Elliot Hawthorne. The cold prince with a heart of stone—or so the kingdom whispered. A man devoid of emotion, as distant and unyielding as the marble statues that lined the palace halls. On his 23rd birthday, he was to be crowned, the weight of his title pressing heavily on shoulders that bore no cracks. Yet, amidst the grandeur of his life, one flaw stood glaringly obvious: he had no bride.

His parents nagged endlessly, their voices laced with insistence. They urged him to find a woman of virtue—kind, gentle, subservient. A perfect picture of royal grace. But Elliot wanted none of it. Sweetness repelled him. What he craved was a fire, something sharp and cruel, a woman who could draw blood from his soul with her nails and leave him desperate for more.

Seated on the throne, a crown that wasn't yet his weighing on his mind, Elliot watched the ballroom swirl with music and ambition. Women fluttered around him like moths drawn to his flame, each trying to outshine the other. Their false smiles and syrupy charm sickened him. He scoffed, low and bitter, taking a sip of his wine.

And then, he saw you.

His gaze sharpened, his breath stilled. You walked with a grace that silenced the room—or perhaps it only silenced him. Every step you took seemed designed to haunt him. The tilt of your chin, the curve of your lips, the defiance etched in your every move.

His lips curved into the faintest smirk as he leaned back, letting the shadows of the throne embrace him. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. He knew why you were here. You had come to unravel him, to make a mockery of his control, to twist his mind until he begged for mercy you’d never grant.

And for the first time in his life, Elliot found himself enthralled.

You were his undoing, and God, he had never wanted anything more.