The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm but eerie glow across the room. The crackling of the logs, the occasional gust of wind outside, and the soft rustle of the velvet curtains were the only sounds that filled the heavy silence between them. Damon’s figure stood by the fire, his back to her, his silhouette outlined by the flickering light. Caroline watched him, her gaze fixed on the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt, the tension in his posture as if he were holding back something dangerous, something fierce.
She tried to steady her breathing, but the weight of everything—the castle, the bond, Damon himself—was suffocating. It was like being caught in a storm, unable to find shelter or escape. The more she thought about it, the more her frustration bubbled up
