Isabell stood in the dimly lit hallway of Lucian’s estate, her gaze locked on the scene unfolding in the grand chamber beyond. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides, trembling just enough for her to notice. She could see Lucian’s figure, tall and terrifying, his anger radiating like heat as he loomed over Celeste. The air between them was thick with the tension of the punishment being meted out.

Celeste knelt on the floor, head bowed, her body bruised from whatever torment had already begun. The normally proud and defiant vampire looked small, broken in front of Lucian. Isabell watched, her stomach twisting at the sight. She hated Celeste, and yet, she couldn’t suppress the wave of pity that swelled up in her.

“I left you in charge, Celeste, and look at what you’ve done,” Lucian’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “Theo, gone. The girl, gone. And you—” He paused, glaring down at her with icy disdain. “You let this happen.”

Celeste flinched as though Lucian had delt her a physical blow.

“Master, I was not here when Theo escaped. I had left Malric-” Celest’s hurried response died in her throat, the look in Lucian's eyes silencing her immediately.

“You were supposed to bring me the girl and the artifact,” he continued, his voice low, like the rumble of a gathering storm. “You were supposed to keep Theo contained. And now, you have the audacity to tell me that Malric was in charge?” “Do not deflect your incompetence.”

Celeste’s lips parted as if she might argue, but she said nothing. She lowered her head even further, her body trembling. Isabell knew this moment well—the moment when Lucian’s anger began to shift into something even more dangerous. Something sweeter, but infinitely more deadly.

And then it came. Lucian’s voice softened, his cruelty shifting into something far more sinister. “Get up,” he said quietly, stepping toward her, his tone sweet but commanding.

Celeste obeyed, shakily rising to her feet. Her gaze was on the floor, her body tense, but there was a subtle yearning in the way she moved toward him. Lucian raised a hand and gently caressed her cheek, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face with almost tender care. Celeste shivered under his touch, her fear palpable, yet Isabell could see how her body responded to him, how despite everything, some part of her craved this attention.

It made her sick.

Lucian smiled—a smile that sent chills down Isabell’s spine. "Tell me," he said softly, his thumb tracing the line of Celeste’s jaw. "What would you do to a fledgling who failed you so completely? Tell the truth."

His voice was velvet-smooth, but there was a command behind it, one that neither Isabell nor Celeste could miss. Celeste trembled as the words were dragged from her by his will.

“I would starve them within an inch of their life,” she whispered, her voice thick with strain. “I would make sure they knew nothing but pain… until I was satisfied with their suffering.”

Lucian’s smile widened, his hand still caressing her cheek as if she’d just spoken words of love. “Good,” he purred, his voice low. “Then you know what to do.” He stepped back, the warmth of his touch disappearing, leaving only the cold emptiness behind. "Before you get started, however, check on our council friend. There are some shadows I'd like to know more about."

Celeste nodded, her body tense, but she didn’t dare argue or plead for mercy. She knew better. Lucian’s punishments were inevitable, and any protest would only make them worse.

Lucian’s eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as he added, “When you return, head to the dungeon. Malric will oversee your punishment.”

Celeste stiffened at the mention of Malric, but she nodded again, her face drawn with resignation. She walked toward the door with a stiffness that spoke of someone already enduring the beginning of their punishment.

Isabell stepped back into the shadows as Celeste approached, willing herself to be invisible but she wasn’t quick enough. Celeste’s gaze found her in an instant, locking onto her like a predator sniffing out weakness. Their eyes met, and for the first time in a long while, Isabell felt the weight of her own vulnerability.

The look in Celeste’s eyes was nothing short of venomous though when she spoke it was with a smile.

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“ I know it was you who pulled off that little stunt. Lucian knows it too.”

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isabell said coolly.

“ Don’t play dumb with me Isabell. I know why you did it but I’m telling you now it won’t work. If you think Lucian is going to let you off the hook that easy, you're dumber than I thought. All you're stupid rebellion is going to do is cause pain.”

Isabell’s jaw tightened, disgust flashing in her eyes as she held Celeste’s stare. “You know nothing,” she spat, but her voice wavered, betraying her.

Celeste’s smile widened, but there was no joy in it—only bitterness. “Oh, but I do. You think three hundred years by his side means you understand him, that you’ve seen the worst of him? You think you know him better than I do?” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a soft, deadly whisper that seemed to coil around Isabell like a snake. “You haven’t seen anything.”

Isabell opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat as Celeste’s gaze bored into her.

“I’ve been with him for thirteen hundred years,” Celeste continued, the venom in her voice giving way to something darker. “Thirteen hundred years, Isabell. You’re still young in comparison.” She paused as though remembering something. “Did you know that I was like you once?

A scoff nearly escaped Isabell, but the look on Celeste’s face stopped her. There was something raw there, something she couldn’t dismiss so easily.

“Oh, yes,” Celeste murmured, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips. “I was defiant and full of fire once. I took every chance I could to defy him, to prove to myself that I still had some say in my fate. I hated him with every part of me. I pushed him, taunted him, hoping—praying—that one day he’d snap and end it all. I used to dream of him killing me, Isabell. Does that sound familiar?”

Isabell’s face paled, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to maintain her composure, but Celeste’s words struck too close to home.

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped Celeste’s lips as she took in Isabell’s reaction.

“Tell me, Isabell,” Celeste whispered, leaning closer, her breath cold against Isabell’s skin. “Does your mind still go numb when he touches you? Do you still pretend to be somewhere else when he takes you?”

Isabell swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. Bile rose in her throat, but she couldn’t force herself to speak, couldn’t find the words to make Celeste stop.

“Well, let me tell you what’s coming,” Celeste continued, her voice dropping even lower, until it was barely more than a breath against Isabell’s skin. “One day, when he calls you to his bed, you’ll feel something you never thought possible — a small, shameful part of you will feel relief. You’ll be relieved, grateful, even, that at least this time, he isn’t calling you to hurt you. That at least he isn’t there to break you.”

Isabell’s throat was dry, her heart pounding in her chest as Celeste’s words slithered into her mind, coiling around her thoughts.

“And that relief?” Celeste’s voice softened, turning almost tender. “It won’t stay relief for long, Isabell. It will shift, little by little, until it starts to feel like something else... until it feels like want. Until you find yourself craving the numbness he gives you, because it’s the only thing that makes the pain stop.”

Isabell took a step back but there was no retreating from the truth of Celeste’s words. She could feel it even now. After Lucian had forced her to beat her brother, he had ordered her to his bed where he had soothed her and held her and planted gentle kisses all over her until the world faded into a dull, empty numbness. It had been vile, repulsive, and yet she had felt it, that small flicker of something that wasn’t quite gratitude.

“You’ll lie to yourself, of course,” Celeste continued, her voice a sickly sweet mockery of sympathy. “Tell yourself it’s still repulsive, that you’re just surviving. But your mind won’t go so numb at his touch anymore. You won’t need to pretend you’re somewhere else. Your body will be so starved for anything but pain that even his twisted affection will start to feel like love.”

Isabell’s pulse quickened. The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows deepening, the air thickening, suffocating her. She could barely breathe, each inhale catching in her throat, and the walls around her felt as if they might crush her at any moment.

“And someday,” Celeste's voice dipped lower, becoming seductive, “before you even realize it, the calls to his bed will become your reward instead of your punishment. You’ll crave them. You’ll want to please him, want him to touch you. And when you moan for him, Isabell—when that moment comes—you’ll finally understand. He did kill you, just not in the way you had hoped.”

The words settled into Isabell’s mind like poison, burning through her veins, filling her with a dread so profound it nearly paralyzed her. Celeste stepped back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the truth of her words sink into Isabell’s soul.

Then, with one final, knowing look, Celeste turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, alone in the crushing silence.

Tears streamed down Isabell’s face before she even realized she was crying. They came hot and fast, spilling over her cheeks in a torrent she couldn’t control. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that rose from deep within her chest, but the ache inside her was too great to silence.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard his voice—Lucian’s voice—cutting through her anguish, smooth and deceptively gentle, like velvet over steel.

“Isabell, my dove, come in... and close the door.”