pte

e of th

longer trusted by Isa. What had once been a haven of sensual elegance now pulsed with dread beneath the surface-silk sheets and velvet drapes couldn't hide the rot of bet

noticed the change in her. Isa's steps had become more deliberate and measured, and her kisses and words had become more precise. Her eyes no longer lingered with affection-they searched. Probed. And whe

. Extract. Elimin

ay anything.

illance had evolved into something completely different. Something dangerous. something actual But Isa wasn't blind to the shift in him. She'd seen how his hand lingered

oming. She knew it was there in her bones. And so she tightened her circle. Installed new secur

pped the shadows

the time Damien realized he couldn't follow orders. Isa was aware that love w

s beneath the club's crimson chandeliers and mahogany debauchery. Maison Rouge wasn't just a pleasure den. It was a discreet cathedral of power disguised as sin, a fortress of influence. The piercing eyes of a woman born into privilege but bred through betrayal were concealed behind Isa's crimson mask. Like a ghost that ne

y. Every whispered confession during a session, every post-coital sigh from a broken man in a tailored suit, every quiver of vuln

ower had it

uppress-longing. Beneath the layers of control and performance, Isa yearned for a connection unscripted by strategy. She was terrified of intimacy not because she did not desire it, but rather because she was

of submission, the comfort of hierarchy. Control was her sanctuary. But lately,

t had entere

did not boast or beg. He observed. Quiet. Calculated. The confidence to disarm without the

ation room. He sat in her club like he owned nothing and yet feared nothing. He didn't l

wine. The scent curled up from the

was

icance, why now? It

aced atop the antique silver tray in her office by th

ize: the Vellore family crest, stylized with an ouroboros and a single rose. A symbol buried with her past. A sign th

ouge is a lovely illusion, illusions can break.

ully intimate-reeked of Senatorial power. Someone from the Vellore dynasty was reaching out

the sentient being

o Room Nine alone, dressed in a black robe instead of crimson, a

or hours, as if it might ch

y n

he Vellore estate. Since she had rejected her inheritance, t

ehind the scenes. Someo

had the scent of war disguised as reunion. If they w

might be the last place where

night, Eli

tead, he made a direct and unmasked r

No one requested anything of Madame

st declin

r had cracked a part of her

er and velvet casting shadows that played tricks

ed, like a man not used to being startled

Isa said flatly, circ

man he pret

envelopes?" Elias gave a half-smile. "

he grumbled.

orse than denial. He didn't say

e only inches between them, the sce

ar," she whispered. "I don'

didn't

ld you... someone in the dynasty want

ved. Just sligh

rrowed

the war has a