...DEDICATION...

For you, dear reader, who loves the kind of love that burns more than it saves.

This story is yours — because you know what it means to lose yourself in the fog of a dangerous touch, to crave too much, even knowing it could consume you.

You, who are never afraid of broken characters, of possessive feelings, of promises made between kisses and threats.

You, who read about a heart that says, “I’d let the world burn for you” — and smile, because you understand.

Here, love isn’t gentle.

It suffocates, scorches, scars.

But that’s exactly why it’s unforgettable.

Welcome to the fire.

If you’re going to love here, then love it to ashes.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

It was a night of thick fog and wandering winds, as if the world itself conspired to protect a secret. In the austere silence of dawn, a hooded figure dismounted an exhausted horse at the gates of the Eckart estate — an ancestral home where nobility walked hand-in-hand with the shadows of ancient promises.

In her arms, the woman carried a newborn wrapped in dark cloth, sleeping with the peacefulness of the innocent. She approached the entrance steps, knelt with reverence, and placed the basket down — like one setting down their heart. On the blankets lay a letter, carefully folded and sealed with pale wax.

The baby did not cry. His small chest rose and fell in silence, as if he understood the urgency of remaining unseen.

The woman pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, whispered words only the night would hear, and vanished among the cypress trees, swallowed by the darkness.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

Duke Alrin Eckart was a man of meticulous habits and light sleep, as was expected of someone who bore the weight of an ancestral name. It was a sudden restlessness, an unexplainable pull, that led him to the front door without summoning any servants.

Upon opening it, he found the basket. His gaze settled on the small bundle, and then on the letter. The seal seemed vaguely familiar; breaking it, he recognized the handwriting immediately — refined, sorrowful, irrevocable. It was Angel’s.

> “This is the fruit of what we were, and what we could never be.

Protect him as your own, as you promised.

His name is Isaac.”

For a long while, the duke stood there, unmoving, as if the night had frozen around him. Then, with a steady hand, he lifted the basket and ascended the stairs with silent, resolute steps.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

In the master bedroom, Duchess Emily slept a restless sleep. To her right, in small beds, lay their children: six-year-old Ryan and four-year-old Maria, sleeping with their hands tucked under their chins. A portrait of familial peace — until scandal entered the room.

Emily awoke to the sound of the door, and upon seeing her husband with a baby in his arms, sat up abruptly, her face still blurred between dream and comprehension.

“What is this, Alrin? ” she asked, already sensing the answer she did not want to hear.

“He is my son,” the duke said, with the sobriety of a man who did not intend to ask forgiveness.

The child in the basket made a small sound, nothing more than a sigh — as if in approval of the declaration.

Emily turned pale. Her gaze slipped from the baby to her husband’s face and found a seriousness that left no room for denial.

“ Your son... with another woman? ”

“With a woman I swore to protect, ” he replied. “ And to whom I gave my word. His name is Isaac. And from today forward, he will be raised in this house.”

Little Maria woke at that moment, her large eyes blinking under the low light. She sat up silently, as if sensing that what she witnessed was not meant to be disturbed by noise.

Ryan, however, made no effort to hide his unease. His blue eyes, so like his mother’s, fixed on the baby with something more than curiosity. There was already, in the six-year-old’s expression, the beginning of silent jealousy — of a threatened territory.

Maria slipped from her bed and stepped forward, bare feet touching the cold floor. Without saying a word, she looked at the baby, then at her father.

“Will he sleep here too, Papa?”

Alrin, surprised by the question, offered a brief smile.

“ Not tonight, my flower. But someday, perhaps.”

Emily remained silent. Her pride had been wounded in a place within her soul she had never offered to anyone — not even her husband. As she turned her face away, hiding what the children should not see, she began to build an invisible wall between herself and the child whose eyes were still closed.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

Thus was Isaac born — not just into the world, but into the heart of a family divided between name and blood. He would grow with all the privileges the Eckart house could offer — except the most volatile of all: unconditional affection.

Ryan would never forget the day he had to share his father’s name.

Maria would never forget the day she saw pain and silence take up residence under the same roof.

And Isaac, though too young to remember, would forever carry the weight of a past shrouded in secrecy… and a promise whispered to the wind.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

Years later…

The grand hall of the Agrece estate shimmered with soft lights and hushed voices, elegant music weaving between laughter and toasts. It was a night of celebration — Vanessa Agrece’s coming-of-age — and every detail overflowed with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden reflections on mirrored walls, where dancing shadows multiplied.

Isaac Eckart, however, seemed unimpressed by the subtleties of the event. Leaning against a marble column, an untouched glass of wine in his hand, his eyes drifted lazily over the room… until they stopped.

She was on the other side of the hall, twirling to the waltz’s rhythm, her scarlet dress swirling around her ankles. Vanessa. The smile she gave to the guests was light, charming, almost carefree — but something beneath it gleamed. A silent flame. A spark that caught Isaac the instant she looked his way.

He blinked once. Then looked away, as if he’d made a mistake. But he couldn’t help it — he looked again. Discreetly. Noticed the soft curve of her neck, the way she tilted her head while listening, the way her lips curved when she smiled.

“ So, you’re hiding from the dances too? ” came a light voice, too close.

Ana Agrece appeared at his side, stunning in emerald green, her curls perfectly styled. She leaned against the same column, trying to draw him into conversation with a gentle smile.

Isaac shifted his gaze from Vanessa. Forced a faint smile at Ana, but his eyes — those blue-reddish, intense, ever-watchful eyes — drifted again to the figure across the room, as if pulled by instinct.

“ Just watching, ” he murmured, evasively.

Ana followed his gaze, trying to see what had so captured him. Her expression tightened slightly when she understood. But before she could speak, Ryan Eckart appeared at her side, all practiced charm and polished smile.

“ Ana, you look stunning tonight, as always, ” he said, taking her hand with dramatic flair. “ I hope you’ve saved a dance for me.”

Ana smiled, distracted, but didn’t answer. Her eyes were still on Isaac.

But Isaac wasn’t looking at her.

He only saw Vanessa.

Even surrounded by people, she seemed distant — like she existed in another time, another world. A world he suddenly, desperately wanted to be part of.

And when, by chance — or fate — she looked his way and their eyes met for the briefest instant, he felt it.

A jolt.

An invisible pull.

She smiled, gently — perhaps unaware someone was watching.

But his heart pounded harder, as if he’d heard a secret.

And in that moment, Isaac knew:

Nothing else in that hall mattered more than her.

One year later…

Rain fell softly over the Agrece estate gardens, as if the sky, too, mourned the silent despair hanging in the dark. The early dawn swallowed the corridors in shadows, broken only by Ana’s hurried footsteps echoing like a secret about to be unraveled.

She was trembling—not from cold, but from fear. From guilt. From love.

Her pale dress dragged across the stone floor. Her boots were caked in mud. The hood masked her golden hair, but not the tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Forgive me, Vanessa,” she thought, heart pounding like war drums. “I can’t marry him. I can’t live this lie—I’m a coward.”

She stumbled across the side courtyard, scratched by rose bushes she'd known since childhood. The back gate was unlocked—just as planned. Through the mist, her tear-blurred eyes found the discreet carriage waiting in the distance. Two horses. A coachman paid in family jewels.

She didn’t look back.

Because if she did, she would return.

If she saw Vanessa’s bedroom light still on, she might regret it. If she saw her father’s guards on patrol, she might freeze. But Ana kept walking, step after trembling step, until the night swallowed her whole—as if she’d never belonged to that world at all.

Ana wasn’t just fleeing a wedding.

She was fleeing a fate that denied her the right to love.

Because her love... wasn’t for Ryan.

It was for Isaac.

Isaac, with eyes that saw straight through her masks. Isaac, who never spoke his feelings—but whose silences screamed when she got too close. Isaac, who was far away now, maybe forever, and might never know she left for him.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

The next morning, chaos.

“What do you mean she fled?”

Emperor Eze’s voice sliced through the air like a blade, echoing off the throne room’s marble columns. Cold. Final. Those around him instinctively stepped back—

Everyone except Duke Eckart, standing calmly beside the throne, and the knights behind him in an imposing line of steel and shadow.

In front of Vanessa, her parents shrank into themselves, trembling. She didn’t understand why they even tried to plead. Appealing to Eze’s mercy wasn’t just pointless—it was dangerous.

“I… ”Her father swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but… Ana is just a child! Only seventeen. I don’t know why sh—”

“Silence.”

Eze didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His low, controlled tone thickened the air like a storm about to break.

“Spare me your pathetic excuses. Your daughters carry what is required to become duchesses. By law, you are bound to offer one to the heir of the dukedom.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Refusing an imperial command is not just disobedience… it’s treason.”

Vanessa’s blood ran cold. For a moment, the floor seemed too far beneath her feet.

Then she stepped forward.

“Take me.”

Her voice shattered the silence—steady, despite the tremor in her spine. Before her parents could react, Vanessa dropped to her knees before the throne. Her clenched fists touched the floor, knuckles already reddening, and she bowed her head low.

“My blood is the same. ”Her voice was softer now, but unwavering. “Take me in her place, Your Majesty.”

The silence that followed stretched into something unbearable.

Vanessa could feel the stares of the court burning her skin. Shame twisted in her gut, but she didn’t move. She could imagine the stifled laughter, the whispered cruelty, the veiled mockery behind the ladies’ golden veils and the nobles’ narrowed eyes. Her arranged fiancé was likely somewhere in the room, sighing in disappointment.

She braced herself for rejection.

But she spoke again, lower this time, more intimate:

“I know I’m not Ana. I know that better than anyone. But I’m of age. And… I won’t run.”

She lifted her chin and met the Emperor’s eyes. She wanted him to see what she couldn’t say aloud: If this saves my family, I’ll die for it.

Because Vanessa was not Ana.

Ana was soft. Radiant. Kind. Beautiful, with porcelain skin and golden hair that caught the sun, a smile that made strangers love her. People called her perfect—like a doll made to be adored.

Vanessa, on the other hand, bore the features of a forgotten aunt—the family’s black sheep. Average in every way: average height, average beauty, average skills. Skin dark as storm-swept skies, coiled brown hair she barely knew how to tame, and green eyes that rarely spoke. She was quiet. Studious. Good with numbers. Destined for a loveless marriage to a wealthy merchant—a life of stability.

To be chosen to enter the Duke’s household?

Unthinkable.

She said nothing as laughter echoed. Nothing as the jokes began. Nothing as the silence of the Emperor’s knights suffocated her.

Finally, Eze raised a hand, commanding silence. His eyes lingered on Vanessa for a long moment, weighing her like a coin at market.

He didn’t see a girl kneeling.

He saw a convenient solution.

If Vanessa agreed to the marriage—and died trying—the contract would still be honored. The family's honor restored. Her parents spared. The empire would carry on. And no one, absolutely no one, would lose.

Except her.

But that was her role, wasn’t it?

To carry the burdens her pampered sister could not.

The future duke stepped forward at Eze’s gesture. He leaned to speak quietly with her father, then with the emperor. Vanessa resisted the urge to look at him. She wanted to know who she’d be bound to—but she couldn’t afford to appear eager. That would make her weak. And she was already far too exposed.

Her chest ached. Breathing felt like swallowing stones. When the Emperor finally dismissed the audience and turned back to her, Vanessa already knew the sentence.

“So be it. ”His decree dropped like lead.“You are dismissed for the night. The wedding will proceed at dawn, as planned.”

Eight hours.

That was all she had left.

Vanessa’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know how to prepare for what awaited her. She couldn’t think.

Three months of travel to reach the imperial castle…

One month living here as a shadow…

And now, this.

She’d spent her days exploring the castle’s halls, memorizing windows and gardens and turns—beautiful things to keep, because… well, she’d always known her life wouldn’t have many joys.

She thought she’d have time.

She thought she’d marry quietly.

She thought she’d live in a too-large house with a distant husband.

Now, her entire life had been reduced to eight hours.

Her chest tightened.

Something should be said. Something meaningful. Grand.

But no one said anything.

So Vanessa simply bowed her head again. Whispered a barely audible thank you.

And followed her parents, in silence, back to the suite that—for one final night—she still called home.

Silence was the first sound Isaac recognized.

Not the usual silence of Myrravahn's long nights, when torches crackled through the halls and the wind whispered against fluttering curtains. No. This silence was heavy—like the surface of a lake moments before a storm broke. Dense. Suffocating. Pregnant with something yet to be revealed.

Isaac stood at the edge of the throne room like an unwelcome guest. The imperial crest loomed above everyone present, bearing down with the same weight of expectation that pressed against his shoulders. His brother, Ryan, stood farther ahead, spine straight as if sheer posture could bring order to the moment’s chaos.

But it was the name he heard that made Isaac’s brows lift slightly.

Vanessa.

Not Ana.

His head tilted ever so slightly. The name dragged through his mind like an old memory being unearthed—etched in stone, buried beneath layers of dust and time. Vanessa Agrece. The sister who wasn’t the bride. The quiet shadow of the family. The one he had seen—years ago—across the ballroom at her coming-of-age celebration. The one whose soft smile had never quite left him in peace.

He swallowed hard. The memory returned with almost cruel clarity.

Vanessa, curled up near the piano, laughing softly at something no one else seemed to notice. Her eyes meeting his by accident. Or maybe... not quite by accident.

It lasted only a second.

But it had been enough for his blood—still warm, still alive before his true nature had awakened—to react to something he hadn't understood then. Now, years later, he understood perfectly. And that made the sight before him all the more absurd. All the more jarring.

She was kneeling.

Not Ana.

Vanessa.

And he knew—by the way she lowered her gaze, by the subtle tremble of her jaw as she fought to hold herself together—that she wasn’t there by choice. Vanessa wasn’t ambitious. She wasn’t vain. She wasn’t one of those court ladies who threw themselves into the arms of nobility for the sake of power. She was there as a sacrifice.

And that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Ryan didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

Isaac watched his brother through narrowed eyes, blood churning beneath his skin. Ryan looked... satisfied. Bowed before the throne, whispering with the Emperor as if nothing had changed. As if Ana and Vanessa were pieces of the same gameboard. Interchangeable. Replaceable.

A strange heat began to rise in Isaac’s chest, settling deep in his gut like smoldering coals.

What are you going to do with her, Ryan?

The question echoed inside him but found no voice.

He couldn’t speak. Not yet.

The order had already been given.

Vanessa would be the bride.

And something about that felt terribly wrong.

⋯ ❈♛❈ ⋯

Night had fallen over the castle like a leaden shroud. Heavy. Dense. Too quiet.

Isaac remained by the window in his chambers, watching shadows slip over the rooftops of the towers. The pale reflection of the moon bathed the stone in a sharp blue hue, and the cold he felt came not from the air—but from inside him.

He couldn’t stop seeing Vanessa’s face—tense but resolute—as she knelt before the throne. The image burned in his mind, branded there like iron.

She didn’t look at me.

The thought hurt.

But why would she? He was just the younger brother of her betrothed.

“You don’t look too pleased with the arrangement.”

Ryan’s voice broke the silence like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. He entered Isaac’s room without knocking, as he always had since they were children.

Isaac turned slowly, the window’s shadows slicing across half his face. Ryan stood with a relaxed posture, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp. Almost irritated.

“You didn’t look pleased either,” Isaac replied, dryly. “Or am I mistaken?”

Ryan stared at him for a moment, then offered a crooked, ironic smile.

“I just found it… amusing. First they offer us a porcelain doll, all charm and smiles, and now, a statue of iron.” He scoffed. “What do you think went through the eldest daughter’s head?”

Isaac clenched his jaw. He didn’t reply. Saying Vanessa’s name felt too sacred. Too dangerous.

“Or do you know what went through her head?” Ryan went on, his tone scraping against Isaac’s patience. “After all… you and Ana were always so close, weren’t you? And you and Vanessa…”

He laughed—hollow.

“Well, you two barely speak. Almost like...”

He didn’t finish.

But Isaac understood.

Almost like you wanted it to be her.

The accusation hung in the air, unsaid but unmistakable.

Isaac stepped forward, jaw tight.

“I don’t control her choices,” he said quietly, but with steel in his tone. “And you should spend less time worrying about who was given to you... and more on why.”

Ryan laughed again, louder this time, but with bitterness in his voice.

“You’ve been spending too much time with old Matthis. Must be those cursed blades you two train with. Just be careful, little brother—wouldn’t want you ending up as broken as him.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a silence thick enough to choke.

Isaac stood still, fists clenched. Chest heaving with something more than anger. Something he didn’t name. Something... that pulsed.

He lay on the bed, but his body wouldn’t rest. His eyes stared at the ceiling, unblinking. Every time he blinked, he saw Vanessa’s face again. Her serious eyes. The way she said “Take me” with the courage of a martyr and the resignation of someone who had already stopped dreaming.

She didn’t run.

She surrendered.

And it haunted him.

Time passed slowly. Insomnia scratched at the edges of his mind. But there was something else... a strange heat creeping through his veins. A discomfort beneath his skin, as if something inside him was stirring. His heart pounded too loudly. His ears picked up sounds he’d never noticed before—the faintest footsteps in the corridor, the beating of a raven’s wings outside, the soft chime of chains in the higher towers.

And... something more.

Her scent.

How? She was dozens of corridors away. And yet, he could smell her.

He raised a hand to his face, fingers trembling. His breathing was erratic. His throat... dry. Burning. A strange and ancient hunger coiled inside him. Not desire. Not quite.

It was thirst.

Thirst for what?

He didn’t know.

But he feared the answer.

He rose from bed, unable to remain caged in that room. Dressed quickly, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and walked out with no destination. The castle corridors were quiet. Guards greeted him with respectful nods, but didn’t dare approach. Something in Isaac’s eyes told them—not tonight.

He ended up in the garden.

The night was cold. The leaves whispered with the wind, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. He walked to the marble fountain at the garden’s center, sat on its edge, and buried his face in his hands.

For a moment, he felt like he was sinking inside himself.

Something’s wrong with me.

It wasn’t just desire. It was something darker. Heavier. More dangerous.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. But the more he inhaled, the more he sensed her scent—her blood.

Warm. Sweet. Alive.

“Stop this…” he whispered, pressing his fists to his eyes.

But it was useless.

Images formed in his mind—too vivid, too real. His fingers tangled in her curls. His lips brushing her neck. The metallic taste on his tongue.

No.

He rose abruptly, breath ragged, as if he’d just run leagues. He was sweating. His body alert. His eyes wide and starving.

“This isn’t me,” he said to the dark.

But a voice buried deep in his soul whispered back:

It will be.

And so he stood there—in the garden, beneath the night wind, surrounded by the memory of her touch... and a thirst he didn’t yet understand.

But that had already begun to consume him.