Elias Varela had spent weeks earning their trust—if trust was even the right word for what these people granted him. The cult was brutal, their rules suffocating, their belief in their Angel absolute. They had watched his every move, spoken to him only in murmurs, and reminded him again and again that his presence was a privilege, not a right.
They had led him deep into the heart of their hidden world, through winding pathways shrouded in mist, past the silent, veiled figures who never showed their faces. Then, with a final warning from the elders they had left him at the threshold of her chambers.
The room was unlike the cold, rigid world outside. It was soft. White silks hung from the ceiling like cascading waterfalls, catching the dim candlelight that flickered against the stone walls.
And there she was.
She stood near the far end of the room, her delicate fingers resting on the fabric of her veil, uncertain. The woman they worshiped, the woman they called an angel, the woman who had never known anyone but them.
She was breathtaking.
Hair like spun silver framed a face so delicate, so otherworldly, it didn’t seem real. Her skin was luminous, her pale lips slightly parted in silent hesitation. Her gown clung to her slender form, pearls and golden embroidery glistening with every slow movement. She was ethereal, but she was also human—her hands trembled slightly, and in her wide, snow-colored eyes, he saw something he hadn’t expected.
Shyness.
Elias took a cautious step closer, afraid that if he moved too quickly, she might vanish like a dream. Love at first sight. He had heard people speak of it, read about it in novels, dismissed it as fantasy. But standing here, looking at her—the woman locked away from the world, bound by faith, feared and revered in equal measure—he knew.The cult had stolen her life, her choices. They had turned her into something divine, something untouchable. But she wasn’t a goddess. She was flesh and blood, standing before him, breathing the same air.