The air in the secluded villa was thick with the scent of jasmine and the musky heat of intimacy. Golden candlelight flickered against the silk canopies of the bed, casting long, rhythmic shadows against the walls.
Justine’s breath hitched—not from pleasure, but from the sudden, violent jolt of consciousness.
One moment, she had been drowning in the icy darkness of death, her heart stopping in a lonely room. The next, she felt the heavy, searing weight of a man’s body pressed against hers. The friction of skin on skin, the salt of sweat, and the familiar, demanding rhythm of Lord Red’s hips sent a shockwave through her system.
He was buried deep inside her, his head tucked into the crook of her neck, his breath coming in ragged, possessive gasps.
"Justine..." he groaned, his fingers bruising the soft flesh of her thighs as he pinned her down. "Only you... only you can quiet the noise in my head."
Justine’s eyes snapped open. These weren't the eyes of a lover; they were the eyes of a woman who had seen her own shroud. She looked up at the ceiling she had stared at for a year—the ceiling of her gilded prison.
The sensation of his body, once her only comfort, now felt like a violation. Every thrust was a reminder of the lies he had told while his skin was flush against hers. He was using her to wash away the stress of his public life, treating her body like a sanctuary to desecrate before returning to his "virtuous" fiancée.
Red moved to kiss her, his lips seeking hers with a feverish intensity.
Justine didn't melt. She didn't wrap her arms around his neck as she had done a thousand times before. Instead, she placed her hands against his chest—the heart that beat with such practiced deception—and shoved him back with a strength born of pure revulsion.
Red gasped, slipping out of her as he tumbled back against the pillows, startled and disoriented.
"Justine? What is it?" he asked, his voice thick with unspent desire and confusion. He reached for her, his hand grazing her hip. "Did I hurt you? You know I can't help myself when it comes to—"
"Get off me," she whispered, her voice trembling with a cold, lethal rage.
She sat up, uncaring of her nakedness, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. In the dim light, her skin looked like polished marble, but her expression was that of an executioner. She looked at the man before her—the sweat glistening on his chest, the hunger still lingering in his eyes—and felt nothing but a searing desire to see him ruined.
"Justine, my love, what’s wrong?" Red reached out again, trying to pull her back into the heat. "You’re always so tense at the start. Let me take care of you."
Justine looked at his hand as if it were a venomous snake.
"The Southern Manor," she said, her voice steadying into a sharp blade. "The one with the white jasmine gardens. Does she like it when you whisper the same lies to her, or do you save the 'only you' speech specifically for the woman you keep in the dark?"
Red froze. The heat in the room seemed to evaporate instantly. He pulled the edge of a robe over himself, his eyes narrowing as the lover’s mask began to slip. "What are you talking about? You've been dreaming, Justine. You know I only have eyes for—"
"I am done being your 'resting place,' Red," she interrupted, swinging her legs off the bed and standing up. She grabbed a sheer silk robe, wrapping it around her body like armor. "I am done being the secret you use to soothe the exhaustion of your real life."
She turned to look at him, her silhouette framed by the moonlight spilling through the window—the same Gilded Moon that had watched her die in another life.
"Clean yourself up and leave," she commanded, the authority in her voice making him flinch. "And take the forest route one last time. I wouldn't want the Grand Vizier’s daughter to wonder why her fiancé smells of jasmine and betrayal so late at night."
Red stood up, his face contorting with a mix of shock and budding fury. "Justine, you don't know what you're saying. You have nowhere else to go. You sacrificed everything for me!"
"No," Justine said, walking toward the door and throwing it open to the cold night air. "I sacrificed everything for a ghost. But I’ve returned from the grave, My Lord. And I find I have a very long memory."
