Chapter 12: The First Kiss of Choice
The rain hadn't stopped since dawn. It poured endlessly against the glass walls, filling the mansion with the soft, steady hum of water—a sound that somehow mirrored the turmoil inside Vierrah's chest.
She stood by the window, arms crossed over herself, staring blankly into the gray sky. Her thoughts were tangled—memories of pain, fear, and the strange tenderness Lucas had shown these past days. He had been quieter. Gentler. Almost… remorseful.
He didn't raise his voice anymore. He no longer demanded her presence every second. Instead, he lingered in the background—watching, waiting, careful not to touch unless she allowed it.
And that frightened her more than his anger ever had.
Because beneath the silence, there was something deeper, something she didn't want to name.
Affection.
Or worse—understanding.
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Lucas entered the room quietly, his footsteps barely audible against the marble floor. He was holding a tray—a bowl of soup, still steaming, and a small plate of bread.
"You haven't eaten since last night," he said softly.
"I'm not hungry."
He set the tray down anyway, his expression unreadable. "You'll get sick if you keep skipping meals."
"I've survived worse," she muttered.
He let out a small sigh, sitting a few feet away from her. "You don't have to keep punishing yourself."
Her gaze flicked toward him. "Punishing myself? Lucas, you're the one who—"
"I know," he interrupted, his tone quiet, regretful. "You don't have to remind me. I replay it every day in my head—the things I've done. The things I can't undo."
For the first time, Vierrah saw his hands trembling. The strong, steady hands that once held her captive now seemed unsure of where to rest.
And that vulnerability… it disarmed her.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, his eyes glistening. "I just didn't know how to love without losing control."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to hate him, to throw his words back—but she couldn't. Because behind that darkness, she could finally see the brokenness that built him.
"Then maybe…" she said quietly, "you never learned what real love means."
He looked up at her, eyes dark with emotion. "Then teach me."
Her heart stuttered.
The words were desperate, almost childlike. For a moment, she didn't see the monster who locked her in a golden cage. She saw a man who never learned how to love without destroying everything he touched.
Vierrah's hand twitched by her side. She didn't know why—but she stepped closer. Slowly. Hesitantly.
Lucas froze.
Her eyes met his—stormy, filled with questions, fear, and something softer she couldn't name. "You scare me," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But sometimes, you make me feel… safe."
His breath hitched. "I don't deserve that."
"I know," she whispered. "But I feel it anyway."
Before she could think, before logic could intervene, her hand rose to his face. His skin was warm under her fingertips. His breath shuddered.
"Vierrah…"
And then she kissed him.
It wasn't like the other times—those forced, trembling kisses that reeked of fear and possession. This one was different. Soft. Uncertain. A question more than an answer.
Lucas didn't move at first. His entire body went still, as if he didn't believe what was happening. Then, slowly—almost reverently—he kissed her back.
His touch was gentle, fragile, like he was afraid she'd vanish if he pushed too far.
When they pulled apart, both of them were breathing unevenly.
"Why?" His voice cracked. "Why did you—"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe because… I wanted to. Maybe because I'm tired of feeling nothing but hate."
Lucas lowered his head, his eyes burning with something between joy and sorrow. "You don't have to pity me, Vierrah."
"I'm not sure it's pity," she murmured. "Maybe it's confusion. Maybe it's... weakness."
He smiled bitterly, brushing her cheek with his thumb, so gently it almost hurt. "You're too kind for someone like me."
"Maybe," she whispered, "but you're still human, Lucas."
He looked at her for a long time, eyes softening—an expression she had never truly seen before. For the first time, there was no hunger, no demand, no control. Only… love. A broken, desperate love that didn't know how to heal.
"I'll spend my whole life trying to deserve that kiss," he murmured.
Her heart twisted painfully at his words.
And for the first time since the day she met him, Vierrah didn't know who the real prisoner was—her, or the man who loved her so violently he broke himself in the process.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
But inside that mansion of gold and sorrow, a fragile warmth began to bloom—delicate and dangerous.
Neither of them realized that love, when born out of obsession, could never stay innocent for long.
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