Twisted Veil of Devotion

Part 14

Zane POV

The door to my chambers closed with a resounding thud, the weight of the day settling heavily on my shoulders. I loosened my tie, tossing it carelessly onto the nearby armchair, and poured myself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the bar.

The amber liquid burned as it slid down my throat, but it didn't distract me from the simmering frustration that had been clawing at me since I left Stella's room.

Her defiance was relentless.

Stubborn.

Infuriating.

I paced the length of the room, her words replaying in my mind. "I'm not afraid of you."

She should be.

The thought lingered, gnawing at me as I stared into the fire. Stella wasn't like the others. She didn't shrink in my presence, didn't cower at my commands. Even when I could see the fear flashing in her eyes, she refused to let it consume her.

And that was new.

When I first crossed paths with Stella, she was... different. I wouldn't call her weak—she never was—but there had been an innocence, a vulnerability to her. She wore her emotions like armor, but I could see right through it, see the cracks she tried to hide.

Now, though?

That vulnerability had sharpened into something stronger. Her fear was still there—I could feel it in the way her voice faltered, see it in the way her hands trembled ever so slightly when she thought I wasn't looking. But it didn't control her anymore.

She'd changed.

It was as though she'd been reforged in fire. There was a discipline to the way she moved, a control that hadn't been there before. Every step, every breath seemed calculated, like she was always assessing her surroundings, waiting for an opening.

That training of hers...

I didn't know where or how she'd learned it, but it gave her an edge, one I hadn't expected. She carried herself differently now, with an underlying confidence that both intrigued and irritated me. She wasn't just surviving anymore—she was fighting.

And I'd be lying if I said I didn't admire it, even as it frustrated me to no end.

I leaned against the bar, the firelight casting long shadows across the room. What happened to you, Stella? I thought, gripping the edge of the counter.

She didn't scare easily, and that was a problem. Fear was a tool I wielded with precision, a weapon that had brought empires to their knees. But Stella...

Stella was learning to rise above it.

I couldn't decide if it made me want to crush her resolve completely or nurture that fire until it burned solely for me.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair. I downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, the burn doing little to ease my frustration.

Her resistance wasn't going to stop me. If anything, it only made me more determined to strip away the walls she'd built around herself, to uncover the raw, unyielding desire I knew was hidden beneath all that defiance.

She could fight me all she wanted, but in the end, she would break.

And when she did, when she finally stopped fighting and realized what we could be together, I'd make sure she never wanted to leave.

Because no matter how much she'd changed, no matter how strong she'd become, Stella Thompson was mine.

And nothing—not her fire, her fear, or her damned training—would change that.