Chapter 33

Chapter 33


Rhea
My first plan was set in motion the minute the sun rose the next day, and it just happened to start with breakfast. Or whatever vampires called breakfast when the sun was still dragging itself over the horizon.

I didn’t plan anything elaborate, not yet. If I was being honest, I had no idea how I was able to pull it off. I'd managed to whisk up a small breakfast for both of us, even though I had no idea what vampires ate, or if they ate anything else besides blood. I didn't mean to go too far, I just wanted to see what he’d do. How far I could push before that calm mask of his finally cracked.

So I picked the tightest top I could find. One that dipped scandalously low, the neckline brushing dangerously close to “accidental exposure.” I was well aware that a good portion of my boobs were out on display, but that was the entire purpose. I tied my hair up in a messy knot, smudged a little red on my lips, and told myself this wasn’t about him.

It was about control.

If he could silence the bond, then I could make him feel something without it.

I found him sitting at the long dining table, a cup of something dark and uninviting in his hand, blood, probably. Of course, the King of Shadows didn’t eat food. He just brooded with elegance.

“Morning,” I said lightly, sliding into the seat across from him.

“What do we have here?” He didn’t even look up. “You’re early.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I tuned my voice into something sultry, and I could only hope he caught on to it.

He made a sound that might’ve been acknowledgment, or just politeness wearing a coffin. I wasn't sure.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the flicker of candles, the faint rustle of his papers and the faint clatter of my fork against my plate.

Who the hell brought papers to a dinning room?” I wanted to ask, but decided against it. Instead, I drummed my fingers against the table, pretending not to notice the way his eyes didn’t lift.

“You’re unusually quiet,” I said, tilting my head. “Still mad about last night?”

“Mad?” He finally met my gaze, his tone smooth. “You mistake me for someone who wastes emotion on irritation.”

“Right.” I smiled. “You only waste it on control, and probably anybody who cares to go against you.”

His hand paused mid-motion, barely a twitch, but I caught it. Then he went back to his papers like I hadn’t said a thing.

“I have a question.” My lips curved. “So… about the bond.”

“No.” his answer was quick, so quick that I blinked to make sure the scene in front of me really did happen.

“No what?” I blinked.

“No, I didn’t sever it. No, it’s not gone. And no, I’m not turning it back on.” He set his cup down carefully. “Satisfied?”

“Not even a little.” I leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, pretending not to notice how my top shifted lower. “It’s quiet. Empty. You did something, and I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like silence? You should.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s the only thing that’s ever truly honest.”

“Silence isn’t honest,” I shot back. “It’s cowardly.”

That got him. Not visibly, he was too disciplined for that, but his jaw tightened, just slightly. It was nothing short of a tiny flicker, a tell maybe, but I could practically taste victory.

“So that’s it?” I asked, softer now. “You just shut me out, and expect me to pretend nothing happened?”

“That’s exactly what I expect,” he said evenly, and rose from his chair. “Last time I checked, you're the one who hated the arrangement between us the most.”

The movement was slow, unhurried, the kind that made every part of him seem too controlled. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the veins in his forearms flexing as he gathered his documents. I hated that I was staring, but I didn't miss the hunt of a tattoo peeking out from underneath his shirt, and believe me when I said I was this close to asking what it meant or if I could see it.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered. “You think by ignoring me, you win?”

“I think by ignoring you, I save us both some trouble.” He brushed past me on his way out, and I swore I didn’t breathe for a moment. He didn’t touch me, not really, but the air between us shifted, hot and heavy for no reason at all.

Then I saw it, the tiniest slip. As he reached for the door, his fingers clenched around the handle, just a bit too tightly, and his knuckles whitened.

Got you.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he said, voice calm again. And then he was gone.

I sat there, staring after him, a smug smile creeping up my face. Except, it didn’t last,because the more I thought about it, the more I realized the victory was hollow.

He’d walked away. He always walked away.

I tried again over the next few days. I wore skirts that had no business being called skirts, I picked up red lipstick from a drawer I wasn’t supposed to open, and I made sure my voice was dripped honey when I said his name.

Each time, I watched for the cracks. The signs that I was getting under his skin. Sometimes it was a muscle that jumped in his jaw, or the way he inhaled a little too sharply when I leaned close to hand him something.

He never said anything. Never slipped, never looked long enough for me to call him out, but I saw it. I felt it.

Still, I hadn’t expected the game to turn on me.

Because every time he ignored me, it hurt in ways I didn’t want to admit. Every time his eyes flicked away, I wanted them to linger.

And when I caught my reflection one evening, my lips red, skin flushed, eyes dark with something dangerous, I realized this wasn’t just about punishing him anymore.

It was about wanting him.

The silence of the bond didn’t mute that. It made it worse, because now, every spark of heat, every heartbeat, every stupid flutter in my stomach, it was mine. Not the bond’s.

I hated that realization more than I could say.

But the damage was done. He’d started a game of restraint, and now, I wasn’t sure which one of us was losing.