Ezel fell to her knees, not because of the impact, but because the transition had drained all her energy this time. She could still feel the sting of pain in her palm from her uncle's wife pushing her.
Ezel suddenly appeared inside a different room.
It was spacious… but quieter.
Its walls were covered with long shelves filled with ancient books, stretching all the way to the ceiling. Scattered papers lay across a massive desk in the middle of the room, surrounded by dim candles whose shadows danced across the walls.
The air was filled with the scent of… old leather… ancient ink… mixed with faint incense.
Ezel staggered to her feet, clutching her dress.
And on the massive leather chair behind the old desk, there was no emptiness.
Someone was sitting there with his back to the door, leaning against his chair. One hand rested against his chin, while the other slowly toyed with an open page before him…
As though her presence had not surprised him at all.
As though he had been waiting for her.
Anger immediately flared inside her.
She took one step, then another, her voice sharp with anger:
"You!"
He did not raise his head.
He did not answer.
Her fist tightened.
"This is the third time!"
She stopped directly in front of his desk and slammed her hand against its surface.
"You pull me here without my permission, without an explanation, without anything!"
He ignored her as though her words… meant nothing to him.
She raised her voice even more, anger overtaking her fear this time:
"Who are you?! And what exactly do you want from me?!"
Only then… did he move.
He slowly raised his eyes.
And that look—
It silenced her for a moment.
He was not angry… nor even surprised.
He was… terrifyingly cold.
"Are you finished?" he asked calmly.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?!"
He straightened slightly in his seat and closed the book before him without hurry, then laced his fingers together on the desk.
"Your voice is loud… and you talk too much."
Then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed steadily on her.
"But… none of it matters."
Her anger flared even more.
"You—"
He interrupted her without raising his voice.
"Every time you come back, you seem different."
He said it slowly, his eyes watching every detail of her.
He moved, then walked around the desk.
He approached.
She instinctively stepped back until her back struck the desk behind her.
He stood directly in front of her, close… far too close.
"But this time…"
He paused.
Then whispered:
"His scent on you is stronger."
Then he murmured:
"It's starting to become annoying."
"What are you talking about?!" she shouted.
He leaned slightly toward her until his breath was close to her face.
Then, in a low voice carrying more than one meaning, he said:
"Sharp tongue…" Just as he called you?
He repeated Aras's words with bitter mockery.
Her breathing quickened.
He continued with deadly calm:
"You prefer that other one… don't you?"
"The one who laughs with you… and gets close to you… without permission."
"Do you mean… Aras?"
"Don't mention him in front of me."
He said it calmly, but the tone… left no room for refusal.
Her eyes widened, anger returning even stronger.
"You have no right to—"
"I do."
He said it immediately, without hesitation or raising his voice.
He reached out and took her chin, gently on the surface… but firmly enough to force her to look at him.
"Because you… are mine."
He paused for a moment, his eyes sinking into hers.
Then he whispered:
"It does not suit a bride like you to amuse herself with a 'hound' hired to kill her."
Her heart trembled.
Was it anger… fear… or something else?
She did not know.
She violently pushed his hand away.
"I belong to no one!"
He smiled with irritating confidence.
"We'll see."
He suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could step back.
He slowly pulled up her sleeve, revealing the letter carved into her skin.
"The letter L…" he murmured, his eyes settling on it as though he were looking at something that belonged to him alone.
Then the corner of his lips lifted into a faint, mysterious smile.
"It suits you very well."
He gently moved his thumb over the mark, as though making sure it was really there.
Then he said in a low voice:
"This… is not a tattoo.
It's a pact."
He slowly released her wrist.
Then he raised his own hand and revealed his wrist.
And there…
The same letter.
The same mark.
Her breathing quickened, her eyes moving between the two marks in disbelief.
"How—?"
He interrupted her calmly, as though her astonishment meant nothing to him.
"Some see nightmares… as warnings."
"And others… see them as invitations."
As for her…
She understood nothing.
And it was obvious… he had no intention of making her understand.
Then he turned away from her, as though the matter… was over.
But his voice came again without him looking back.
"And next time, try not to look happy when others are in pain."
Then he slowly returned to the leather chair behind the desk and sat down with solemn calm, as though the entire room… had been created for him alone.
He leaned back and watched her for a moment in heavy silence before opening the book again.
"Did you bring me here just so I could watch you read a book?! Who are you, you idiot?!"
He said sharply and angrily:
"Choose your words carefully."
"You are standing before someone whose name, if spoken outside these walls, would make necks that have never known how to bow… bend."
Her brows drew together.
She swallowed… and fell silent.
The corner of his lips lifted in a faint, mocking smile.
"Despite everything that has happened… you still don't know… whom you belong to."
Then he added slowly:
"Not even… your husband's name."
Her eyes widened.
"I told you, I'm not—"
"Lucian."
He said it calmly.
"This is the name… you will be saying often from now on."
"There is something else…" he said calmly, without looking directly at her.
She sighed in annoyance.
"If you have something to say, say it clearly. I don't have the patience for your games."
He added in a tone that allowed no argument:
"You will not go near him."
"That one you call… Aras."
"You will not speak to him. And you will not… say his name in front of me."
He pronounced the name slowly, as though it disgusted him.
She narrowed her eyes stubbornly.
"And if I do?"
"Do you know who he is?"
She raised her head firmly.
"Yes… a vampire."
"And you're not afraid?"
"No."
"Keep rebelling, Ezel…"
"For every reckless step you take… you come closer to becoming mine."
"This is your fate."
"And you… are my prey."
"Next time you come… I will tell you what you need to know."
She took a step toward him, anger overtaking her fear.
"And who said I would come back?!"
"You will come back, whether you want to or not."
He said it as though it were a fact that could not be argued.
"Listen to me carefully…"
This time, his voice was not merely commanding…
It was heavy with terrifying seriousness.
His eyes remained fixed on her, as though his words could not be doubted.
"Trust no one."
"Not even Aras."
Her eyes widened, but he gave her no chance to object.
"He is not trying to protect you as you imagine…"
"He is only waiting for the moment you grow weak…"
He fell silent for a second.
His eyes gleamed with deadly coldness.
"To sink his fangs into your neck… and bring the bride's prophecy to an end."
A heavy silence filled the room…
As though his words had become trapped in the air… refusing to disappear.
Ezel took a step back, her heart pounding violently, her mind refusing to believe what she had heard.
"You… are lying."
He did not answer.
He simply… smiled.
A cold smile.
Then, slowly, he raised his hand…
And the necklace began to tremble.
Her eyes widened.
"No… don't…"
But it was too late.
The necklace suddenly glowed, more violently than ever before.
She screamed as she felt her body being violently pulled away.
And just before she disappeared completely…
His voice reached her.
Clear.
Sharp.
As though it were being carved directly into her soul:
"Don't run, Ezel… Next time, I won't send you back."
Before she could comprehend it…
An unknown force pulled her away.
It was too strong to resist.
It seemed as though another world… was claiming her.