Ross paused for a mont, tilting his head as if weighing the effect of his words.
"However," he continued, his tone unchanged, "all dicine has a cost. Side effects. Minor, unpredictable. It seems... Bella is experiencing so of those now."
Bella’s eyes narrowed. She could feel the lie in every syllable, every calculated pause.
The subtle phrasing, the casual shrug of responsibility, the emphasis on her vulnerability—it was all manipulation, designed to make Sebastian see her as weak and dependent, and Ross as the calm, capable savior.
Her gaze flicked to Sebastian. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, followed Ross’s words closely.
He frowned slightly, concern clear, but then... nodded. Slowly, thodically.
He accepted the explanation. He didn’t question it.
Bella’s chest tightened painfully.
She wanted to shout, to scream that Ross was lying, that she hadn’t suffered any wound at all—or if she had, it wasn’t from him.
But her voice caught in her throat.
She realized, with a chill, how carefully Ross had constructed this story.
Every detail, every pause, every subtle appeal to Sebastian’s trust, had been ticulously crafted.
And it worked.
Sebastian’s trust in Ross, combined with his exhaustion and concern for Bella, made her powerless in that mont.
She could feel a flicker of fury, but it was mixed with fear.
Fear of what Ross had done, of what he could do, and most of all... fear of how easily he had manipulated the situation.
Bella forced herself to look away from Sebastian, her mind racing.
She could see now how dangerous Ross was—not just in combat or strength, but in the way he bent perception and reality to his will.
One wrong word, one misstep, and even Sebastian, loyal and careful as he was, could be swayed.
And that thought made Bella shiver.
Ross’s calm voice cut through her thoughts again, casual and almost teasing: "It’s unfortunate, but nothing irreversible. Ti, rest... and patience. That’s all it takes."
Bella bit back the reply she wanted to give, feeling the tight knot of tension growing between them.
Her husband had accepted the lie. She hadn’t.
The second night unfolded much like the first, only deeper, darker, more consuming.
"Ohhhhh..." Bella moaned as the night finally slipped into complete darkness.
The fire had long died down, leaving only embers and shadows that danced across the walls.
A faint haze of lust clouded her face, dulling the sharpness in her eyes as reason slowly, frighteningly, slipped away.
Sebastian stiffened beside her. He had been waiting for it—dreading it.
"Is it acting up again?" he asked quietly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Bella turned toward him, lips parted, eyes unfocused.
She tried to speak, tried to reassure him, but in the end she could only nod.
Her breathing grew deeper, uneven, each breath leaving her chest in a way that felt foreign, almost obscene.
She pressed a hand against the bed as if grounding herself, but it did nothing.
Sebastian sat up fully now. "Bella... stay here," he urged, reaching for her wrist.
But she pulled away.
Within monts, she was on her feet, moving as though guided by instinct rather than thought.
She walked out into the night without a word, her steps steady and deliberate, as if she knew exactly where she was going.
Sebastian followed imdiately, his heart pounding, anger and fear knotting tightly in his chest.
He already knew what he would see.
And still, it hurt just as much when it happened.
Bella suddenly leapt forward, throwing herself into Ross’s arms with a familiarity that made Sebastian’s vision darken.
Ross caught her easily, as if he had been expecting her all along.
Sebastian stopped a few steps away, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to shout.
He wanted to drag her back. He wanted to punch the smug look off Ross’s face.
But he did none of it—because he didn’t know what would make things worse.
"Oh?" Ross said lightly, glancing down at Bella before looking back at Sebastian.
"Tonight too? You know, at this rate, you should start paying as a babysitter."
He laughed, carefree and sharp, the sound echoing far too loudly in the quiet night.
Sebastian’s jaw clenched.
His fury simred beneath the surface, mixed with humiliation and helplessness.
Ross wasn’t wrong—and that was the worst part.
One night turned into another.
Then another.
A week passed, and the pattern never broke. Each night, Bella would lose herself the sa way.
Each night, Sebastian would watch her walk away.
Each night, Ross would be there, waiting—calm, amused, unbothered.
And with every passing night, Sebastian felt sothing inside him crack just a little more.
It wasn’t until the following night that Bella finally stopped lying to herself.
This is bad... she admitted silently, her thoughts heavy and slow.
The feeling inside her was no longer subtle, no longer sothing she could dismiss as a passing effect.
The lust in her body was building faster than before, swelling like a tide she could sense long before it reached its peak.
What frightened her most was her awareness.
For the past two days, she had been conscious—fully awake, fully present.
She knew where she was going. She knew what she was doing.
She even knew what it looked like from Sebastian’s eyes.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, her body simply refused to listen.
It moved on its own, ignoring her panic, her sha, her desperate pleas to stop.
She clenched her hands, nails digging into her palms as if pain might anchor her.
I’m still , she told herself. I can still think. But thinking wasn’t enough.
Control had slipped through her fingers, leaving her trapped inside herself.
Sebastian’s face haunted her the most.
The way his eyes darkened each night. The way his voice grew quieter.
The way he no longer tried to stop her—only followed, as if bracing himself for sothing inevitable.
Bella’s chest tightened painfully at the thought.
If this keeps going... she swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.
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