The afternoon sun spilled through the blinds, painting golden streaks over the room, caressing the air with a quiet warmth. Outside, the world buzzed on—laughter, traffic, whispers of mundane lives. But inside these four walls, time stood still.
She sat on the bed, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of her floral dress. Soft fabric, softer skin, secrets woven between each petal. The dress clung to her as though it knew her better than anyone else. She let the sun kiss her bare shoulder, a silent invitation to an unseen lover.
Her name was Isolde.
A name whispered in hushed voices, a name that carried the weight of stolen nights and untamed passions. She was not meant for this world—not the way it demanded her to be. They wanted her caged, tamed, proper. But she had never been any of those things.
She was a wildfire in silk.
The shadow on the wall flickered, shifting as a presence filled the room. He was here.
Her lips curled into the ghost of a smile, but she did not turn to face him. She didn’t need to. She could feel him. His breath against her neck, his scent—smoke, leather, the lingering hint of danger.
“You’re late,” she murmured, her voice laced with something between amusement and punishment.
A low chuckle followed, dark and knowing. “And yet, you’re still waiting.”
Her fingers danced along the curve of her thigh, an absentminded tease. A silent game, a dare unspoken. She loved making him restless. Loved the way he watched her, the way his restraint was always on the edge of breaking.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said finally, turning her head just enough to catch the glint in his eyes.
Adrian.
The man who haunted her dreams, who had carved his name into the very marrow of her being. A thief, a liar, a storm in human form. He had stolen many things, but none more precious than her time—her nights, her sanity.
And yet, she let him.
He moved closer, the bed shifting beneath his weight as his hand brushed against the strap of her dress. His touch was light, but it ignited something deep, something primal.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, voice husky, knowing she would say no.
Her breath caught as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare skin. “You know the answer.”
A smirk, sinful and slow.
“You like this,” he mused, watching her. “Being wanted. Being hunted.”
She exhaled, a soft, dangerous laugh. “You think you’re the hunter?”
His fingers stilled, his grip tightening just enough to make her heart race. His mouth hovered near her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
“I think,” he whispered, “that you’re the one who set the trap.”
A thrill danced down her spine. Because he was right.
She had always known how to lure him in, how to push him to the edge without ever falling herself. But this time… this time, she wasn’t sure who was winning.
Because in the golden light, with his hands on her body and his name in her throat, she realized something terrifying, exhilarating, irreversible.
