The tension in the house had reached a breaking point where every glance between Isolde and Silas felt like a physical blow, and the air in the library was thick with a hunger that neither of them could ignore anymore. Silas stood by the heavy oak door, his large frame blocking the only exit, while Isolde paced the length of the room in a silk slip dress that clung to every curve of her body. She stopped in front of him, her chest heaving as she looked up into those cold, calculating eyes that seemed to see right through the facade of the perfect daughter.
"You think you can just stand there and watch me like I'm some kind of animal in a cage, but you're the one who's trapped here with me," Isolde whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperate longing.
Silas didn't
