Nobela ni Kristen Hernandez

A soft knock touched the outer door, followed by the squeak of hinges. “Breakfast,” a young voice called, pitched carefully—respectful, frightened of being heard by the wrong ears. “I’ll set it here.”By the time Ryleigh stepped into the bedroom, a junior housemaid was straightening from the table by the window. The girl kept her gaze fixed a half-inch to the left of Ryleigh’s shoulder, as if her training allowed her to look but not see. She was gone before Ryleigh could thank her.The trays were covered by silver domes. Steam unfurled when she lifted one: pancakes studded with blueberries, a ramekin of dark syrup, a pat of butter curled like a ribbon. Another plate held soft scrambled eggs and bacon that had been coaxed into delicate commas. There was coffee—real coffee—and a glass of orange juice cold enough to bite.She ate more than she expected to. It helped the world arrange itself around her again: fork to plate, plate to mouth, swallow, breathe. Outside the balcony doors, the

The water poured over them like a veil, steam curling around their bodies. Damien didn’t rush. His hands explored her with deliberate care, relearning every curve as if he wanted to map her from the beginning. His mouth followed, kissing the hollow of her throat, the slope of her shoulder, until he reached the soft swell of her breast.He took his time there, lips teasing until her breath broke in a trembling gasp. His tongue circled her peak, coaxing it to a stiff ache before he drew it into his mouth with a low, steady pull. She arched into him instinctively, fingers threading through his wet hair, holding him closer. Every brush of his tongue made her body soften further, uncoiling the last threads of her tension.Her hands moved over him too, timid at first, then bolder as her palms slid down his slick chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, the warmth of his skin. She felt the hard weight of him against her thigh, and her pulse fluttered at the shiver of power in knowing she could a

Ryleigh woke to the weight of a stare.Not the kind that made a person want to shrink into the pillows, but the gentler kind—steady, warm, like sunlight slipping across a windowsill. She blinked and found Damien propped on an elbow beside her. The golden spill of early light curved over his bare chest and the edge of his shoulder, catching in the damp strands of hair that clung to his temples. His eyes—dark, intent, unreadable to anyone else—rested wholly on her, as if he had been memorizing the shape of her breathing.For a moment, everything was quiet. The marble floors, the hushed sweep of drapes, the low thrum of the vent. His scent threaded the room—smoke and cedar, and beneath it, the clean warmth of skin and soap. Last night rose in her body before it rose in her mind; the tender ache between her hips made memory inescapable. Something final had happened. A door had shut.“How do you feel?” he asked at last, voice rough with sleep, stripped of command.She searched for a word t

The door clicked shut behind her, final and absolute.For a moment, Ryleigh simply stood there, every nerve taut, her breath shallow. She felt as though she had crossed some invisible threshold, one she could never step back over again. The air inside Damien’s suite seemed heavier than the halls outside, filled with the scent of leather, smoke, and something darker—him.Damien didn’t move at first. He stood by the edge of the bed, broad shoulders glistening faintly in the lamplight, damp hair clinging to his temples as if he had only just stepped from the shower. His gaze locked on her, dark and searing, and in that silence her robe suddenly felt impossibly thin.When his voice came, it was low and rough, carrying the weight of command.“Do you know what you’re doing, Ryleigh?”Her fingers tightened at her sides. She forced her chin up, though her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.“I came because… I need clarity. Because I need you.”A muscle ticked along his jaw,

The mansion felt different that morning.Not louder exactly—just sharper.Every footstep carried more urgency. Every movement seemed more deliberate. The air held the taut hum of expectation.Damien was coming home.From the moment Ryleigh stepped out of her room, she could feel it. The other servants were already in motion—polishing banisters until they gleamed, shaking out rugs, straightening curtains. The smell of lemon polish and fresh flowers filled the corridors.Margaret’s voice carried through the halls like a whip crack, issuing orders in that clipped, commanding tone only she could pull off.“Make sure the dining table is set for dinner the way the Alpha likes it. Fresh linens—no wrinkles. And tell the kitchen I want the roast ready exactly at seven, not a minute before.”She was in her element—directing, inspecting, perfecting.It wasn’t for Damien’s sake, Ryleigh suspected. It was for hers. Margaret’s name, her image, her pride… it all had to remain untarnished.Ryleigh ke

Ryleigh woke to the pale gray of morning seeping through the narrow servant’s window.For a long moment, she didn’t move.Her body still ached from the days in the cell, but the sharp, bone-deep fatigue had dulled to a stubborn heaviness. She could work through heaviness.She had to.Pulling herself upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her feet against the worn rug. Her hands smoothed over her knees, an old, unconscious habit that made her feel grounded. She needed grounding now.Margaret’s threats still echoed in her mind, but Ryleigh pushed them aside. She’d made her decision last night. She knew what she had to do, and there was no going back.She stood, moved to the dresser, and dressed quickly in her plain work uniform—a simple black dress, apron, and soft-soled shoes. Her fingers lingered over the brush, and she pulled it through her hair slowly, untangling the limp strands until they fell smooth around her shoulders.Not good enough, she thought, set