“Did you just call me Isabella?” Her voice cracked like the thunder behind the windows.
Damien’s gaze didn’t waver. He stood motionless for a second, then offered a dark smile, as though caught in a private joke. “Isn’t that what you’ve been screaming since you got here? That your name is Isabella?”
She took a step forward, her voice steel-sharp. “That’s not what I asked. If you’re so sure I’m Ariana, your enemy’s daughter, then why call me by another name at all?”
For the first time in days, Damien looked… uncertain. Not rattled, but thoughtful. He let out a slow breath and reached for her hand. His touch was warm, coaxing, but she didn’t miss the way his fingers still felt like velvet-wrapped chains.
“Come,” he said, guiding her toward the velvet lounge in the corner of the library.
