“Stop lying to me, Elizabeth.”
My name on his tongue felt like a violation, an invasion, stripping me bare.
“I know it was you who released the poison in France.A nightmarish hell unleashed on monstrous men—yes.But did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
The accusation cracked through the air like a whip, leaving no room for evasion or pretense.
“I know it was you.And now, you will pay for your crimes.”
A shudder racked through me, my body instinctively recoiling, the iron chains biting against my skin.
“How do you know my name?”I gasped in a desperate, frail attempt to regain control, to turn the interrogation around.
But he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t hesitate.
“I make it my business to know my enemies.”
His tone was ice, devoid of heat and pity, as if my life, existence, and secrets were trivial matters to be collected, used, and discarded at his will.
He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.
“You’re just like that flower, Elizabeth.”
I stiffened.
“Trapped in eternal suspension.Beautiful.Alluring.”
A pause—calculated, suffocating.
“But hiding a venomous sting.”
His words coiled around me, pressing against my throat, an unspoken threat more damning than any blade he could wield.
“No!”
The word erupted from me, a feeble protest, weak and hollow, swallowed by the darkness around us.
I twisted my wrists, the chains clinking in a cruel mockery of my desperation.
His hand found the back of my neck.
Not a strike.
Not a choke.
A cradle—a touch paradoxically tender and terrifying.
My eyes snapped shut, and every muscle tensed.
Was he going to kiss me?
The unbidden, horrifying, visceral thought sent a shudder through me.
But no lips came.
Instead—his breath.
