LOGIN-Asaraiah Montova-
I knew he was gone before I opened my eyes. The shed was empty. Cold. Silent There was no warmth from his body near mine, no shadow moving in the corners, no quiet breaths like the ones I had memorized the night before He was just... gone. I didn’t even know his name. And I let him kiss me. I let him see my—no, I was only showing him my scars. That’s all. Nothing more. Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed outside. I jolted up Was it him? Did he come back? The door slammed open. A blur of a maid’s uniform flashed in before the face revealed itself. “Afsana.” Her cheeks were flushed, hair sticking to her temples from sweat. “My lady—Asa—you have to return home now. The Montovas are back, and it's only minutes before they start searching for you.” Panic struck me like a whip. I was strong enough to run now. Afsana and I bolted through the back entrance, slipping through the servant halls and the kitchen corridors. I took a breath at the threshold, steeling myself. And then I stepped out. The main room hit me like a punch. It was too bright, too pristine, like nothing had ever happened. The mirror was replaced. Same position. Same weapon, waiting again. “Welcome, Father. Brothers. Sisters.” My voice was low. So was my head. “There she is,” my elder brother sneered, tilting my chin up with the edge of his gold hand fan. His eyes were calm. His Armani suit is crisp. I never got to wear Armani. Not even a dupe. Not even a hand-me-down. “Where were you?” he asked. “I was assisting the maids in the kitchen to prepare your dinner. I lost track of time.” One of my sisters scoffed. “Wow, are you trying to poison us now?” “I would never do such a thing.” “You had better not.” Then he handed me an envelope. My hands trembled as I broke the seal . You are cordially invited to the wedding of Asaraiah Montova and Derek Saunders. Wait. Derek Saunders. I had seen that name before…when I was filing Father’s documents. A seventy-year-old man. He owned seven drug rings. He trafficked women. A monster in human skin. “No,” I breathed. “Look at her,” my sister hissed. “She’s excited to leave us. To open her bastard legs.” I snapped . “No. I do not want to—” SLAM. The hand fan cracked across my skull. Blades cut into my neck. Blood trickled down my collar . I crumpled to the floor. Louboutins. My sister’s heel crushed down on my fingers. Bone scraped bone. “Ungrateful slut. Didn’t you always want what belonged to me? Now I don’t want this engagement, and you have the audacity to say no?” Her knee met my jaw. My teeth rattled. Blood pooled in my mouth. Pain returned like an old friend. The wounds from the last beating tore open. My blood stained their perfect white tile. “Ew. She’s leaking again. Get this trash out of here,” my other sister gagged. “Go and reflect on your stupidity and ungratefulness.” They didn’t expect it. The way my limbs twitched. The way my feet moved before my mind could. I ran. Through the halls. Past the guards. Out the gates. Into the woods. The shed. My lungs burned. My vision blurred. The air smelled like smoke and secrets and him. I slammed the door shut behind me and dropped to the floor. The mattress still bore his shape. Still stained with blood. My blood joined it now. My fingers fumbled, ripping off the fresh bandages. Afsana couldn’t help me today. She was in the kitchen. I couldn’t drag her into this. I pressed my palm to the mattress, feeling the ghost of his warmth . Tears burned. Maybe it was better to be sold. Better to die than marry that man. And then…I heard it. Engines. Footsteps. Voices. No. No no no— Did my brothers find this place? Please, no. My breath hitched. The air shifted. The door creaked open. And my eyes connected with the gold rimmed ones. Him. Dressed in black, a tailored suit hugging his broad frame, the collar crisp, his hair swept back like a god descending from war. Behind him stood men. Silent, deadly, in matching uniforms, holding weapons. He looked like a mafia. He stepped into the shed like he owned it. Like he owned me. “What the hell are you doing–what happened to you?” he asked, his voice flat, dangerous. I couldn’t breathe. “I—,” I choked out but my lips were red with my blood. “What are you doing here? I thought you left. I thought—” He raised a hand. Silenced me with one look. His golden-ringed eyes narrowed. “I was cleaning up loose ends,” he muttered. “Can’t have enemies knowing I even breathed here.” He knelt beside me. Close. Too close. “You’re a mess.” He muttered. He looked away. Almost guilty. Almost. “This mess saved your life ,”I said, clutching the wound on my neck.. “You said you owed me one.” His jaw clenched harder. He turned to his men. “Clear it.” They moved like shadows. Burning old rags. Erasing traces. Wiping memories. Muttering codes into headsets. I grabbed his arm. He froze. “I know my wish,” I said. He looked at me fully now. Eyes glowing. Dangerous. Curious. I didn’t know his name. Still didn’t. But maybe the devil I’d kissed was better than the devil my father chose. “Take responsibility for me. Marry me.” The room seemed to stop. He blinked. His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Not cruel, not mocking—interested. Like I had just given him something worth tasting. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Ruby," he said. “I know enough,” I replied, steady now. “You’re not seventy. You don’t smell like rot. And I won’t be a burden.” He laughed. Once. Dark and low. He brushed his knuckles beneath my chin. Then leaned in. His lips found mine again. This time tasting blood. “Then pack your things, my little bride.” My breath hitched. “You’re mine now.”The air inside smells like old wood and earth and something faintly metallic—blood soaked so deep into memory it never really left.Moonlight filters through the cracks in the walls, striping the floor in pale silver. This is where Zenaida died. Where I died. Where the curse anchored itself because pain makes a good foundation.I walk to the center of the room.The power rises—not wild, not angry. Focused. Intent.“This is where you stabbed me,” I say.Malrik swallows. “I know.”“This is where I begged you to stop.”His voice breaks when he answers. “I remember.”I close my eyes.The memories surface fully now—not just images, but understanding. The curse wasn’t born from betrayal. It was born from fear. From a man choosing control over loss. From a woman choosing love even as she died.I open my eyes and turn to him.“It ends because I let it,” I say. “Not because you deserve forgiveness. Not because I’m stronger than it. But because I refuse to let my life be a punishment for yours.
ASARAIAH KAINE The city is quieter than it should be. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just… emptied. Like something important has already left and the buildings haven’t realized it yet. Malrik drives without speaking. No convoy. No guards. Just us and the road stretching ahead, wet asphalt reflecting the streetlights in broken gold lines. His hands stay steady on the wheel, but I can hear his heart anyway—slow, controlled, wrong for someone who claims not to fear death. He knows where we’re going. He just doesn’t know what I’ll do when we get there. The power inside me has stopped surging. That’s the strangest part. No burning veins. No red haze. It’s settled—heavy, patient, like it finally trusts me to make the decision instead of forcing it. “You don’t have to do this,” he says at last. His voice isn’t commanding. It isn’t sharp. It’s quiet. Almost human. “I do,” I answer. “If I don’t, it never ends.” He glances at me, jaw tight. “You think this ends things?” “I think it ends th
The first thing Asa felt when she woke was heat.Not the gentle kind. Not warmth. This was pressure building beneath skin and bone, coiling tight like something bracing to strike. Her pulse thudded heavy and slow, each beat echoing too loudly in her ears.She lay still, staring at the ceiling of the safehouse bedroom. The cracks in the plaster looked deeper than they had the night before, spidering outward like they were trying to escape the center.That wasn’t possible.She knew that.And yet—Asa swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The floor was cold. Grounding. She let the sensation anchor her while she inhaled carefully, deliberately, the way Gaya had taught her.Control first. Power second.The mirror across the room caught her reflection. For a split second, it lagged—her eyes darkening a fraction too late, the faint ruby glow flickering and dying.She clenched her jaw.“Not today,” she murmured.The city was already awake when she stepped onto the balcony. Sirens
-THIRD PERSON- The city didn’t know it was holding its breath. Asaraiah felt it the moment she stepped outside. Not a sound—nothing so obvious—but a tightening, like steel cables being drawn through concrete and bone. The wards Drayan had layered around the safehouse peeled back one by one as she crossed the threshold, recognizing her and recoiling at the same time. Even magic, it seemed, was undecided about whether to protect her or fear her. The street was empty. Too empty. Dawn had not yet reached the buildings, but the hour usually belonged to delivery trucks and early commuters. Today, there was nothing but wet asphalt and the low hum of distant power lines. Drayan followed a step behind her. He didn’t ask her to slow down. He had learned better. “You’re certain they’ll feel this,” he said. “I’m certain they already do.” She didn’t cloak herself completely. That was the point. She let the edges of herself leak—just enough pressure, just enough distortion. Cameras along t
-THIRD PERSON- The safehouse didn’t have mirrors. That was intentional. Asaraiah still caught herself reaching for one. She felt different waking up there—lighter in some ways, heavier in others. The compression Gaya warned her about had deepened overnight. Her power no longer pressed outward like heat. It sat low and tight in her core, dense as a held breath. Dangerously contained. She dressed slowly, methodically. Black cargo pants. Soft boots. A fitted long-sleeve that hid the faint sigil-work under her skin. No jewelry. No insignia. If anyone looked at her now, they’d see a woman who belonged nowhere. That was the point. Drayan was already up, hunched over a tablet at the metal table when she stepped into the main room. “They’re moving,” he said without looking up. “Of course they are.” “Not loud. Not yet. Quiet shifts. Money changing hands. Couriers disappearing.” He glanced at her. “They’re circling Calla again. Not to touch her. To remind you they can.” Asa poured h
-THIRD PERSON- Asaraiah disappeared the way dangerous things always did—not loudly, not cleanly, but in pieces. She didn’t announce it. She didn’t give speeches or last looks. By dawn, half the house believed she was still asleep upstairs, the other half believed she was in the war room with Malrik, and a very small, carefully selected group knew the truth: She had stepped sideways out of the shape of her life. The car that took her out of the city wasn’t armored. It wasn’t marked. It didn’t belong to the Kaines or any family anyone could trace. It was forgettable by design, the kind of vehicle people glanced at and immediately forgot, the kind that didn’t leave an impression in memory or magic. Asa sat in the back seat, hood up, hands bare in her lap. No weapons visible. No jewelry. No signal emitters. Gaya had insisted on warding her skin directly—sigils woven so subtly into muscle and bone that even a supernatural scan would register nothing more than static. “You’ll feel sma







