Chapter 10

ELYRA.

For the rest of the day, the entire mansion felt tense. The maids moved around like shadows, their eyes lowering whenever I passed. No one dared to upset me again. I could tell they sensed my mood which was very obvious. I was angry, sharp and ready to snap.

I was stretched out on my bed, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended me. My chest felt tight, my thoughts running in circles. What annoyed me the most wasn’t even Star herself—it was the fact that she still had the power to get under my skin. That realization burned worse than the anger I felt. I hated that she could still make my blood boil.

I exhaled slowly and shut my eyes, trying to force my annoyance down, but it clung to me stubbornly.

The crunch of tires against gravel filtered into my ears, and my eyes snapped open.

A car was pulling into the compound. I could hear it clearly now—the low hum of an engine, followed by the sound of it shutting down. Silence settled again, thick and heavy.

Radiel.

I didn’t need to see him to know. I iust knew. I turned my head and glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was a few minutes to twelve a.m.

My jaw tightened.

He had been gone for over a full day—no explanation, no message. Nothing. And now he thought it was perfectly fine to return at midnight like this was some hotel and not a shared space—contract or not.

Yes, we had agreed on certain terms. Yes, I had agreed not to complain. But that didn’t mean I was a robot without feelings. or that basic decency stopped applying in whatever we were doing.

The annoyance I had been trying to suppress flared up again, hot and sudden.

Still, I rolled onto my side and faced the wall. I didn’t care. Truly. That’s what I told myself. Whatever he did or didn’t do was his business. I had a motive for being here, anyway, and as long as that aim wasn't compromised, I could always survive the chaos that came with being Radiel's wife.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him enter the house. It wasn’t until I heard footsteps approaching the door that my body tensed.

Before I could fully sit up, I heard the door handle move. Someone was trying to push it open.

Panic sparked in my chest.

I had locked the door earlier—out of habit, not fear. For a split second, I felt a small, smug sense of victory. Let him knock. Let him turn around.

But that feeling barely lasted. The sound of keys rustling filled the air, and my stomach dropped.

Of course. He owned the mansion. Why wouldn’t he have a spare key to every room, including mine?

I stayed still, my heart pounding as the lock clicked and the door slowly opened. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, my breathing shallow and careful.

The door shut softly behind him.

I felt his presence before anything else. The room seemed to change, and I felt the air go tense. Then the stench of alcohol, strong and unmistakable, hit me.

I fought the urge to cough or wrinkle my nose. Instead, I stayed frozen, every muscle in my body alert. I heard his footsteps draw closer until the mattress dipped slightly.

He was sitting on the bed.

My pulse raced, but I told myself to stay calm. Maybe he would just leave. Maybe he had the wrong room. Maybe—

The bed shifted again.

He lay down now, riight beside me.

My body stiffened instantly. I could feel the warmth of him through the mattress, the weight of his presence far too close. I held my breath, my mind racing through every possible explanation, every possible outcome.

Then it happened. I felt his hand move slowly, brushing against my thigh. For a moment, my entire body froze. This wasn’t part of any agreement. This wasn’t discussed. This wasn’t allowed.

My skin prickled, a mix of shock and disbelief running through me. My heart slammed against my ribs, and my thoughts scattered. I wanted to move, to speak, but my body didn’t listen right away.

His hand moved again.

That was when fear I felt quickly turned into anger.

My breath came faster, uneven. I turned slightly and whispered, “Stop.”

He didn’t.

My chest tightened, and something ugly twisted inside me. I hated that my body reacted at all—hated the rush of adrenaline, hated the confusion, hated him for putting me in this position.

“Radiel,” I said again, louder this time. “Stop.”

He didn't stop, still.

“STOP!” I shouted, bolting upright.

The anger exploded within me, and my hand moved before my brain could catch up.

The slap echoed through the room, loud and sharp.

The moment my palm connected with his face, reality crashed down on me. My hand stung. My chest heaved. The room fell into a stunned silence.

Radiel slowly sat up and stared at me.

The haze in his eyes—the drunken blur—was gone. Completely. His expression was unreadable now, his jaw tight, his breathing steady. For the first time since he walked in, he looked fully awake.

I felt my stomach sink.

“I—” I started, but the words tangled in my throat.

He stood up without saying a word.

He didn’t yell. There was no argument. No anger.

He turned and walked toward the door, his steps calm and controlled. Before leaving, he paused for a second, his hand resting on the door handle. He didn’t look back.

Then he left, the door closing softly behind him.

I sat there, frozen, my heart still racing, my hand trembling in the air where it had struck him.

What had I just done?

I felt the anger drain out of me all at once, replaced by something heavy and uncomfortable. I wasn't sure if the knot in my chest was of regret, fear or uncertainty.

I hugged my knees to my chest and stared at the door, replaying everything in my mind. The smell of alcohol. The touch. The slap. His expression.

I don't know why it felt that way, but I just knew that I had made a grave mistake. I stayed still, staring into darkness as I wondered what my actions would cost me by morning.