Chapter 3

　　By the time the burial ended, the family compound no longer felt heavy with the suffocating weight of grief. It felt entirely empty and quiet.

　　People began to leave slowly, their conversation quieter now, their movements were relaxed, like whatever they had come for was already done.

　　The thick tension that had filled the air earlier didn't disappear completely; it just morphed into something colder, sharper, and far more sinister.

　　I stood near the edge of the freshly turned earth, my eyes scanning the retreating crowd by pure survival reflex. I turned to look at Marcus, expecting to find his warm, steady presence anchoring me.

　　But he wasn't beside me.

　　My chest tightened instantly. I turned completely around, my eyes frantically searching the sea of black suits and veils. He had been standing right there just a few minutes ago, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Now, he is entirely gone. Where could he have gone?

　　A strange feeling settled low in my stomach. It wasn't full panic yet, but a deep, protective instinct flared inside me. I didn't want anything to happen to him in a place as ruthless as this.

　　I moved slowly at first, stepping away from the grave as the dimming evening light crept across the estate. The compound grew quieter with every passing second, the shadows stretching longer across the stone pathways.

　　"Marcus?" I called out softly. My voice wasn't loud, swallowed instantly by the vastness of the courtyard. There was no response. My steps quickened into a frantic pace. It wasn't like him to just disappear without a word. And I didn't want him wandering alone—not in a den of vipers like this.

　　A terrifying thought slipped into my mind before I could stop it: "Raze." My jaw tightened so hard my teeth ached. No. He wouldn't dare touch Marcus... would he?

　　The possibility was enough to violently push me forward. I ran deeper into the compound, past the familiar hallways and corners that still felt too easy to navigate. Muscle memory instinct.

　　I didn't realize how far I had gone until a heavy hand suddenly clamped around my upper arm.

　　Before a scream could even form in my throat, I was violently yanked backward. My body collided hard with a solid, muscular chest as a heavy oak door slammed shut behind me with a dull, final thud.

　　The room was bathed in near-total darkness, save for a thin, sharp blade of moonlight illuminating the space from the barely closed velvet curtains. My heart slammed frantically against my ribs like a trapped bird. I shoved my hands against the force holding me.

　　"Raze—"

　　The name barely left my lips before his hand was on me again, stronger this time, pinning me firmly against the door.

　　The words in my throat died entirely as Raze's fingers fisted violently into my hair. He yanked my head back with a sharp, familiar cruelty that forced my chin upward, locking my gaze into his as he pinned me flat against the cold wood of the study door.

　　"Let go of me, Raze! What the hell are you doing?" I hissed, twisting frantically to free myself. My hands shook with a volatile mix of rage as he gathered both of my wrists, pinning them above my head with just one of his massive hands. "Where is he, Raze? What did you do to Marcus?"

　　I spat the words at him, but the anger died in my chest as he stepped closer, covering every remaining inch of space between us. His heavy, lethal frame crushed against mine. He didn't bother wasting time on words. Reaching down, his free hand bunched the silk of my black funeral skirt, dragging the fabric upward until the cool air of the room hit my bare thighs.

　　My breath completely hitched as he hooked his thumb into the lace of my panties, yanking them aside with a proprietary, brutal roughness. He didn't ask for permission. He never did. He simply took what he wanted, exactly the way he used to take me before I fled.

　　"You've been a very bad girl, princess," Raze growled, his rough fingers immediately tracing heavy, torturous lines against my clit.

　　I bit my lip so hard I tasted rust, desperately holding back the moan that threatened to shatter the silence. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I refused to let him see how easily he could undo me.

　　"Tell me," he whispered, his dark eyes flashing with pure malice in the moonlight. "That dimwit... is he good in bed? Does he make you cum with just his fingers? Or do you have to close your eyes and think about me before you can cum when he fucks you?"

　　My breath hitched violently. My heart stopped. How—how did he know? How could he possibly know about the phantom nightmare that had plagued my body just hours before?

　　Raze must have read the blinding shock paralyzing my features, because that familiar, arrogant smirk spread across his lips. "So you have been thinking of me while he fucks you."

　　I violently turned my face away, refusing to look at him, refusing to validate his toxic triumph.

　　In retaliation, two of his thick fingers dove brutally inside me, stretching me in a way that made my vision swim.

　　At the exact same moment, his thumb found my clit, grinding down with a heavy, rhythmic pressure that sent a devastating jolt of electricity straight to my core.

　　"Repeat what you said out there," he growled, his deep voice a low, vibrating rumble against my burning skin.

　　"Who is he, Nyra? Tell me again who that weak-looking bastard is."

　　"It's none... of your business, Raze. Please... stop..." I gasped out, my head thumping back helplessly against the hard wood of the door as he ruthlessly increased the pace of his fingers.

　　Raze didn't stop. Instead, he leaned in, his lips crashing down onto mine in a kiss that tasted of salt, hunger, and absolute possessiveness. It wasn't a request; it was a violent reclamation. While his tongue completely invaded my mouth, his fingers worked relentlessly inside me, slick and demanding. His hand tightened further in my hair, pulling just enough to keep my spine arched perfectly against his touch.

　　"1,095 days," he muttered against my lips, his breathing jagged and uneven. "I waited 1,095 days for you to come home, and you dare walk back onto my turf with another man's ring on your finger?"

　　"Raze, stop... this is wrong," I moaned helplessly into his mouth. Every word felt like a lie. My body was an absolute traitor, my pussy walls already slick, dripping, and pulsing frantically around his intrusive fingers. "We're childhood friends... sworn siblings..."

　　"Siblings don't do this," he mocked, his thumb grinding harder, crushing against my center until my knees literally shook. "I fucked you first, Nyra. Siblings don't own each other's souls. Friends don't make you scream the way I do. I asked you a question, and I want an answer. Does he even know how to touch you, Nyra? Does he make you wet just by looking at him? Does he know you like restraints and spanks, or does he fuck you like a boring gentleman? Does that pathetic excuse of a man satisfy you?"

　　I hated myself in that moment. I hated that I couldn't utter a single word to defend my fiancé. I hated that even as Magnus's face flashed in my mind, my entire body was convulsing with desperate, overwhelming need under Raze's cruel touch.

　　My moans dissolved into broken, jagged sobs as he drove his fingers deeper, his thumb never leaving my clit until the entire world fractured.

　　"Raze, please...!" I cried out, my back aching as a violent, blinding orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. I slammed my own hand over my mouth, desperately trying to suppress the scream of pleasure tearing from my throat.

　　Raze finally pulled his hand free, dragging his wet fingers across his lips as a low groan escaped his chest. "Still so fucking sweet," he breathed, his eyes tracking the tremors racking my thighs. "Look at you, preaching morality to me, and yet you still came just from me using my fingers. This proves it, Nyra."

　　He stepped in close again, his hand gripping my chin tightly, forcing my tear-stained face upward until I was staring directly into his dark, obsessive eyes. "You still belong to me. Whether you like it or not."

　　Pure anger and suffocating shame flared inside me, sharp and immediate. I slapped his hand away from my face. "I don't belong to you."

　　His eyes darkened to a terrifying shade of pitch black. "Say that again."

　　"I don't belong to you," I repeated, louder this time, forcing every ounce of remaining strength into my voice.

　　For a long, terrifying moment, neither of us moved. The heavy tension between us stretched so thick it felt completely suffocating, like a wire pulled tight enough to snap. And then, surprisingly, his grip loosened slightly.

　　It was all the opportunity I needed. I instantly stepped away from him, creating distance. I didn't wait for him to change his mind or trap me again. With trembling fingers, I quickly smoothed down my silk skirt and rearranged my tangled hair as best as I could. Raze just stood there in the shadows, silently watching my every move like a predator allowing its prey a temporary reprieve.

　　When I was done, I pushed past him and grabbed the brass door handle.

　　The cool, circulating air of the hallway hit my flushed face the moment I stepped out of the dark study. My heart was still racing a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my legs to keep moving, walking away from him and away from the wreckage of what had just happened.

　　"Nyra."

　　The sound of my name made me stop dead in my tracks. I turned around immediately.

　　Marcus was walking toward me from the far end of the dim corridor, his expression perfectly calm and composed.

　　A massive wave of relief hit me, washing away the lingering panic. "Where were you?" I asked, taking quick steps toward him. "I was looking everywhere for you."

　　He smiled faintly, his eyes serene. "I stepped out for a bit. I just needed some air."

　　Something about the sterile tone of his answer felt subtly off, a tiny instinct in the back of my mind whispering a warning. But I was too exhausted, too wrapped up in my own guilt to push it. The only thing that mattered was that he was safe. "I was so worried," I admitted.

　　His gaze softened completely as he reached out, wrapping his warm hand around mine. "I'm fine, honey."

　　I nodded, allowing him to lead me down the corridor back toward the safety of my bedroom.

　　Once inside, the door clicked shut, and I sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. My mind was still entirely occupied, a chaotic storm of thoughts centered on Raze's touch and his terrifying warnings about the syndicate.

　　I looked up at Marcus. He was the complete polar opposite of Raze. I watched him move across the room with a slow, elegant composure. He poured a drink from the crystal decanter as if nothing had happened, as if this were just another normal, quiet night in our old life.

　　"Nyra," he said gently, walking over and handing me the glass. "You don't have to tell me everything right now."

　　I looked up at him, momentarily confused.

　　Marcus smiled warmly, kneeling down slightly in front of me. "About your past. About your father. I know it's not simple. I can see how heavy this is on you."

　　A small part of my guarded defenses finally relaxed. He wasn't pushing me for information, and he wasn't demanding immediate answers. "I will tell you," I whispered quietly, looking into his eyes. "Just... not tonight."

　　"Take all the time you need," he replied softly.

　　A profound sense of gratitude flickered through me, followed instantly by a crushing, agonizing wave of guilt. I had just betrayed this man in the study down the hall.

　　I took the glass from his hand, my fingers brushing against his warm skin.

　　"Thank you, Marcus," I said softly.

　　He nodded slowly, that genuine, loving smile remaining fixed on his face. I lifted the glass to my lips and took a long, deep sip to calm my rattling nerves.

　　The taste of the liquor was incredibly sharp, far stronger and more bitter than I had expected from his usual stash. But in my altered state, I didn't think much of it.

　　Not until my vision suddenly blurred.

　　At first, the sensation was subtle—just a slight, strange heaviness settling behind my eyelids. But within seconds, it escalated with a terrifying speed.

　　My grip on the crystal glass loosened. I blinked rapidly, trying desperately to focus on Marcus's face, but his figure began to warp and distort before my eyes.

　　"Marcus...?" My voice came out terrifyingly unsteady.

　　He didn't move to catch me. He didn't reach out to grab the falling glass. He just stood there, perfectly still, watching me carefully with cold, analytical eyes, like a scientist waiting for a chemical reaction to finish.

　　A sudden, freezing wave of realization slid through my veins.

　　"What... did you—" My words slurred before I could finish the sentence.

　　The gentle, loving expression on his face vanished, morphing into a cold, detached mask I had never seen on him before. "I'm sorry, Nyra," he said quietly.

　　The words were empty, entirely devoid of any real emotion.

　　Pure, unadulterated panic surged through my chest, but my drugged body completely refused to respond to my brain's frantic commands. My legs buckled beneath me, turning to water. The room tilted violently on its axis, the darkness closing in around the edges of my sight.

　　And then, a heavily masked man stepped out from the shadows of my closet.

　　My breath caught in my throat, a silent scream dying in my chest as I realized I couldn't even draw enough air to make a sound. Everything was slipping away, the darkness swallowing me whole.

　　The very last thing my fading vision captured was Marcus standing over me, coldly watching me hit the floor before the blackness took me completely.