Liana's POV
His hand stayed on, not tender, not controlling—just an ending that soured my stomach.
Then he leaned in, his warm breath on my ear, but his voice icy as the winter wind.
"Don't try that again," he breathed, his tone a threat. "Next time, I won't simply put the ring back on my finger. I'll remind you why you've got it."
My blood ran with anger, but there was another thing too—fear. Uncertainty. And beneath all of that rage, something else I despised more. Something that squirmed within my chest.
A part of myself yearned for power.
The part of myself that I detested most.
Because it wasn’t just fear. It was want. The shameful, sticky kind of want. The kind you can’t speak aloud. The kind that makes you question your own damn soul.
I opened the damn door, spun on my heel,
