Nyasia turned and saw Dorian across the corridor. He was leaning against a thick column, his arms crossed and one leg casually forward. So she turned away, flicking a glance at Lea and Fay to warn them back.
As she walked away, she could hear his footsteps following her into the smaller hallway. And she turned at the end of the hall, he caught her hand and pulled her into a small room filled with old, antique sculptures.
Before she could react, he had her up on the desk, and her body trapped between his arms. He leaned in, hands braced against the edge, caging her there. And she found herself staring up at him.
"I imagine you'll attempt to slip away. I'm prepared for that as well," he said, his mouth curved.
She kept looking at his obsidian eyes, then realized he had thrown the entire banquet into chaos, just to trap her into meeting him.
"Well done, Rian. You've turned Rashet Manor into a madhouse," she said.
He smiled, amused.
"Have you been to a madhouse?"
She said nothing, eyes turned away.
He spoke low, "Why did you leave?"
'Because I'm afraid you'll become what you already are in my dreams. Or maybe you already are that man.'
But what she said was, "I don't like seeing blood. It's very unnecessary."
"Unnecessary?" His brows arched. "I'll bankrupt a family and destroy its influence. It moves exactly as planned."
"Including flirting with Lady Kissell?" she said, rolling her eyes, exhaling.
He smirked.
"Annoyed?"
Her gaze returned to him.
"Why do you want to destroy the Oshen family? Did you deliberately play along with your 'childhood sweetheart' just to provoke him? What's your goal?"
But he didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in closer, forcing her to press her small hands flat against the hard wall of his chest. Then he shifted, just a little. His lips hovered a whisper away from her ear.
"If you want to know everything about me, Nyasia Sofia," he murmured, "you'll have to marry me."
She blinked at the words, her heart beating fast, knowing there was no escaping this. Dorian Alexei would always find another way to pester her. This absurd, tasteless contest he had just orchestrated was only a fraction of what he would do if he truly grew impatient. 'Why am I still surprised? This man is capable of burning empires!'
...
DORIAN LEANED back, watching her pout again. His mouth curved. She looked like a little fox, ready to scratch him if he wasn't careful.
"Did you really think you'd gotten away earlier?" he said. He had only let her go in her bedroom because it had been a little inconvenient—she couldn't be late for the banquet.
Her hands tightened against his chest. "I don't want to wait to turn seventeen to make Brother the sole owner of our iron mine," she said. "Surely, with your vast network, you know our situation?"
Her unexpected response caught him off guard, making his face slowly go straight.
He did know it.
It didn't require a lot of Sinopia's resources to know about the iron mine.
"Make him the undisputed heir of the Rashet clan," she continued, her eyes holding a deep intensity he had never seen before. "Then I'll be your duchess. Faithfully yours. To bitter end."
Her words landed like a sacred vow, leaving him momentarily still, simply watching the woman he could never seem to walk away from since he was fifteen. Then he chuckled softly, his hand held her chin, watching her cheeks turn red.
"Sia, you've turned brazen. Since when do you bargain with me?"
"I dare."
"Oh?" He arched a brow. "And what happens when you change your mind?"
She wouldn't.
He was certain of it. He had watched her long enough to know that when she finally spoke, she meant it. Yet somehow, her surrender felt emptier than he had imagined.
"So how can I convince you?" she asked, her brows creased with desperation.
His mouth tilted with a slow, maddening smile. "It doesn't matter. As long as you remember who you belong to."
Then he leaned in again, his breath warm against her throat, his hand pressing her wrist. She was purging the poison. That was what the reports told him. Slowly, it was being wrung from her flesh. And her face had begun to bloom again, less a ghost's mask.
"Take your medicine well. My duchess should be healthy enough to see the end of this. But I tell you—the future won't taste as bitter as you clearly imagine," he murmured, his head burying in her neck.
*