The air in the Vile Tower had never felt heavier.
Caveen stood by the tall window of his chamber, watching the clouds swirl with violet mist over the cursed mountains. His thoughts were scattered—torn between duty, his wedding, and the woman whose scent still haunted his skin.
Lysandra.
Even now, his fingers twitched at the memory of her soft cries, the way her eyes refused to meet his afterward. He had claimed her. Again. Marked her again. And yet… there was a hollowness in it all.
A knock shattered his thoughts.
No—more like a crack of thunder, sharp and commanding.
Before he could speak, the doors flung open.
Lady Maika entered, her presence like a storm in velvet.
Her eyes, always gentle, now burned with cold fire.
"Mother?" Caveen straightened, sensing the shift in her aura.
"Sit." Her voice left no room for argument.
Caveen did.
The silence between them was a blade.
Then Maika spoke, each word laced with quiet fury. "I visited Lysandra today."
Caveen's expression darkened instantly, but she raised a hand to silence him.
"I saw the mark," she said flatly. "Your mark. On a woman who has been trying to rebuild her life."
Caveen clenched his jaw. "She's mine."
"She was," Maika corrected, voice sharp. "And yet, you are engaged to another. You have no right to touch her."
"I marked her before the wedding," Caveen said coldly. "That bond doesn't break with time."
Maika's eyes narrowed. "But bonds can rot, Caveen. Especially when poisoned by cruelty."
He stood abruptly, frustrated. "You don't understand, Mother! Every time I see her, I— I lose myself. She's under my skin. She belongs to me."
"She's not a possession." Maika rose, her voice rising now like a rolling storm. "She's a woman. A soul. And one you've broken more than once."
Caveen turned his back, unable to meet her gaze.
"She cried in my arms today," Maika said softly. "She clung to me like a daughter who had no one left. That's what you've done."
A silence fell.
Maika walked toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.
"I raised you better than this," she said. "If you cannot love her with honor—then let her go."
"She doesn't want me to let go," Caveen said bitterly. "She surrendered."
Maika's hand slapped across his cheek.
Not with strength, but with meaning.
"She surrendered," Maika said, "because you left her no choice by marking her, You knew that if you mark her she will always surrender to you."
Caveen flinched.
Maika's voice cracked then—less a queen, more a mother. "I saw the fear in her eyes… and the love still buried beneath it. You don't deserve that love right now."
She stepped back, her eyes softening just slightly.
"If you love her, Caveen… do better. If you don't, set her free."
She turned to leave but paused at the door.
"I will not watch you possess her ," she whispered. "And either you choose Lysandra or Madeline."
Then she was gone—leaving Caveen alone in the silence, with only his guilt to keep him company.
The towering penthouse of Brent Vilmire overlooked the glittering skyline of the human realm. Everything about it screamed power—cold, clean, and calculated.
Madeline sat across from her father at the long obsidian table, her fingers gently wrapped around a porcelain teacup that had long since gone cold.
Brent Vilmire, one of the wealthiest and most feared businessmen in the human realms, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.
"So," he said without emotion, "how are the wedding preparations with Caveen Landon?"
Madeline hesitated, her eyes flickering to the window where storm clouds loomed like the weight in her chest. "He's… becoming distant," she admitted softly. "Ever since he saw that woman. Lysandra. She's Elias's friend."
Brent's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.
"Lysandra," he repeated with venom. "A nuisance."
Madeline lowered her gaze.
Her father leaned forward, voice sharp like a dagger. "Do whatever it takes, Madeline. Marry Caveen. Sire his child."
She flinched, the cup trembling in her hands. "He never touches me, Father. Not even a kiss."
Brent's gaze narrowed.
"He will," he said coldly. "Once you're married, he will have no choice. A Landon heir ties your blood to theirs forever."
"But—" her voice wavered, "what if he never loves me?"
Brent rose from his chair, walking around the table until he stood behind her. His hand landed on her shoulder—not comforting, but firm.
"Love is for the weak, Madeline. Legacy is power. Secure yours."
She closed her eyes, her breath catching. Outside, thunder cracked across the sky.
And inside her chest, a war raged between love, ambition, and the chains her father had forged long ago.