Alina

The night was cold enough to bite.

By the time I reached the east wing, my skin was slick with sweat despite the chill. Every step echoed against the marble, and every shadow felt like it was watching me. The mansion wasn’t a home tonight—it was a cage, and the walls whispered my name.

I stopped at the door to my room, hand trembling on the knob. Part of me wanted to lock it, to pretend none of this existed—the party, the fire from the past, Ares’s confession—but the moment I ...