Chapter 7

Hunger in His Silence

Lyra’s POV

How had he found me so fast?

And why did it look like his self-control was unraveling with every breath he took? He was staring at me, and I could see it all—anger, hunger, and something much darker blazing in his eyes.

He had called me a slut. Said I was “begging to be fucked.”

I could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it, but it didn’t dull the sting in my chest. No, that still lingered.

I had been having an actual conversation with the poor man before Kael stormed in and gave the guy more than he bargained for. Was Kael angry?

I didn’t wait to ask. I moved to the dance floor.

Unless he was ready to beat up every single man in the club, he couldn’t stop me.

When I decided to go out tonight, my mind had immediately gone to this place—once called The Royale Club. It had changed, but the thrill still lingered in its neon-lit bones.

As if the DJ had read my mind, Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus blared through the speakers, and I locked eyes with another guy across the floor.

He came over without hesitation, no introductions, no conversation—just music and movement. We danced.

Kael sat across the room on a soft cushion, his eyes on me the entire time. Not once did he look away.

I could see how much effort it took for him to stay seated. Ricco was probably the only reason he hadn’t gotten up to drag me out yet.

What right did he have to control my life?

I moved my hips to the pulsing rhythm, letting my hands run over the sides of the flimsy gold dress I had chosen. The music flowed through me as I ground against the stranger behind me.

Then I looked up—and locked eyes with Kael.

His bright blue gaze locked with mine, and for a split second, everything in me stilled. My breath caught. My chest rose in time with the music, and I didn’t let myself blink.

Yes, I wanted to rattle him.

But deep down, I also wanted to feel something… anything… other than pain.

I wished he had chosen me.

I wished he hadn’t let me go.

"Come on, slut. Focus on me," the voice behind me rasped as he pulled my body against him too tightly.

"You’re holding me too tight," I said, trying to laugh it off. "Ease up a bit."

But I could feel the bulge pressed against my lower back. His hand slipped through the side of my dress, too bold, too fast.

I should’ve called for help. But doing that would’ve meant Kael had been right.

And there he was. Watching. Jaw tight. Muscles locked. Grinding his teeth like the sound of it might hold him together.

I tried to wriggle free, but I felt dizzy. The drinks from earlier were finally catching up to me.

I told myself I could handle this.

Just wait it out. He’d let go soon.

Except he didn’t.

He tightened his grip, forcing me against him harder.

"Let me go!" I finally shouted, struggling.

"The lady said let her go," Kael growled, appearing beside me in an instant.

He didn’t even look at me. Just grabbed my wrist, pulled me away from the stranger, and pushed me gently behind him.

"Oh shit—I’m sorry!" the man sputtered, eyes wide. He backed away fast. I knew Kael must have growled at him—visibly, audibly. Loud enough to make the guy flee.

I waited for Kael to say something. But he didn’t.

A car pulled up. I got in without a word. He climbed in beside me. Still silent.

I glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable. Cold. Focused.

I didn’t know if he was boiling inside or completely unhinged.

When we arrived back at the mansion, I said nothing.

Not as I climbed the stairs to the third floor, deliberately avoiding the elevator. There was no staff in sight. No Christine. Just thick silence.

I expected him to explode. Like earlier.

Instead… nothing.

And that was somehow worse.

Maybe I was messed up in the head, but I’d rather he yelled. Anything was better than this silence.

When I reached the third floor, I found him already waiting by my door.

He leaned in low, close to my ear. His voice was like gravel laced with steel.

"Don’t try that again, Lyra. I barely held myself back tonight. Next time, I won’t make any promises."

The strong lines of his shoulders tensed as he pulled back and stared directly at me. He looked like he had weighed every single word before saying it.

I opened my mouth to ask something—anything—but he turned and walked into the room beside mine.

He didn’t look back.

He knew I had been about to say something.

I opened my door, moved straight to the tiny kitchen, and poured myself a glass of water.

I felt hot.

Flushed.

Burning from the inside out.

His voice was still in my ear.

His warning still clawed at my chest.

It took me back—to when I’d been stupidly in love with him.

And I hated myself for it.

"I don’t want to forget the flushed look on your face right now, Lyra.

I want to draw it on my heart forever,

reminding me of this night."

Those words would haunt me for the rest of my life.

A promise I never asked for—one I couldn't forget, no matter how much I wanted to.