Everything was going according to plan.

Alaric’s gaze drifted to the woman who had, through no fault of her own, become the epicenter of Cael's obsession since their teenage years. It was sheer luck that he had found her before his darker half did. A long, grueling internal ‘discussion’ with Cael had followed, culminating in the plan: get close to her—just enough to lower her defenses. Then, weeks later, stage a fabricated, drunken one night stand.

He knew the cruelty of his actions, preying on her family’s rigid conservatism to force her hand. With their judgment breathing down her neck, she'd had little choice but to accept his offer of 'responsibility.' "You don’t have to attend any business event, if that’s what you’re worried about," he’d said back then with a half-hearted jest, masking the manipulation beneath a veil of casual reassurance.

And now, here they were. The wedding had gone flawlessly. He had brought her—his new bride—back to his mansion. Into his bedroom.

Trapped.

Guilt tugged at the corners of Alaric’s conscience. He hated that he’d used her, hated that her entrapment served as a leash on Cael's growing violence. But still, Alaric had made a silent vow, he would protect her from harm, even from the monster he harbored within.

"My apologies, but an urgent matter requires my attention," Alaric began, letting his eyes linger on her wedding dress. God, she’s so breathtaking... "Please, wash up and rest. You don’t need to wait up for me."

Alaric closed the distance between them and gently took her hand. Her skin was warm against his. He placed a small, cool mirror into her palm, folding her fingers over it and a small, folded note.

‘Use this whenever I act strange.’

"The first rule of this house," he said, his expression unreadable, "always keep this with you."

Without another word, Alaric turned and walked toward the door, the weight of his deception settling on his shoulders. "Rest well, wife," he murmured, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. He disappeared into the corridor, leaving her alone in the quiet.

---

"Pft. I had low expectations—but I didn’t expect your plan to go this smoothly."

"Shut up."

Alaric’s voice had turned cold, a stark contrast to the gentleness he had shown her moments earlier. The only one who could hear it now was his internal companion—the one with the same voice, but edged with arrogance and venom.

"No, no, let me give credit where it’s due, golden heir~"

The reflection purred. His reflection in the hallway mirror grinned. Cael.

"I thought it’d take you a year, at least. But no—Alaric Sterling, ever the overachiever." Cael tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Maybe it’s because she’s falling for you."

The smirk deepened, cruel and knowing.

"There it is. Your heart skipped. You feel something for her, don’t you? After all your claims of detachment?"

Alaric ignored the comment, jaw tightening. He didn’t meet his own gaze in the mirror. Because the vortex of Cael’s gaze was a gateway he had to keep barred. "Remember our deal. No stunts. Don’t expose us. You’re allowed one thing—pretend to be me. That’s it. No chaos. No fear."

Cael sighed theatrically. "Psh. I’ll behave. Promise, promise. Anything for my little rose."

---

Roughly an hour later, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Thomas, one of the house guards, spotted a familiar figure and hurried over.

"Sir Alaric—"

"Thomas."

The voice that answered was sweet, honeyed—poison in a golden cup.

The guard froze, the blood draining from his face as he took in the man before him. The perfectly tailored suit was the same, but the lack of glasses and the wild, untamed energy were unmistakable. "M-My apologies, Sir Cael. It’s... been a while."

Cael twirled a small knife in his hand, lazily. "Sometimes I wonder about your loyalty, Thomas. You seem to prefer only Alaric’s company these days."

Before Thomas could offer excuses, Cael waved him off with a disinterested flick of the wrist. Pocketing his knife back. "Never mind. I’m in a good mood. I’m going to see my bride."

He strode off, calculated and confident, already savoring the moment. His scheme to exhaust Alaric enough to regain control had worked. And now it was time for the real fun—to welcome her properly, a reunion after so long.

The bedroom door creaked open, but she was nowhere in sight. Cael's brow lifted slightly in amusement. No concern, only curiosity. His attention shifted to the bathroom—the door was slightly ajar.

He moved with a predator’s grace, his steps making no sound on the plush carpet.

And there she was.

Asleep in the tub?

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as he stepped inside. "Goodness, darling... are you that tired? Falling asleep in the bath?" His tone mimicked Alaric’s perfectly, but the smirk he wore was purely his own—sharp and amused. "You're lucky I'm here to check on you~"

She stirred awake, eyes fluttering open, blinking at him. A light sleeper, eh? Cael's mind taking note of that. She didn’t speak, perhaps confused or flustered in her vulnerable state.

Cael crouched beside her, voice like silk. "Need help, little rose?"

Before she could respond, his thumb traced along her bottom lip, silencing her. His voice dropped, laced with a deeper chill.

"Ah, ah. Don’t say that name." His eyes narrowed, the smile growing darker, his gaze drinking in the sight of her exposed body.

Alaric’s warnings rang faintly in his head, but Cael paid them no mind. He never followed rules. Never bowed to restraint.

What mattered now was her.

That she knew him. Remember him. That she would learn to want and crave him. And that, eventually, she would fall for him—one way or another.