The heat was unbearable...
It burned through her veins, suffocating and scorching, yet simultaneously, an unnatural cold clung to her skin as if she were trapped in an icy tomb. Her body burned, her skin crawled, and something far darker gnawed at her insides, an itch so deep it pierced her very bones. It was maddening, insufferable—like millions of unseen insects tearing at her, filling her with an urgency she couldn’t comprehend.
She felt her body twitch and writhe, desperate for release. But every movement was futile. There was no escape, no comfort, only the overwhelming need to break through... something. A barrier, a wall. A suffocating force she couldn’t even see, but it trapped her nonetheless.
Celine Garrett thrashed against the sheets, aimlessly, her hands gripping and releasing the fabric, seeking anything to quell the unbearable sensation. The bed beneath her felt like a strange prison.
Then, the shift came. The fabric over her chest was pulled aside, and the sudden rush of coolness that followed provided a fleeting sensation of relief. She could feel it seep into her, the cold washing over her skin like the first drop of rain after a drought. Instinctively, her body arched toward it, seeking more, desperate for whatever small comfort it could find. She inhaled sharply, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over her—so brief, so fleeting.
"Provocative little demon."
The voice was low, barely a whisper, but it cut through the haze in her mind like a knife. Celine’s eyes flickered open, and the first thing she saw was a vast expanse of bare skin—muscular, sculpted, impossibly close. Panic surged through her chest. The man was right there, hovering over her. Her mind raced. Where was she? Hadn’t she been killed by her sister’s betrayal? Was this some kind of afterlife—heaven or hell?
She barely had time to think before instinct took over. In a split second, she shoved him off the bed with all the strength she could muster, her heart pounding wildly. The man, caught off-guard, stumbled backward, crashing to the floor with a thud.
Celine gasped, her vision blurred with dizziness as she tried to sit up, her hands bracing against the soft bed. But the moment she touched the surface, a wave of vertigo gripped her, pulling her back down. Her body felt weightless, disoriented, as though it had forgotten how to function.
Something was terribly wrong.
Her fingers searched her body, but there was no sharp pain—nothing. She should have been in agony. The room around her was unfamiliar and opulent, yet the dull grayness that filled the space felt suffocating. This wasn’t the General’s Mansion, not the dungeon where she had suffered before. No... this was somewhere else entirely.
Who was she? What had happened?
Liam Douglas stood by the bed, his posture relaxed, his eyes cold and calculating as they tracked her every movement. He was fully aware, fully sober now, and his gaze was piercing, like a hawk watching its prey.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cutting through the thick silence.
The question hung in the air, sharp and unsettling.
Celine slowly lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. And in that moment, she saw him—a man standing just a few feet away, wrapped in nothing but a white towel. His chiseled physique was exposed to her gaze, and for the first time, she truly saw him: his broad chest, the defined muscles that rippled under his skin, the taut lines of his abdomen. She felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks, her mouth going dry.
Her mind scrambled to find words, but all she could do was stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Liam scrutinized her, his expression unreadable, before a flicker of recognition passed through his cold eyes. His lips curled into a sneer.
"They sent you here, didn’t they?"
His tone was a mixture of amusement and disdain, as though he already understood the situation far better than she did. He could piece it together—his drunken state, the way he had been led into this room, the woman now before him. Everything pointed to some setup, a trap.
But there was something in the way she looked at him—helpless, confused—that stirred something in him. It didn’t make sense. Even drunk, he would never allow a woman so close. So why now? Why her?
He thought about it, the edge of a sneer tugging at his lips as his eyes narrowed dangerously.
"If they think a woman can control me," he muttered darkly, "they’re gravely mistaken."
His gaze hardened. He didn’t like the idea of being manipulated. The chill in his voice was palpable as he issued a command.
"Come here."
Celine froze at the sound of his voice, cold and commanding. He wasn’t looking at her like a man might look at a woman—he was studying her, dissecting her, as though she were something to be examined under a microscope. She could almost feel his eyes stripping her bare, weighing her worth.
He beckoned again, his impatience thickening the air.
"I told you to come here."
The words were final, cold as steel. And for the first time, Celine realized the true weight of the situation.
