Chapter Five

Isolde’s POV

I once believed I would spend the rest of my life rotting away in that cell—a fitting punishment for my unforgivable sins.

But I had almost forgotten who Ryder truly was.

He would never grant me the mercy of a slow, quiet death. That would be far too simple for him.

Early the next morning, rough hands dragged me from my cell and hauled me to his chambers. I was forced to wait for him like a condemned prisoner awaiting judgment. My body betrayed me instantly; a violent tremor ran through my limbs as dread crashed over me in icy waves.

His chambers were larger than I had imagined, yet strangely sparse. The simplicity of it unsettled me. Ryder’s taste had always leaned toward darkness, but this felt… hollow. Cold.

Back when we were teenagers, he was obsessed with anything dark and gloomy, while I lived for bright colors—especially pink and anything that sparkled. Our school uniform was a hideous mix of orange and red that I secretly despised. But Ryder, being Ryder, had his uniform custom-made in solid black, the school crest the only splash of color left on it.

I used to tease him about being too attached to one shade, telling him the world offered so many beautiful options. One day, I’d broken open my savings box and bought him an expensive navy blue jacket to wear over that black uniform. From that moment on, he started trying every color I suggested.

He even wore my pink scarf around his neck once, shamelessly sending me photos of his slowly evolving wardrobe with that rare, crooked smile of his.

A soft, broken chuckle escaped my lips.

How had everything fallen apart so completely?

We were happy just a few months ago… weren’t we?

My eyes stung with the threat of tears, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I let my feet carry me deeper into the room, restless and anxious. Before I realized it, I was standing in front of a small side table.

A silver necklace lay there, gleaming softly under the muted light.

My breath caught.

I recognized it instantly.

Three years ago, during the Pack’s grand auction, I fell in love with this exact necklace the moment I saw it. It was delicate, almost fragile, with an ethereal beauty that made my heart ache. Spoiled rotten by Ryder’s endless indulgence, I had begged him to bid on it. He didn’t even hesitate—he bid the highest and won it without effort.

But while the attendants were wrapping it backstage, a group of thugs stole it. No one was surprised. A necklace of that value was bound to attract thieves.

I had been devastated.

Had Ryder hunted it down later, refusing to let me stay sad even for a day? That sounded exactly like the boy I once knew.

Then why hadn’t he given it to me?

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. The metal was cool against my skin. I turned it over—and the world tilted.

ISLA

The name was elegantly carved into the back.

Isla.

Not Isolde.

The air rushed out of my lungs.

He had Isla’s name engraved on the necklace I had begged for.

Before I could put my thoughts together, heavy, angry footsteps suddenly echoed from the hallway. I jerked my head up just as Ryder stormed into the room, his presence filling the space like thunder. Panic exploded in my chest.

My fingers spasmed.

The necklace slipped.

It hit the marble floor with a sharp, heartbreaking crack—splitting cleanly into two pieces.

Ryder stood in the doorway, eyes locked on the broken pieces on the floor. For one heartbeat, something raw and broken flashed across his face—grief, fury, agony.

For a moment, the world stopped breathing.

So did I.

Ryder walked past me slowly, his steps measured—deliberate—until he reached the shattered necklace. Then he crouched.

And only then did I realize…

He was shaking.

Not violently. Not visibly.

But enough.

Enough to make something inside me crack.

He picked up one half of the necklace, turning it over in his fingers like it was something fragile. Sacred.

Like it still mattered.

My throat tightened.

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t.”

It sliced straight through me.

I clamped my mouth shut.

He rose to his full height, the broken pieces still in his hand. When he finally turned to face me, his expression was worse than anger.

There was nothing there.

Just cold.

“You break everything you touch… don’t you?”

The words landed softly.

But they crushed.

My chest hitched. “Ryder, I didn’t mean—”

“First her.” His voice dropped, almost thoughtful. “Now this.”

The air left my lungs.

My legs felt weak beneath me.

“I didn’t kill her,” I whispered, even though the words sounded hollow—pathetic—even to me.

His gaze snapped to mine. Agony in its depths.

Then it vanished, replaced by pure, murderous rage.

He crossed the room in two strides. His hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, slamming me back against the table. Pressure built instantly—tight, crushing. The wood dug into my spine as he lifted me slightly off the table, fingers tightening until black spots danced in my vision.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

I clawed at his wrist, nails scraping uselessly against his skin.

My chest burned.

No air.

This is how I die.

By him

A strangled sound tore from my throat, barely there. My legs kicked weakly, body already betraying me.

“I should kill you right here,” he whispered, voice shaking with barely contained violence. “But death is too kind for you, Isolde.”

Even now—

Even now, I couldn’t hate him.

The thought shattered through me just as he threw me to the floor like I was nothing. I hit the floor hard, pain jolting through my body as air rushed back into my lungs in ragged, desperate gasps.

I curled in on myself, coughing, shaking—broken.

Ryder crouched.

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back.

Forcing me to look at him.