HE BURNS

CHAPTER 4(.. He burns..

_CYRUS_

I left her room. I plan to teach her a lesson at my own time.

Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t look back. That’s for men who need an audience. Devils leave quietly. The damage screams 

The latch clicked. Soft. Final. Like a verdict.

My hands were fists before I even hit the hallway. Jaw locked so tight my teeth hurt. That room still clung to me. Soap. Heat. Something clean in a house built on rot. And her voice. 

“Oh please, teach me a lesson, Cyrus.”

Christ.

She said it like she meant it. Like she wanted me to call her bluff. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

I hated that she was right.

The hallway was long and dark. Portraits of dead Hales lined the walls, all of them watching. Judging. My great-grandfather with his war medals. My grandfather with his cold eyes. My father, younger, but already carved from the same stone. 

I took the stairs two at a time. Needed distance. Needed air that didn’t have her name in it.

My study was on the third floor. Isolated. Locked. No one came up here without bleeding first. That was the rule. Even Justin learned it at fourteen when he tried to steal from my desk. He still walked with a limp in winter that time.

I shoved the door open. The smell hit me first — leather, whiskey, old books. Nothing soft. Nothing that reminded me of white robes or wet hair or the way her feet felt down my my lap.

I went straight for the winestand. Didn’t bother with a glass. The first swallow burned all the way down. The second didn’t. That was the problem.

What the hell was that back there?

A year ago, she flinched if someone dropped a fork. Tonight, she use her ear leg and brushed my two-thousand-dollar suit and called me Brother with a smile that could start wars.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

Not the wine. Not the mess. Her. The new version. The one with fire behind her ribs and a dare in her throat. The one who looked at me like I wasn’t a king or a monster or her husband’s brother. Like I was just a man she could burn.

I hated that I liked it.

I pulled my phone out. My thumb moved before my brain caught up.

I texted. My study, Now.

No explanation. No please I don’t beg. I summon.

Sent.

I locked the phone and set it face down on the black glass desk like it might explode. Like it already had.

Then I waited. Paced. Drank. Watched the clock even though I didn’t care what time it was.

She’d come. Or she wouldn’t. 

Either way, I was already ruined.

---

LISA

The door clicked shut and my knees almost gave out.

Finally. 

My back stayed pressed to the wood. It was cold. I wasn’t. My skin was on fire and my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.

"Naughty wives need to be taught a lesson."

God.

I touched my lips. They were trembling. Not from fear. I buried fear six months ago in the garden behind the guest house, right next to the version of me that said sorry for existing.

But Cyrus King… he did something else to me. Something I didn’t have a name for yet. Something that made me want to run and stand still at the same time.

He looked at me like he saw me. Not the second wife. Not Justin’s mistake. Me. 

And that was terrifying.

I pushed off the door. My legs felt like someone else’s. The robe suddenly too thin, too honest. I could still feel where his eyes had been. Could still feel the heat of him when he backed me against the door. Could still hear that voice, low and dark and certain.

_“You don’t fucking know what you’re getting yourself into, Lisa.”_

Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I did. Maybe I was done caring.

I needed to think. Needed water. Needed to stop shaking.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound cut through the quiet like a knife.

I stared at it. Justin never texted. He ordered. Vanessa never texted. She performed. Beth never texted. She screeched down hallways until someone listened.

So who might it be?

I picked it up. Unknown number. No contact name. Just a string of digits I didn’t recognize.

My thumb hovered. A year ago, I wouldn’t have opened it. A year ago, I would’ve assumed it was a wrong number and put the phone back down.

I’m not her anymore.

I tapped the screen.

*Unknown:* I saw what you did at dinner, Lisa. Cute trick with the leg. But you’re playing with fire. He burns people like you for fun. Run while you still can.

The room tilted.

My breath caught. My hands went cold so fast it hurt.

Someone saw. Someone was watching. Someone knew.

I read it again. The words didn’t change. My pulse did. It slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.

He burns people like you for fun.

Who was _he_? Cyrus? Justin? Beth?

My mind raced. The dinner table. The wine. The way I’d looked at Cyrus. The way he’d looked back. Was it obvious? Did everyone see? 

Before I could move, the phone buzzed again. Different vibration. Different name on the screen.

*Cyrus:* My study. Now.

Two messages. Less than a minute apart. One telling me to run from him. One ordering me to him.

My stomach dropped. Then it flipped. Then it did something else entirely.

I looked at the door. The one he’d just walked through. The one I wasn’t supposed to follow him through.

_Run while you still can._

The old Lisa would have. She would’ve locked the door. Cried into a pillow. Apologized to empty air for being noticed.

But I’d spent a year learning how to stop being her. A year learning how to be sharp instead of soft. How to be a weapon instead of a wound.

I set the phone down. Hands still shaking. But not from fear.

From choice.

I tightened the belt on my robe. Lifted my chin until my neck ached. Looked at myself in

the mirror over the dresser. My eyes were wild. My cheeks were flushed. I didn’t recognize her.

Good.

I walked to the door. Opened it. 

If he was fire, maybe I was done being afraid of burning.

---.