The silence in the room stretched thin—like a string pulled so tight it might snap.
Cyrus just stood there, motionless, his breath caught sowhere between his chest and his throat, while Isabella trembled in front of him. Her tears had stopped falling, but her eyes still shone wet under the dim light, filled with sothing rawer, darker—fear.
And that fear turned quickly into rage.
She took one step forward, then another, until her shadow spilled over his. "You think you’re nice, don’t you?" she said, her voice trembling. "You think because you smile softly and talk gently and pretend to care, that sohow makes you better than the rest of them?"
Her tone cut through him like a knife made of glass—each word sharp and splintering.
Cyrus blinked, stunned. "Isabella, I—"
"Don’t," she snapped, cutting him off. Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip as if the sound of it made her want to cry again. "Don’t you dare say my na like that."
The way she said it—it wasn’t hatred. It was heartbreak dressed in fury.
"I thought you were different," she said. "God, I really thought you were. You—you looked at like I wasn’t so fragile thing to be caged, like I actually mattered for who I was. But now—" she let out a bitter, broken laugh, "now I realize you’re just like the rest."
Her words stung. Harder than claws ever could.
Cyrus’s throat tightened. "Isabella, that’s not true."
"Isn’t it?" she hissed. "You think marking makes it love? You think it makes it real? You didn’t even ask ! You didn’t even stop to think what that ant for !"
Her voice echoed, bouncing off the stone walls, heavy with grief and disgust. "Do you know what that ans to ?" she whispered. "It ans I don’t belong to myself anymore. It ans I’m yours now—your property, your little plaything, your—"
She choked on the word, unable to finish.
Cyrus stepped forward, desperate. "That’s not what it ans!" he said, his voice rising for the first ti—not in anger, but in panic. "That’s not what I see you as, Isabella! You’re not mine to own, you never were—"
"Then why?" she demanded, her voice trembling as she slamd her palm against his chest. "Why did you mark ?"
Her hand stayed pressed there, against the steady beat of his heart. And it hurt him, how small her hand looked there. How close. How wrong.
He wanted to tell her that it had been instinct, the primal bond that had ignited between them because her body hadn’t rejected him. He wanted to tell her that he’d thought—just for that mont—that she’d wanted it too.
But her eyes—her eyes already looked at him like he was unforgivable.
Her lips curled, trembling. "You ruined , Cyrus."
He flinched.
"You ruined just like he ruined my mother. Do you understand that?"
That was the blow that nearly brought him to his knees.
The ache in her voice, the way her chest heaved, the mories that were bleeding into her words—he could feel it. He could feel every scar she carried, every ounce of her fear.
Her words hit him like a slap, sharp and echoing in the silence.
"You ruined , Cyrus. You ruined just like he ruined my mother. Do you understand that?"
He froze. He?
Cyrus’s brows furrowed slightly, his breath catching. He didn’t know who she ant—he didn’t even understand what kind of pain was bleeding into her voice—but the accusation still tore through him like claws to the chest.
Whoever he was, Cyrus knew what that na ant to her. The tremor in her tone, the disgust in her eyes—it was the kind of hatred that ca from old wounds, the kind no apology could ever reach.
And to hear her compare him to that... it gutted him.
His heart clenched so hard it hurt to breathe. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t that man. That he would never be that man. But her voice, her tears, the way she looked at him—like he had already beco her worst fear—made it impossible to speak.
He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
Because no matter how much he wanted to defend himself, every word that ca to his mind felt like a lie beside her pain.
The silence that followed was deafening. Only her ragged breathing filled it, shaky and uneven.
She stared at him for a long ti, her eyes red, her lips trembling. Then, slowly, she lifted her chin, her gaze hardening to steel.
"I hate you," she whispered again, quieter this ti, but colder. "I hate that I let you touch . I hate that I let you near . And I hate that now, when I look at myself, all I see is you."
Cyrus felt his lungs seize. His heart beat unevenly, his hands shaking as he tried to form words that wouldn’t co.
And then she said it.
The words that no beast man alive ever wanted to hear.
"I want to break this bond."
Ti stopped.
Cyrus’s world went silent.
His pupils widened, and the color drained from his face. For a long mont, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even blink. He just stared at her—like the words hadn’t yet reached his heart but his body already knew the damage they caused.
When they finally sank in, he staggered back a step, his breath catching painfully in his chest. "What...?" he whispered, barely audible.
Isabella didn’t look away.
He could see it in her eyes—she ant it.
Sothing cracked inside him, sothing deep and sacred.
The world tilted beneath his feet. His lips parted, but no words ca out. His throat felt tight, his lungs refused to work, and the silence between them grew sharp enough to cut through bone.
He stared at her—his sweet, stubborn, fire-hearted Isabella—and for the first ti in his life, fear gripped him. Real, gut-wrenching fear.
His knees buckled before he even realized he was falling. The sound of his body hitting the cold floor echoed in the still air. His hands pressed flat against the stone, trembling, his head bowed low as if the weight of her words had physically crushed him.
He looked up slowly, his golden eyes glimring with sothing raw—pleading, desperate, disbelieving. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath trembling like it was tearing him apart from the inside.
"Isabella..." he whispered, voice shaking.
The fear in his eyes wasn’t just pain—it was a silent prayer. A wordless plea begging her to take it back, to tell him she didn’t an it, that she was just angry, scared, lost.
But she didn’t say anything.
And so he stayed there—on his knees, eyes wide and trembling, heart breaking silently before her—unable to do anything but stare at the woman he loved like she had just shattered his entire world.
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