(Evelina’s POV—Inside the Car—Later)
The leather seat humd beneath as the car slid through the city. Neon lights streaked across the windows—blue, gold, and crimson—painting shifting shadows across my face.
I leaned my elbow against the window fra, chin resting on my hand, legs crossed elegantly. Outside, skyscrapers blurred past like indifferent giants.
Inside?
My mind was anything but calm.
Rowan glanced at through the mirror from ti to ti—subtle, quiet, careful. It was like he was trying to read a book whose pages he couldn’t turn.
I ignored him.
Because my thoughts were a battlefield.
Theo Vinter.
A man whose affection was never ant to point toward . A man in the original ga is forced to love Sera. A man who was never supposed to bend—not for anyone.
And yet today... He handed 10,000 gold coins without hesitation.
In this world, gold equaled power. Power equaled advancent. Advancent equaled survival.
So yes—his obsession could be useful. But usefulness did not blind to danger. Because a man like Theo does not give without intention. He does not pursue without reason. He does not bend without calculating the consequences.
People like him do not fall in love.
They claim.
They possess.
They consu.
If I take advantage of him... If I keep him intrigued... If I keep his dangerous interest pointed toward , he becos an asset.
A weapon.
A shield.
An easy door to freedom.
That’s the positive point about him.
But...there is also a huge and dangerous negative point about him. If his affection rises this fast from a stray glance, a sarcastic reply, an accident with hair behind my ear... Then what happens the mont I resist?
. . .
. . .
He will break without hesitation.
If the affection spikes too far...the system could force a route. His obsession could turn fatal.His possessiveness could snap.
And if it drops?
If I anger him?
If I reject him?
If I make the wrong choice—I’m dead. Instantly.
My gaze lowered.
No. I cannot allow that.
I must control the pace. Control the distance. Control the power dynamic.
Theo Vinter must be kept interested enough to be useful—but distant enough not to cage .
I tapped my finger against the window—slow, rhythmic, thoughtful.
Then my gaze flicked up to the rearview mirror.
Rowan Arcturus.
Silent. Calculating. Watchful.
His rising affection was even more dangerous than Theo’s.
Because Rowan does not express. Rowan does not announce his intentions. Rowan does not show weakness.
If he begins to care... If he begins to follow, not because of duty, but devotion—then his loyalty would be absolute.
And absolute loyalty... is a double-edged blade.
Useful. Deadly. Unpredictable.
Especially when directed toward soone like . Because once Rowan decides sothing is his responsibility—nothing will stop him.
Not morality. Not logic. Not fear. Not death.
My eyes narrowed.
The system labeled both n as the strongest in this world. Which ans...if I want to survive—if I want to end this ga—if I want to return to my own life—then I must ta both of them.
Theo, the volatile king. Rowan, the silent executioner.
Both are dangerous. Both powerful. Both unpredictable.
Both... necessary.
I inhaled slowly.
"...I have to control them," I murmured to myself.
Not seduce. Not romance. Not trust.
Control.
I would need to handle Theo with precision—push and pull, distance and closeness, enough to manipulate but never enough to drown.
And Rowan... Rowan would require discipline. Boundaries. A leash made not of affection, but of command.
They are weapons—not n.
I uncrossed my legs, posture sharpening like a blade.
"I have ta them."
Not gently. Not kindly. Not romantically.
Strategically.
Coldly.
Calculatively.
Because in this world, affection is not love—it is leverage.
And I will use it.
The car rolled forward in silence. My posture was straight, chin lifted, and one hand rested lightly against the window as if I owned the streets outside.
Rowan’s voice cut through the air—level, calm, disciplined.
"Miss," he said, "may I ask sothing?"
I didn’t bother looking at him imdiately. My eyes remained on the window, watching the city pass in streaks of tal and shadow.
"Speak," I permitted.
He glanced at through the rearview mirror—carefully and respectfully.
"Why," he asked slowly, "did you accept Theo Vinter’s 10,000 gold coins... when you know he can twist your promise? When accepting his gift will give him the power to trap you?"
A reasonable question.
The question hung heavy.
Not interrogation. Not concerned. A calculation. He wanted to understand my strategy.
I rested my fingers against my chin, looking out at the skyline like a ruler contemplating her next conquest. Then I answered—cool, "Because refusing him would have been fatal."
His eyes flickered—barely—but I caught it.
I continued, "Theo Vinter does not offer twice. He does not tolerate refusal, and he does not forgive humiliation."
A pause. My voice sharpened—cold steel underneath velvet.
"If I refused his gift, he would have taken it as an insult."
Rowan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened—so small, so precise, only soone watching closely would notice.
I went on, each word deliberate, calculated, "Theo is a man who destroys what he cannot possess. So the safest position," my gaze shifted to the mirror, locking with his eyes, "is to let him think he can possess ."
Rowan’s jaw clenched—subtle but visible.
"You are letting him believe that?" he asked quietly.
"No," I corrected softly, "I am letting him chase the illusion."
The car fell silent again—thick, heavy, electric.
I continued, voice dropping lower: "The mont I accepted those coins, Theo believed I accepted him."
A slow, dangerous exhale. "And that belief... is a leash."
A leash I intended to pull until it choked.
Rowan’s eyes darkened—not in anger... but in sothing heavier. Sothing colder. He watched through the rearview mirror, his gaze steady, slicing through the dim space between us.
Then he asked, quiet and firm, "But why do you need him on a leash?"
The question didn’t drift. It hung in the air—heavy, sharp, expectant. I leaned back, one leg crossing over the other, posture imperial. My eyes rose to et his in the mirror—chilling, unblinking.
"Because in our society," I said softly, "survival is not granted... it is taken."
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
I continued—each word precise, ruthless:
"Every path is lined with thorns. Every corridor hides a blade. Every person wears a smile as they calculate where to stab."
My tone deepened—cold dominance dripping from every syllable. "And sotis... to cut through a field of thorns, you don’t use your own blood."
My gaze sharpened.
"You use another thorn."
Silence. Sharp. Tense.
"Theo," I finished, "is that thorn. That throne. That weapon. And I will use him accordingly."
Rowan didn’t flinch. But his next words were quieter—lower—holding sothing that tasted almost like warning.
"But what," he asked slowly, "if the throne pierces you harder... than the enemies waiting on your path?"
A chill threaded the air.
His voice was calm. Controlled.
But there was sothing buried beneath it—sothing I couldn’t ignore.
Possessiveness?
Concern?
Or a threat?
I tilted my head slightly, eting his gaze—dominance eting dominance.
"The throne cannot pierce ," I said coldly, "if I am the one sitting on it."
Rowan’s jaw flexed—just barely.
"And if it rebels?" he asked, his voice a shadow deeper.
I smiled—a slow, cruel curve of lips.
"Then I break it," I whispered. "Before it ever breaks ."
A beat.
Rowan breathed in—quietly. Then, softly, almost reverently, "...Understood, Miss."
And the car plunged into silence—thick, electric, and dark. Two predators sitting in the sa vehicle.
One learning the shape of his master.
One sharpening her claws for the world.
The air vibrated with unspoken hunger for power. And then—
D I N G ! ! !
A system alert slamd into my vision like a knife of white light.
[System Alert: DANGER!!! You are surrounded by enemies.]
My eyes widened—cold, calculating, and instantly alert.
"...What?"
But the system didn’t give ti to breathe.
CRAAAAASH!!!!
tal scread. Glass exploded. The entire car jerked violently as sothing slamd into us from the left side.
My head snapped forward—Rowan’s arm shot across my torso instantly, bracing with brutal efficiency.
"MISS!" he barked, eyes blazing. "WE’RE UNDER ATTACK—SURROUNDED!"
Outside, shadows moved. Headlights flickered. Engines revved. Figures circled—fast. Another vehicle screeched around the corner.
My pulse dropped into a cold, murderous rhythm.
"Damn it..." I hissed under my breath, fury rising like fire. "Who is this now?"
Rowan shifted into full combat mode—voice sharp, lethal, unwavering, "Miss—hold on. This is going to get violent."
Reviews
All reviews (0)