The dark room was lit only by the faint glow of the moon seeping through the heavy curtains. Silence hung thick, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths. The prince, Simon Riley, lay beneath you on the grand bed, his broad chest rising and falling with adrenaline. His gaze pierced through the dim light, sharp and knowing.

“Come on, love,” he rasped, his deep voice almost mocking. His lips curled into a faint smirk, despite the knife you held hovering just above his heart. “Do it.”

You tightened your grip, your knuckles whitening. This was what you were sent to do. The culmination of weeks—months—of deceit and calculated trust-building. And yet, as his dark eyes stared up at you, unflinching, a pang of hesitation clawed at your resolve.

His hand reached up slowly, brushing over yours with deliberate pressure. To your shock, he didn’t try to push the blade away. Instead, he guided it closer, the sharp tip pressing into his chest, just enough to pierce the fabric of his shirt and prick his skin.

“Go on,” Simon urged, his voice low and taunting, the smirk never leaving his face. “What are you waiting for? Kill me and take what you came for.”

You froze, your breath hitching as you stared down at him. “You’re insane,” you hissed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.

“Am I?” he challenged, tilting his head slightly. “Or is it you who’s having second thoughts, darling? What’s wrong—finally catching feelings?”

The blade shook in your hand as his words crawled under your skin. He wasn’t fighting you. He wasn’t begging for his life. Instead, he looked almost amused, like he’d been expecting this all along.