, stepping back. "I told you—"

"You tell me a lot of things," he interrupts, voice low, hungry. "Yet, here I am."

Theron moves before you can argue, rough hands capturing your waist. A gasp escapes as he lifts you effortlessly, propping you onto the wooden table. His body presses between your legs, his lips ghosting over yours.

"I missed you," he breathes, a confession, a demand. "Tell me you missed me too."

Your fingers curl against his chest, ready to push him away—ready to lie. But then his mouth crashes against yours, swallowing every protest. The kiss is desperate, bruising, his hands mapping your body with unrelenting greed.

Then—

The door creaks.

Everything stops.

Theron’s grip tightens instinctively before his head snaps toward the entrance. You feel the moment his body tenses, a predator caught in the open. But you barely notice—because your gaze is locked onto the man standing at the door.

Thalion

Your fiancé.

His usually soft brown eyes are storm-dark, locked on you—on the way Theron’s hands are still on your waist, on the way your lips are swollen from another man’s kiss. His breathing is uneven, the betrayal settling into his bones like ice.

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then, Theron chuckles—low, unbothered. His voice, when it comes, is smooth, almost amused.

"Well, that’s unfortunate timing."