No longer did the suffocating grip of their conservative, narrow-minded ideals bind me—no more masks. No more pretending.
I was free.
And the man who gave me that freedom—my dark, devastating lover, Balthazar—was watching me with a bemused glint in his eye.
“I’ve never seen you so cheerful,” he said, lounging in the drawing room doorway.
His breeches were still hung open, his shirt half-tucked and rumpled from my hands clawing at him minutes ago. His long hair was tangled, falling around his face like a halo of sin. He looked wild, ravished. Beautifully savage.
He began to adjust himself unhurriedly, tucking in his shirt and fastening the buttons, but his gaze remained fixed on me—part curiosity, part concern.
Maybe I had gone over the edge.
But gods, it felt glorious.
Watching him kill… it ignited something primal in me. Like the wild inside me had finally been awakened, answering a call I didn’t know existed until he came crashing into my life.
There was peace in the blood. In the silence that followed.
And in Balthazar.
I loved him for it—for the chaos, for the clarity, for bringing me back to myself.
I no longer needed to play the good daughter, the obedient puppet.
From now on, I would dance to my own rhythm. And Balthazar?
He was the maestro. The beat. The flame.
I could feel his energy radiating from across the room—dangerous, magnetic, irresistible. He made me feel alive.
Made me feellimitless.
“Would it be possible for you to cease your frolicking and kiss me farewell,amore mio?” Balthazar asked, smirking as he adjusted his collar in the blood-speckled mirror.
I turned, lips parted. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled—smooth, elusive. “I have things to attend to.”
“What kind of things?” My smile faltered, a flicker of irritation cracking through the euphoria.
“This and that,” he said with a vague flick, before combing his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wildness I had created.
“Why won’t you tell me?” I purred, sauntering toward him with a deliberate sway of my hips. My fingers slid along his sharp jaw, tracing the edge I already knew too well, craving another taste of him.
But instead of answering, he grabbed my face in one rough hand and kissed me—deep, dirty, possessive. His teeth scraped my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me that turned into a moan. I melted into him, heat simmering low in my belly, but even as my body responded, something in me rebelled.
I wriggled, trying to pull away from his grip. My hand shot up, ready to slap him. But when I swung, he was gone.
My palm cut through a wisp of blackness.
He had vanished.
“Damn you, Balthazar!” I screamed into the empty room.
Somewhere in the shadows, I could’ve sworn I heard his chuckle—low, mocking.
I stormed across the drawing room, my rage bubbling to the surface. My foot connected with my father’s severed head, sending it rolling. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look back.
