Chapter fourteen: the calm before the storm

Aria's pov

I woke up slowly, reluctantly, like dragging myself out of quicksand.

I was in a warm embrace. Soft, silk sheets tangled around my legs. A heavy weight pressed against my side moving slowly. My lashes fluttered open.

Nero.

Sitting beside the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me.

Not with fury.

Not with malice.

But something else.

Concern.

I frowned, blinking slowly. My body ached, a deep, dull pain in every joint. My muscles burned. My fingertips and toes throbbed. But... I was alive.

And warm.

His hand moved to my face. Gentle. Thumb stroking my cheek like I was something precious.

"You’re awake," he murmured, voice low and soft. "Good girl."

I flinched, waiting for the sharp grip, the cruel smirk.

But none came.

Instead, he leaned closer, fingers brushing stray hair from my face, his expression dark with... worry?

I stared. Bewildered.

“What... are you doing?” My voice croaked, hoarse, rough.

He chuckled softly, a strange sound from a man like him. "Taking care of my wife. Since you clearly can't be trusted to take care of yourself."

I swallowed hard. Suspicion built low in my gut. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the Nero who stripped me bare, locked me in the freezing dark and left me to die.

"You’re warm now. Heart’s steady. Skin pink again." His thumb traced my lower lip. "I nearly lost you, little wildcat. You almost died. And I... don't like killing my toys that soon."

There it was, that shadow of darkness beneath the sugar.

But it faded.

He shifted closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. He lifted a soft fur blanket, thick and luxurious and wrapped it around my shoulders. Carefully, tenderly, he adjusted it.

"You're shivering." He sounded... genuinely annoyed. But not at me.

He reached for a glass of water. Cold and clean. He held it to my lips. I turned my face away, expecting force, expecting anger.

He sighed.

"Drink, Valente. Or I’ll make you." But his voice stayed calm. Oddly patient.

I obeyed.

Cool water slid down my dry throat. Relief and suspicion grew even more in my chest.

Why was he being like this?

His fingers brushed my hair, combing it gently from my face. He adjusted the pillow under my head with slow, careful movements. Like I was fragile glass.

"Why... are you being nice to me?" I rasped, eyeing him warily.

Nero smiled. Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

"Because you almost died. And I don’t let what’s mine die unless I choose it. Stop making me repeat myself, Valente.” His grey eyes darkened. "And you’re mine, little wife. To ruin. To keep. To mold."

I swallowed hard.

He leaned down, his breath brushing my cheek. "But first... to heal. Properly. I can’t enjoy you broken."

His palm rested on my stomah, his hand was warm and comforting. It made my body tense with confusion.

"Why?" I whispered, unable to stop the question.

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against my temple.

"Because I want you whole when you suffer, Valente. I want you strong enough to scream, to fight... and beg. There's no fun in punishing a half-dead bird." He nuzzled against me, inhaling deeply. "But this... this quiet moment between us... let it last. You earned that much."

I closed my eyes, breathing him in.

I hated him.

But the warmth... the softness... God, it felt like heaven after the hell of the cellar.

"You won’t lock me down there again?" My voice cracked.

His hand slid along my side, gentle. Slow.

"No. Not unless you give me a reason." He tilted my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. "But you will, eventually. You can’t help yourself. You’re wild. Untamed. Reckless. You’ll try to run again. Plot again. And I’ll break you all over. This doesn't mean I've forgotten what happened at my parent's house, once you're fully recovered you'll answer to me.”

His thumb traced the line of my throat.

"But not yet."

He stood, moving to the fireplace to start a fire and soon enough logs cracked, flames dancing high and golden. The warmth flooded the room. Nero grabbed another fur blanket and brought it to me, tucking it around my legs with surprising care.

"Rest, Valente." His voice lowered. "Tonight... no games. No pain. Just warmth. Food. Water."

I blinked up at him.

His smile curved darkly. "Even predators know when to tend their prey. To make sure it stays... delicious."

My stomach growled.

He laughed, the sound low and genuine. "See? Your body listens better than you do."

A knock at the door. Quiet.

"Enter."

A maid stepped in frightened and trembling with a tray. Soup. Bread. Tea. Nero took it himself, waving her away without a glance.

I wondered if Lucia was okay because I hadn't seen her since the day of the dinner.

He set the tray on the bed. "Eat. All of it."

I hesitated.

He arched a brow. "Unless you want me to feed you."

His gaze swept down my body, slow and heavy. Heat crept over my skin.

I grabbed the spoon, hands weak but obeying.

He sat back in the chair beside me, watching every mouthful. Like a hunter waiting for the rabbit to recover before the chase.

"I was going to kill you today, you know," he murmured softly. "After that little stunt at dinner. But then you nearly killed yourself instead with your weakness at not being able to handle such little cold. How inconvenient."

I swallowed hard.

"But now... maybe I’ll keep you longer. Watch you burn. Watch you submit." His smile was slow. Dangerous. "I wonder how long you’ll last before you beg me to break you."

I shuddered. His words settled deep in my brain, echoing.

He leaned forward again, brushing my cheek with rough knuckles. "Sleep, little wife. The storm comes soon. But not tonight."

I wanted to fight him.

But I was too warm. Too tired. Too filled with confused relief.

My eyes closed.

His fingers stroked my hair softly, soothing. Almost kind.

"Sleep. Dream of me," he whispered.

And I did.