The cell they placed her in wasn’t cold or damp. It was worse.It was luxurious.Polished marble floors, velvet drapes, a king-sized bed covered in dark silks. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting soft golden light across the room. A small dining table had been set with silverware she hadn’t touched. Even the scent in the air—citrus and musk—was designed to lull her into forgetting she was a prisoner.But Seraphina hadn’t forgotten.This wasn’t a room.It was a cage.She sat on the edge of the bed, back rigid, every muscle tense. The door had no visible lock, but she knew better than to try it. Guards were posted just outside. She could hear them breathe, shift their weight, murmur to each other in low tones when they thought she couldn’t hear.Her wrists were unbound now, but the sensation of those enchanted ropes still lingered, like phantom shackles. Dante hadn’t spoken to her since delivering her here the night before. No threats, no commands, not even a warning.That silen
Magbasa pa