That night changed everything.
The training became brutal after that. No more sparring or drills. It became about survival. Pain tolerance. Torture endurance. Psychological conditioning. And she became a brat, determined to piss me off.
She fucked some random gardener in her pool about a week later for the sole purpose of pissing me off. All because I let her see too much—let myself feel too much.
I look at her now and it physically hurts.
Her lips are dry. Sweat slicks down her temple. Her right leg begins to shake—a small tremor, her body reacting to hours of stress. I know it’s not her breaking. It’s just… anatomy. But rules are rules.
“No weakness,” I mutter under my breath.
She doesn’t look at me.
We both know what the Orlovs will do to her the moment she shows weakness, shows a lack of control. We both know I’ll be standing there when it happens—forced to watch. Forbidden to move.
And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
I care for her, probably more than I should, especially since she and I both know she’ll be dead as soon as they get her, butI still want to protect her, train her to be strong and not let her break to these worthless men.
Sometimes I remember the first moment she ever looked at me. Really looked at me. That unblinking, self-assured stare. She saw through all my shit—she could see the boy beneath the blade. Everyone else was scared of me. She wasn’t.
She looked at me like I was something she could play with.
And maybe I was. Maybe I still am.
But I told her no.Itold her no, and I keep telling her no, every day, because saying yes would destroy us both.
Because even though she wants me to be her saviour. I can’t. I never could be.
I walk over slowly. Her leg’s still shaking.
“You did good,” I say flatly, reaching up to release her wrists.
She doesn’t flinch. Just lowers her arms carefully, letting the blood rush back into her hands, and trying to gain balance in her toes.
She tries to walk, but her knees buckle, and as a reflex, I collect her in my arms, walking her back to her room.
She lives in a different portion of the estate than most of her father’s men. I think he designed it so that only the men he trusted could have access to her.
But as I walk with her in my arms, her waist engulfed by my hand, I question why he ever thought I should be allowed this close to her when I want nothing more than to break her myself.
Chapter 10
Aurelia
FLASHBACK
Six years ago
My knee bounces uncontrollably as I sit in one of the velvet parlour chairs across from the towering grandfather clock. The thing ticks and I glare at it. Trying to will time to move faster. The meeting with my father’s men was just as humiliating as usual, but it doesn’t matter because ofher.
Genevieve.
I just found out her name twenty minutes ago, and I’m already obsessed. Genevieve. It belongs in a poem or whispered on stage during a ballet. I wonder if she goes by something shorter—maybe Gen, or Genny, or Viv. Evie would be cute.
“Stop being so weird, Ace.” Enzo cuts through my spiralling thoughts from the sofa behind me. He lounges lazily, but he still carries authority. “You’re gonna scare her. No one likes someone already planning their wedding before saying hello.”
I roll my eyes but laugh. “I’m just… nervous, okay?”
