They brought her in cuffed, silent, and barefoot. Like she was something wild they'd only just managed to capture.
I didn't move from my chair.
The guards hovered too close to her. I could see it in the way their shoulders tensed, how their hands twitched near their weapons. She hadn't said a word, but she'd made them nervous. I liked that.
Seraphina Vale.
The infamous blade of the Ghost Syndicate.
And now… mine.
I should've felt triumphant. Instead, I felt something far more dangerous coil in my gut.
Curiosity.
She lifted her head, slow, like she already knew who I was—and didn't care. Her eyes met mine across the room. No fear. No plea. No bravado.
Just a challenge wrapped in ice and bone.
She was beautiful, yes—but not the kind that begged to be touched. The kind you watched burn and wondered how close you could get before your skin peeled away.
Her black hair was messy, damp from the rain. Her lip was split, slightly swollen. Deliberate or careless, I couldn't tell.
But it only made her look more lethal.
She was dressed in nothing but a thin white tank top and loose black joggers. Her arms were tense behind her back, restrained. She looked like she could shatter someone's windpipe with her knee if she so much as sneezed.
"Leave," I said without looking at the guards.
"But, sir—"
"She's not going to kill me. Not yet."
They hesitated.
Her eyes never left mine. She smiled—mocking. Daring me to turn my back on her. The guards shuffled out anyway, and the door shut with a heavy finality.
We were alone.
I stood slowly. Let the silence bloom between us.
"Do you know where you are?" I asked.
She tilted her head. "Let me guess. Some underground lair where the villain sharpens his knives and jerks off to the sound of screaming?"
I laughed. Short. Surprised. She was sharp.
"No," I said. "That's upstairs."
She rolled her eyes and looked away, but I saw the twitch in her jaw. She wasn't unaffected. Just good at pretending.
I walked a slow circle around her, studying the curve of her spine, the faint tattoos on the backs of her arms, the scar that ran down the side of her neck like a knife that almost kissed too deep.
"Tell me, Seraphina," I murmured, "did they even tell you what they traded you for?"
She didn't answer.
I moved closer.
"They handed you over for an alliance. A bit of leverage. And they didn't even ask what I planned to do with you."
Still no answer.
I stepped behind her—close enough to smell her skin. Not perfume. Just rain, blood, and something faintly metallic.
"You expected to die," I said softly.
She stiffened, but didn't speak.
I leaned in. "Now you don't know what to expect. And that's worse, isn't it?"
Her voice was ice. "What are you going to do to me, Antonov?"
I stepped in front of her again. Our eyes met. And for a moment, neither of us breathed.
"I haven't decided yet."
Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Then decide fast."
I smiled back, but mine was colder.
"I like to take… my time."
And I meant it.
Because I wasn't going to break her.
I was going to let her fracture herself.