Chapter Thirty
The air was crisp the morning after Isabelle’s shift, and a strange energy settled over the estate like a storm waiting to break. The staff walked more quietly. The warriors trained harder. Whispers floated behind closed doors, but no one dared say anything aloud.
Khalil noticed it first. He stood on the balcony overlooking the training yard, eyes narrowed as he watched Isabelle move across the lawn. She had always been beautiful, but there was something different about her now. Something untouchable. The air around her shimmered with authority and power, the kind that demanded respect without asking for it.
She was no longer the unsure girl he had married out of obligation. She was no longer weak. She was changing. She was evolving. Becoming.
And that terrified him. It was more than her power. More than the command of her gaze as she walked. It was what that power meant. He knew Lucien knew about it too. He had made that clear when he all but vowed to take her the moment the chance arose.
Khalil had no intention of letting that happen. He couldn’t. He wouldn't...but he would have to move fast. He had already marked her, but that didn’t mean the bond was complete. Not yet. And until it was completed, that bastard, Lucien, could lay claim to their mate bond. To her. Isabelle had to choose to accept him—she had to allow it to finalize. And despite all his years of strength, of power, of victory, Khalil knew the truth: He was losing her. He couldn’t afford to.
And so, he started to shift his approach. Subtle. Gentle. But deliberate.
When Isabelle came down for breakfast that morning, she found the long dining table filled with her favorite foods. Steamed sweet potatoes. Grilled tomatoes. Lightly roasted duck eggs with parsley. The staff stepped back as she entered, surprised by the change.
She paused in the doorway, blinking.
“Is there an event?” she asked, suspicion coloring her voice.
“No,” Khalil replied, rising from his chair at the head of the table. “Just breakfast.”
She eyed him warily. The man before her looked the same—tall, controlled, unreadable—but his voice was softer. Less guarded. Almost... pleasant.
Isabelle took a seat, carefully picking up her fork. “This is new.”
He sat across from her, pouring tea into her cup. “You’ve been through a lot lately. I thought you deserved something warm.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care what I deserve?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “Since I started paying attention.”
She stared at him for a long moment before returning her attention to her plate.
They ate in silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Khalil watched her from across the table, noting how her posture had changed. There was no more slouching. No shrinking. Her spine was straight, her eyes clear. When she rose to leave, he stood with her.
“I was thinking,” he said, “We haven’t spent any time together. Not really. Maybe we should... talk.”
She turned to him slowly. “About what?”
“About us,” he said. “About what’s next.”
Isabelle snorted softly. “What’s next? You keep me locked away while you decide whether I’m still politically useful to you?”
He winced. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked, her voice flat. “Because that’s exactly how it feels.”
Khalil took a slow breath. “I’m not trying to control you, Isabelle.”
“No?” Her voice grew sharp. “Because it certainly feels like you’re trying to own me.”
He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? My own life?”
He took a deep breath. “You would not understand...”
Isabelle stared at him for another moment, then turned away. “Don’t play nice with me, Khalil. Not now. Not when it’s convenient.”
But even as she walked away, his voice followed her like a tether. “I’m not the same man you married.”
She paused. Just for a second. Then walked away. Thinking to herself that people do not just change. They remain who they are forever. Her father, her stepmother, her stepsister. People do not change. No matter what he said, he was still the same man who bought her from her father, who treated her with very little respect, a man with a lot of hidden secrets. Secrets she knew he would never tell her.
He was still the man who flaunted his mistress in her face, and yet was trying to keep her from going with the man whom the moon goddess meant for her.
Over the next few days, Khalil made himself present. Not demanding. Not forceful. Present. Perhaps a little present. Everywhere she went, she could feel his eyes on her, watching her like a hawk, so much so that she began to wonder what warranted such sudden scrutiny.
When Isabelle trained in the courtyard, he stood at a distance and watched. When she passed in the halls, he acknowledged her with a quiet nod. He spoke to her with care. Checked in on her when she didn’t come down for meals.
He didn’t press. But he didn’t pull back either. It confused Isabelle more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t trust him. Not after what he had done. The mark on her neck still pulsed faintly, a reminder of the betrayal. But there was something else in his eyes now. A gentleness. A regret she hadn’t seen before.
It made her angry. And yet... it made her wonder.
Had he always been capable of this softness? Or was it just another mask?
Late one evening, as she returned from the woods, she found him sitting in the library.
She hadn’t expected anyone to be there. Most of the estate avoided the west wing, especially the old library with its towering shelves and creaking floors. But there he was, a book in his lap, a single lamp casting warm shadows on his face.
He looked up as she entered, something flickering in his gaze.
“I didn’t know you read,” she said.
He closed the book slowly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
She folded her arms. “Whose fault is that?”
“Mine,” he said without hesitation.
That caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to so readily accept fault. After all, he didn’t seem like the type. He stood slowly, walking toward her. The room felt smaller with every step he took, the air thicker.
Isabelle wasn’t sure what she wanted, and she felt the nervousness crawl down her spine as she desperately searched for answers in her brain while trying to resist the inviting heat that radiated from his body.
“I want to fix things,” he said.
“You can’t,” she replied.
“I can try.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You used me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You lied.”
His expression faltered, just for a moment. “I’m trying now,” he said. “That has to count for something.”
Isabelle looked away. “It doesn’t undo what’s been done.”
He took another step closer. “But it’s a start.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a project. Or a prize. Or a power play.”
“You’re not.”
“Then what am I?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek, warm and steady. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either. She was confused about which way to go with him.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said. “I’m asking for a chance.”
“To do what?”
“To be different.”
The silence stretched between them. Isabelle’s heart thudded in her chest, loud and confusing. She hated how close he was. Hated how familiar his scent had become. Hated how her body betrayed her, remembering the last time he had touched her in the dark, made her feel like someone wanted. How drugging his kisses had been, how enticing and demanding his fingers were, how he had taken her body and made it his. And even as she stood there, she desperately fought the urge to throw herself into his arms and beg him to take her right there on the table. Never mind that there might be an audience.
She also hated how much she still wanted answers. Truth. Meaning.
She took a step back, breaking the spell. “Goodnight, Khalil.”
He didn’t stop her as she walked away. But he didn’t stop watching either.
From the shadows above the stairs, Cassandra watched with her lips curled into a bitter smile. So this was his game. Soft words. Careful glances. A slow seduction to win back the woman he had once ignored. But she wouldn’t let him win. Not this time.
Isabelle wasn’t just some broken little thing anymore. She was powerful. She was light. And Khalil wanted to keep her locked in a golden cage again, pretending it was for her safety.
Cassandra had given him everything that a man could possibly ask for—loyalty, obedience, years of devotion—and he had discarded her for a girl who didn’t even want him.
Well, she would not go down quietly. She would get what she wanted...what rightfully belonged to her.
She had seen the silver wolf. She knew the truth now. And she wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers. Not without a fight. All he had to do was figure out a way to get what she wanted while ensuring that she remains the strong saint that the world knows her as.