Seraphina didn't respond. She knew better than to argue right now.
But Ezrin wasn't done.
His grip on her waist loosened slightly, but his gaze sharpened.
"Now, tell me something else, Seraphina." His voice was deceptively calm. "Why didn't you eat anything yesterday?"
Seraphina blinked. That wasn't what she expected.
Out of everything, he was asking about that?
She shifted slightly, uncomfortable under his stare. "I was busy."
Wrong answer.
Seraphina exhaled, pushing back the exhaustion weighing on her body." I was busy—"
"Busy." Ezrin's voice darkened. "Busy running into danger. Busy getting yourself half-dead in a forest. Busy making reckless decisions. But not busy enough to think about keeping yourself alive?"
Seraphina held his gaze, refusing to look away."I survived."
Ezrin's jaw tightened.
"Barely."
His tone was clipped, but his eyes said everything else.
This wasn't just anger.
This was something deeper. Something possessive, something furious that he was barely keeping contained.
He let out a slow, controlled breath, then suddenly—his arms moved.
Before Seraphina could react, Ezrin grabbed her.
One arm under her legs, the other around her waist.
Her breath hitched as he lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing.
"Ezrin—" she started, but he didn't let her finish.
"You can't walk. And even if you could, I wouldn't let you." His voice was low, commanding."You're eating. Now."
Seraphina stiffened in his arms, her fingers instinctively gripping his shirt.
Ezrin's grip only tightened.
He didn't say another word as he walked out of the room, carrying her straight to the kitchen.
And this time, she knew better than to argue.
Ezrin carried Seraphina effortlessly, his grip firm yet controlled. She wasn't getting out of this.
The kitchen was dimly lit, the early morning light filtering through the large windows.
Without hesitation, he placed her on a chair at the dining table, his hands briefly lingering at her waist before he pulled away.
Seraphina adjusted herself, her body still weak, but her mind racing.
Ezrin, meanwhile, walked straight to the fridge, his movements precise, methodical.
He opened it, scanning the contents. "What do you want to eat?"
Seraphina sighed. "Anything."
Ezrin smirked.
His gaze flickered back to her, amusement mixed with something darker.
"Anything?" His tone was smooth, laced with something undeniably smug."Careful, Seraphina. When you leave things in my hands, I don't take them lightly."
Seraphina held his gaze, refusing to react.
But deep down, she knew—
He meant more than just breakfast.
Seraphina kept her expression unreadable, but she wasn't stupid.
Ezrin's smirk, his tone, his words—everything about him carried a double meaning.
But she refused to play into it. Not now.
Ezrin turned back to the fridge, pulling out eggs, bread, and a few other ingredients with calculated ease.
Seraphina rested her elbows on the table, watching him move.
It was strange.
Ezrin Holloway, making breakfast?
He looked too powerful, too controlled to be doing something as normal as cracking eggs into a pan.
Yet, here he was—rolling up his sleeves, cooking as if he did this every day.
The sizzling sound filled the silence.
Ezrin glanced at her from the side, his smirk lingering. "You're staring."
Seraphina blinked. "I am not."
Ezrin chuckled softly, low and knowing.
"Lying this early in the morning?" He flipped the egg smoothly, his movements sharp. "Not a good habit, Seraphina."
She exhaled, forcing herself to look away.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Not when she knew this was only the beginning.
Seraphina sat back, forcing herself to ignore him.
But Ezrin was impossible to ignore.
His movements were too fluid, too precise. Every action was deliberate—just like everything else he did.
He plated the food with a slow, effortless grace, then set the plate in front of her. Toast, eggs, fruit. Simple, yet surprisingly thoughtful.
Then, instead of taking the seat across from her, he pulled out the chair beside her.
Too close.
Seraphina tensed slightly, but she didn't react.
Ezrin leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, watching her.
"Eat." His voice was smooth, commanding—but not impatient.
Seraphina picked up the fork, stabbing a piece of egg before bringing it to her lips.
Ezrin's smirk deepened.
She paused. "What?"
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving her."Nothing."
Seraphina narrowed her eyes, chewing slowly.
He was enjoying this.
Not just the fact that she was following his order.
But the fact that he was the reason she had to.
She took another bite, refusing to acknowledge him.
But Ezrin leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping. "Good girl."
Seraphina's grip on the fork tightened.
She swallowed, setting it down with a little more force than necessary.
Ezrin's smirk didn't waver.
"Something wrong?"
Seraphina exhaled slowly, picking the fork back up.
She wouldn't give him the reaction he wanted.
Not now.
Not yet.
Seraphina was halfway through her meal when it hit her.
She was in his clothes.
She had known it since waking up, but now it clicked—
How?
Her fingers instinctively curled against the fabric of the oversized shirt, her mind racing.
She didn't change herself.
Which meant—
Her body stiffened. Ezrin.
She stood up abruptly, instinct taking over.
But the sharp, brutal pain in her ankle reminded her too late.
A strangled moan of pain slipped from her lips as she stumbled, her vision blurring for a second.
Before she could crash onto the floor, a strong arm caught her—fast, firm, unyielding.
Ezrin.
He pulled her in, his grip around her waist secure, pressing her against his chest.
Seraphina's breath hitched, her hands bracing against him.
Ezrin's fingers tightened slightly, his voice dangerously low.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Seraphina didn't answer.
Because right now—his hold, his proximity, his unreadable gaze—
It was all too much.
Seraphina stilled in his arms, her heart pounding far too loudly.
Ezrin didn't move either. His grip remained firm, his body steady—like he had no intention of letting go.
She swallowed, forcing herself to focus.
But the thought was already nagging at her.
She had to ask.
Even if she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
"…Who changed my clothes?"
Ezrin didn't react at first. Just silence.
Then—the smallest smirk ghosted his lips.
"Who do you think?" His voice was smooth, knowing.
Seraphina's stomach dropped.
Her fingers curled against his shirt, her body tense.
"You—" she started, but Ezrin cut her off.
"You were unconscious, Seraphina." His grip on her tightened slightly."You think I'd let you sleep in bloodstained clothes?"
Her breathing slowed.
He wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't even remotely apologetic.
Her gaze locked onto his, searching for something—anything—but his expression remained unreadable.
"You—" she tried again, but nothing came out.
Because for the first time, she had no idea what to say.
Seraphina's breath was shaky, uneven.
Ezrin's grip on her waist didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened.
He wasn't letting her go.
She tried again, her voice quieter this time. "You changed my clothes?"
Ezrin tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers."I already answered that."
Her fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt."You had no right—"
"I had every right." His voice was calm, unbothered—but his grip? Firm. Unrelenting."You were unconscious. You needed to be taken care of."
Seraphina's breathing faltered for a second.
The way he said it—like it was obvious, like it was inevitable.
Like she had no say in it.
She swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze."You could've asked the doctor."
Ezrin's smirk returned, cold and knowing.
"You think I'd let someone else do it?"
Her stomach twisted.
She didn't know if it was anger, shock, or something far more dangerous.
But one thing was clear—
Ezrin Holloway wasn't just possessive.
He was claiming her.
And the worst part?
She didn't know how to stop him.
Seraphina felt it now—truly felt it.
Ezrin wasn't just stating a fact. He was staking a claim.
And the way he said it—so calm, so absolute, like he had already decided for her—
It unsettled her.
She swallowed, her fingers twitching against the fabric of his shirt. "Ezrin, this isn't—"
"It is." His voice cut through hers, sharp and unwavering.
Seraphina exhaled, her mind spinning, her body betraying her by not pushing him away.
She should. She needed to.
But the way his fingers pressed against her waist, the way his gaze stayed locked onto hers—
She couldn't move.
Ezrin leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her skin."You're wasting energy fighting things that are already done, Seraphina."
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Because he was right.
It was already done.
He had changed her clothes. He had carried her. He had fed her.
And she had let him.
Her grip tightened, her frustration spilling into her words."You can't just—"
"I can. And I did."
His voice was unapologetic, unmoving.
She hated it.
Hated that he made her feel like she had no control.
But even worse—
She hated that a part of her didn't want to pull away.
Seraphina forced herself to breathe, to think past the weight of his words.
Ezrin wasn't just stating facts—he was stripping her of control, decision by decision.
And she hated it.
"You don't get to make choices for me." Her voice was sharp, but her body—still trapped in his grip—contradicted her.
Ezrin tilted his head slightly, amused."You weren't in a position to make them yourself."
Her pulse quickened. "That doesn't mean you—"
"Doesn't it?" His fingers flexed slightly, his touch pressing just enough to remind her exactly where she was."You were unconscious, covered in blood, barely breathing. Tell me, Seraphina—what should I have done?"
She clenched her jaw, but he wasn't done.
"Left you in those torn, filthy clothes? Watched you get sick? Or maybe I should've let some stranger take care of you instead?"
Seraphina's stomach twisted.
That was the problem.
Because no matter how much she wanted to argue—he had done what she would've wanted.
But that wasn't the point.
The point was—
He was making her accept things on his terms.
She exhaled, her voice lower this time. "I didn't ask you to."
Ezrin smirked. "You didn't have to."
His voice was calm, but there was something else beneath it.
Something dangerous. Possessive.
Seraphina wanted to snap back, to tell him he was crossing a line—
But then he did something that stole the words from her throat.
He leaned in.
Not touching. Not quite.
But close enough that she could feel the heat between them, feel the control he refused to give her.
"You should stop acting like you have a choice." His voice was low, quiet—but it wrapped around her like a chain.
Her breath hitched.
Because she knew.
This wasn't about last night.
Seraphina's breath shallowed.
Ezrin didn't move away. He didn't give her space.
Instead, he lifted a hand.
Slow, deliberate. Purposeful.
His fingers brushed against her cheek, his touch light, almost teasing.
Seraphina's body tensed.
But before she could react—his hand slid lower.
His thumb grazed over the mark on her neck.
The one he left.
She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.
Ezrin's smirk deepened, his fingers lingering, pressing just enough for her to feel it.
"You should be grateful." His voice was smooth, dangerously low.
Seraphina's stomach twisted."Grateful?"
Ezrin tilted his head, his touch never leaving her skin.
"That I only changed your clothes."
Her pulse skipped.
His fingers trailed lazily over the mark, like he was reminding her exactly who put it there.
"I could've done more, Seraphina."
She froze.
Ezrin's lips curled into a slow smirk, his voice dipping even lower.
"I could've done something you never thought I would."
Seraphina's entire body went rigid.
His words were calculated. Sharp.
Her mind screamed at her to move, to push him away—
But she didn't.
Because the worst part was—she believed him.
He wouldn't have stopped.
Not if he truly wanted something.
Ezrin leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper against her skin.
"You look beautiful in my shirt."
Seraphina's breath caught.
Because the way he said it—not as a compliment, but as a fact—
Made her feel like she was already his.
A sudden, stinging pain shot through Seraphina's ankle.
She instinctively looked down, her breath hitching at the sharp pulse of discomfort.
Her body wasn't ready for this.
She exhaled sharply, looking back up. "Leave me. I can't stand."
Ezrin didn't move.
Didn't even acknowledge her words.
Instead, his hands slid around her waist, firm, unyielding.
Before she could react, he lifted her effortlessly, making her sit on the table.
Seraphina gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. "Ezrin—"
But he wasn't listening.
His palms pressed against her thighs, spreading her legs apart.
And then—he stepped between them.
Seraphina's breath hitched.
Before she could process it, he pulled her forward.
Their bodies collided.
Heat. Proximity. No space left between them.
Her heart pounded as his grip on her waist tightened.
Ezrin tilted his head slightly, smirking at her reaction.
"Now, that's better." His voice was smooth, controlled—but his actions were anything but.
Seraphina's fingers curled against his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and holding on.
She was trapped.
And from the way Ezrin was looking at her—
He wanted her to know it.
Seraphina's breath hitched, her body tensing as Ezrin's grip around her waist remained firm—possessive.
She knew she should push him away.
She knew she needed to.
But he wasn't letting her.
His fingers slid up her spine, slow, deliberate, teasing.
A shiver ran through her body, one she couldn't stop in time.
Ezrin's smirk deepened. He noticed.
Of course, he did.
His fingers moved higher, trailing over the fabric of his shirt that she was wearing.
Then—without warning—
His hand slipped beneath it.
Seraphina stiffened.
His palm was warm against her bare skin, sliding slowly up her back.
His touch was too light, too knowing.
And then, he gripped her chin.
Firm. Unyielding.
He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Are you afraid of me… or of what I make you feel?" His voice was smooth, controlled—but there was something darker underneath.
Seraphina held her breath.
Ezrin smirked. "That's what I thought."
His thumb brushed against the mark on her neck.
The one he left.
He pressed against it, his fingers stroking lazily along her jawline.
His other hand, the one beneath her shirt—continued its slow path upward.
Fingertips ghosting along her spine.
The heat of his touch seeping into her skin.
His lips lowered, his breath warm against her ear.
"You can fight me all you want, Seraphina." His voice was low, intimate, utterly consuming.
And then—he pulled her in.
Their bodies collided again.
His fingers dug into her waist, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
His hand remained under her shirt, his grip possessive.
His breath brushed against her throat as he whispered—
"But your body—" his thumb stroked the side of her waist, just barely,"already responds to me."
Seraphina's heart pounded.
Her breath was uneven.
Because the worst part was—
He was right.
Seraphina's pulse pounded, every nerve in her body aware of his touch.
His hand beneath her shirt was warm, slow, deliberate.
Every movement was calculated, a silent challenge.
She should have pushed him away by now.
She should have said something, anything—
But Ezrin wasn't giving her space to think.
His fingers traced along her spine, his touch barely there—just enough to make her react.
Seraphina's breath shook.
Ezrin smirked against her skin.
"You feel that?" His voice was silk and control, wrapping around her like a chain.
She clenched her jaw, refusing to react.
His grip tightened slightly on her waist.
"I asked you a question, Seraphina."
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus.
Her nails pressed against his chest, this time pushing.
Ezrin let out a low chuckle, but he didn't move.
Instead, his fingers trailed lower again, brushing the sensitive skin at the base of her spine.
Seraphina sucked in a breath, her body betraying her.
Ezrin tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with amused satisfaction.
"You really think you can fight this?"
His hand shifting with precision.
Then—a soft click.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Ezrin's smirk deepened, dangerous and knowing.
He unclipped her bra.
Seraphina's entire body tensed."Ezrin—"
But he didn't give her a chance to react.
Before she could push him away, before she could even process what just happened,
His grip tightened.
And then—he moved.
In one swift motion, he lifted her slightly, forcing her to lay back against the cold surface of the table.
Her breath hitched, her hair fanning out, her legs still trapped on either side of him.
Ezrin leaned over her, one hand still under her shirt, his other pressed against the table beside her head.
He watched her reaction closely, every little shift in her expression, every shallow breath she took.
Seraphina's mind screamed at her to fight, to regain control—
But Ezrin's hold on her was absolute.
"You're not ready for me yet, Seraphina." His voice was low, mocking, almost amused.
Her fingers twitched against his chest, frustration mixing with something else.
Ezrin leaned down, his lips hovering just above her jaw.
Not touching.
Not quite.
His breath was warm, calculated, intentional.
"Say it."
Seraphina swallowed, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.
Ezrin's smirk widened.
"I know you feel it. Stop pretending you don't."
His fingers dragged against her waist, slow, deliberate, teasing.
She shivered.
Betrayed.
Her body was betraying her.
Ezrin exhaled, his patience thinning.
"Lying doesn't suit you, Seraphina."
She turned her head away, forcing herself to breathe.
Ezrin's smirk turned into something darker.
Then, suddenly—his lips brushed against her neck.
Just a whisper of contact.
And then—he bit down.
A soft, stinging pressure, right over the mark he had left before.
Seraphina's body jerked slightly, her breath catching.
Ezrin lingered for a moment, his lips pressing against the fresh mark, claiming it.
Then—he pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers.
"If you're going to carry my mark, it might as well be fresh."
Seraphina's breathing was uneven, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Ezrin tilted his head, watching her with amusement.
Then—just as suddenly as he had pushed her down—
He pulled away.
Stepping back entirely.
Leaving her laying there, breathless, frustrated, and completely thrown off balance.
His smirk was pure satisfaction.
"You're not ready for me yet."
And with that—he walked away.