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CHAPTER 5The mansion didn’t sleep. Instead, it sighed and groaned and shifted like something that was alive.By the time dawn broke, the rain had lessened to a thin drizzle tapping rhythmically on the windows. I hadn’t slept much. Too many memories clung to the walls like ivy, too many thoughts were pacing behind my eyes.I rose quietly, slipping from the bed, and wrapping the robe tighter around me.I told myself I was just going to find water.But I didn’t head straight for the kitchen.My feet knew the halls. Devon used to tease me about it—how quickly I memorized the layout of his childhood home. But he never understood why. I always learned about places like battlegrounds. You memorize exits. Observe the shadows. Sense when walls listen.I padded through the corridors, careful not to wake anyone, though I doubted I’d be the loudest thing in a house this size. The hallways were dim, while the sconces reflected soft, golden light. I passed the portrait gallery and then the hall o

CHAPTER 4Isla's povI didn’t want to be here.Not in this house. Not again.The air still smelled the same, of waxed wood, old money, and something faintly herbal, like lavender buried under dust. The walls hadn’t changed either. They remained tall, oppressive and lined with ancestral portraits that stared down at you as if you’d already disappointed them. This house was too quiet, too clean, too calculated.My heels clicked along the marble as the old butler, Bram, as Alaric had called him, led me through the South Wing. The silence between us was brittle but oddly comfortable. He seemed the type who’d spent decades perfecting the art of being invisible.“This way, Miss Virelle,” he said, stopping in front of a heavy oak door.He opened it for me, and I stepped inside.The guest room was beautiful of course. Oversized windows framed with midnight-blue drapes. A fireplace, already glowing. A bed carved from dark wood, dressed in silver linens. There was even a robe waiting for me on

CHAPTER 3Alaric's povShe stood under the awning like a wounded bird…soaked to the skin, shivering, and still too proud to bend. I watched her for a moment before speaking, more curious than concerned. There was something magnetic about Isla Virelle, even when she was clearly miserable.No, especially when she was miserable.“Stubbornness becomes you, Miss Virelle,” I said, stepping out of the shadows.She startled…she actually flinched. I hadn’t meant to startled her, but it was amusing. Few people ever heard me coming. Fewer still dared call me out for it.“You really need to stop sneaking up on people,” she snapped, defensive.“If I wanted to sneak,” I murmured, “you wouldn’t hear me at all.”She glared at me, and I could see the calculation behind her eyes, the bristle of her independence clashing with her reality. All wet, cold and alone. No way out but through me.She refused me, of course. At first, three times, in fact. Some part of her needed to perform her refusal to protec

CHAPTER 2The party didn't seem to be coming to an end anytime soon and I figured I would be on my way to my hotel already. Besides, watching Devon and his fiancée dance like two intoxicated flamingos made my heart churn.I brought out my phone to look at the time. It was a minute past two o'clock in the morning. I was sure to still get an Uber that would take me down to my hotel.Unless....The weather was pretty awful on this side of town. It would take at least an hour before I got to my hotel."Looks like it's about to rain," I said to myself in disgust and stood up from my chair. I took one last look at Devon.And to my surprise, I caught him staring at me. He looked away instinctively and rested his gaze on his fiancée.So he knew I was here and had been doing all of that bullshit just to spite me. If my lungs had been any hotter during the past few minutes I had been in here, now, that would have been set on fire.I yanked my bag from the table and was about to make my way out

Chapter 1Isla's povThey say revenge is a poison you drink yourself, hoping the other dies. I suppose that’s true, except I never planned to die.I planned to burn.The ballroom glittered as a lie told too often. Gilded mirrors reflected perfect smiles, the chandeliers overhead weeping crystal tears, and everyone pretending not to notice how brittle the glamour had become. Arkenwald’s elite paraded their status like medals of honor, but beneath the silk and champagne, they were wolves clawing for favor.And in the center of it all was Devon Crest. My ex-lover and my ghost.His smile still held that charming tilt, the one that once made my stomach flutter. Now it made me want to shatter the glass around the ballroom. He looked effortlessly handsome, dressed in all dark velvet and smooth skin while his hand rested like a brand on the waist of his fiancée, Vanessa Marrow, daughter of the Minister of Trade and fresh out of some finishing academy where girls were taught to smile just enou