The tavern's flickering candlelight seemed almost cruel as Sonia sank into a corner seat, pressing her hands to her face as if to hold back the tide of memory that surged unbidden. Hector's presence lingered in the room, even when his eyes left her, and it was enough to unravel the careful layers of control she had spent years constructing. She closed her eyes, and the past came rushing forward, relentless and vivid, demanding acknowledgment.
She remembered the first time Hector had touched her—not with gentleness, but with an intensity that left her breathless, disoriented, and inexplicably alive. The Alpha Beastman had been untamed, every movement deliberate and commanding, his amber gaze capturing her very soul. She had tried to resist, tried to pull away, but the magnetic pull of his presence had always been stronger than her will. Each encounter had been a storm of passion and peril, a blend of desire and domination that left her body scorched and her mind spinning.
Anna Collins, sharp and calculating, had been there at the edges of that storm, weaving subtle manipulations that Sonia had been too naïve to recognize. Her ex had thrived on the fractures between Sonia and Hector, seeding mistrust, jealousy, and insecurity with quiet words and well-timed provocations. Sonia could still recall the bitter ache of discovering a letter—one of Anna's lies—that had made her question Hector's intentions, her own judgment, and ultimately herself.
And then there had been Frédéric Washington. Calm, unwavering, the one figure who had never sought to dominate, but to protect. He had appeared when Sonia had been most vulnerable, offering a steady hand and a soft voice in a world that had grown jagged and sharp. Unlike Hector, Frédéric did not demand surrender; he offered safety. Yet even he had been unable to untangle the knot of passion Hector had tied around her heart.
Sonia's memories were punctuated by the sensation of Hector's hands on her, his lips tracing her skin with a possessive intensity that bordered on cruelty. Every touch had been both a wound and a thrill, leaving her simultaneously wanting and afraid. She remembered the nights when he had whispered words that blurred the line between love and ownership, his voice a low, intoxicating hum that reverberated deep within her chest.
Her eyes flickered to Hector across the tavern now, and she felt the familiar pull, the impossible draw of danger. The memory of his immortality—the way he had always seemed untouchable, above the laws that governed humans and Beastmen alike—made her chest tighten. It was not merely desire she felt; it was fear entwined with longing, an addictive combination that had always left her unsteady on her feet.
Frédéric's presence, by contrast, reminded her of what she had once considered normal. His steady gaze, the quiet reassurance in his posture, spoke of loyalty and reliability. Yet she could not ignore the subtle ache that Hector's memory stirred, nor the undeniable tension coiling in her stomach at the thought of him reclaiming his claim.
Her mind drifted to the betrayals, the nights when Anna's machinations had driven wedges between her and Hector, when letters, rumors, and lies had sown distrust like seeds in fertile soil. She recalled the sting of anger, the bitter taste of tears shed in silence, and the fury she had felt toward the one person who had always seemed to understand her but had been denied her trust: Frédéric.
Sonia's memories were interrupted by a soft, deliberate step. She opened her eyes to find Hector standing there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, yet far enough to maintain the tension he always cultivated. "Thinking of the past, Sonia?" he asked, voice low, intimate, and dangerous.
She met his gaze with a trembling defiance. "It's not just the past. It's the consequences of it," she said, though her voice betrayed a fragility she could not mask.
Hector's smile was slow, predatory. "Consequences… yes. Every choice we made, every night we shared… it binds us still. You cannot run from what we were. You cannot erase what you felt." His words were velvet-coated steel, designed to wound as much as they enchanted.
Her chest tightened. She could not deny it—Hector had left an indelible mark upon her, one that Frédéric's steadiness could not erase. She had survived the storm before, yet the memory of the tempest and the knowledge that it could rise again filled her with a mixture of dread and longing.
Frédéric remained near, silent, observing the interplay, the magnetic tension that Hector wielded so effortlessly. Sonia felt the subtle contrast once again: Hector, a force that devoured, Frédéric, a presence that sheltered. And she, trapped between the two, could not ignore the dangerous, intoxicating allure of the Beastman who had always owned a part of her heart.
The past was alive in that moment, a living, breathing presence that suffused the room with its weight. And Sonia realized, with a clarity that was both terrifying and exhilarating, that the choices she had made, the love she had sought, and the betrayals she had endured were far from concluded. The storm of passion, manipulation, and desire that had defined her past was returning, gathering strength, and she would be forced to confront it once more—whether she wished it or not.
As Hector's amber gaze held her, unyielding and magnetic, Sonia felt the first ripple of a truth she could not escape: some bonds are forged in fire and cannot be broken, even by time, distance, or choice. And as the candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her face, she understood that the past was not merely memory—it was a living, breathing force, demanding to be reckoned with.
Her heartbeat quickened, not from fear alone, but from the undeniable, irrevocable pull of what was yet to come. The triangle of desire and danger had begun its slow, inevitable tightening, and Sonia Wittersham would soon discover that the past she thought she had left behind was only the beginning of a far darker, far more consuming storm.