Two weeks had passed in a blur of healing and quiet preparation.
Scarlett stood in front of her new house—her house—and felt something she hadn't felt in months.
Joy.
It was small. A modest two-story building tucked into a quiet street near the university campus. Nothing like the sprawling mansion she'd escaped from. No marble floors or crystal chandeliers or rooms so large her voice echoed. Just a simple house with warm wooden floors and large windows that let in natural light.
It was perfect.
She could see Sylus's men, of course.
They weren't even trying to hide anymore. Two parked in a car down the street. One leaning against a lamppost, pretending to smoke. Another walking a loop around the block with mechanical regularity.
Close enough to intervene if needed. Far enough to give her the illusion of privacy.
It should have bothered her. Should have felt like just another cage with wider bars.
But somehow... it didn't.
Because this was her house. Her space. And Sylus wasn't in it.
Sylus.
Scarlett hadn't seen him since that day in the hospital. Two weeks of recovery, and he'd vanished like smoke. No visits to her room. No forced conversations or stolen kisses or expensive gifts left on her bedside table.
Just... absence.
Mrs. Chen had mentioned he was busy. Business in other provinces. Territory disputes that required his personal attention. The usual excuses.
But Scarlett knew the truth. He was avoiding her. Giving her space. Staying away because his presence hurt her, and for maybe the first time in his long life, he'd put her needs above his own wants.
It should have felt like victory.
Instead, it felt oddly... empty.
No, don't thinking about him, Scarlett told herself firmly. He's a dragon. He'll be fine. Heartbreak won't kill someone like him.
She pushed open the front door and stepped inside.
The interior took her breath away.
Someone—Sylus, obviously, who else would care this much—had furnished it perfectly. Not with expensive antiques or showpiece furniture, but with things that felt... homey. Comfortable. A plush couch in soft gray. A small dining table with two chairs.
Bookshelves already installed, waiting to be filled.
And flowers.
Everywhere, flowers.
The vase of white daisies on the kitchen counter. Potted plants along the windowsills—jasmine and lavender and herbs she could use for cooking. A window box outside the main window, planted with flowers that would bloom in spring.
He'd remembered. Remembered her chaotic rebellion, planting flowers everywhere just to annoy him. And instead of being annoyed, he'd filled her new home with them.
Scarlett felt something warm bloom in her chest, and immediately tried to crush it.
No. Don't think about the monster. Don't let yourself feel grateful. Don't—
But the warmth remained, stubborn and unwanted.
She spent the afternoon unpacking her meager belongings. Clothes Mrs. Chen had packed for her. A few books. Her art supplies—someone had thought to include those, and she suspected it wasn't Mrs. Chen who'd remembered.
By evening, she was exhausted but satisfied. The house was starting to feel lived-in. Like it was actually hers instead of just another place she was staying temporarily.
Scarlett cooked instant noodles for dinner—cheap, probably terrible for her, but hers.
She'd chosen them. Bought them herself with money from the black card Sylus had given her (she'd tried not to use it, but tuition was due and pride only went so far).
She ate at her small dining table, slurping noodles with undignified enthusiasm, and laughed out loud at how simple this was. How normal. How wonderfully, beautifully mundane.No guards hovering. No Sylus watching her eat with those intense red eyes. No seven-course meals prepared by professional chefs.
Just her and her instant noodles and the quiet joy of choosing exactly how much chili oil to add.
After dinner, she settled near the window with her laptop and cheap instant coffee. Her classes would resume next week, and she needed to catch up on what she'd missed. But first, she allowed herself a break—scrolling through videos, finding something funny about cats doing ridiculous things.
She giggled at a particularly dramatic cat falling off a counter, the sound surprising her.
When was the last time she'd laughed like this? Genuinely? Without bitterness or tears?
She couldn't remember.
The snow was falling again, dusting the street in white. Her small window garden caught flakes on dark leaves. The world felt quiet.
Peaceful.
Safe.
.
.
.
.
.
A block away, Sylus sat in his car and watched.
He shouldn't be here. Had promised himself he'd stay away, give her space, let her have the freedom she'd literally tried to die for. But after two weeks of avoiding her, of forcing himself to handle business elsewhere, of doing anything except think about how much he missed her...
He'd broken.
Just this once. Just to see her. Just to make sure she was okay.
His men had noticed his car, of course. Lin had glanced over, recognition flashing across his face, but wisely said nothing. Just went back to his patrol like his boss wasn't sitting in a black sedan like a lovesick fool, watching his wife through her window.
She looked... alive.She look happier was the only word for it. Scarlett moved through her small house with energy he hadn't seen in months. Unpacking boxes. Arranging furniture. Cooking something—instant noodles, he realized with amusement. She'd always preferred simple food over the elaborate meals his chefs prepared.
Then she'd settled by the window with her laptop, and Sylus had felt his heart clench painfully.
She was drinking cheap instant coffee. He could see the mug clearly—some generic brand she must have bought herself. She had access to his money, could order the finest coffee in the world, but she'd chosen this instead.
Because it was hers. Because she'd chosen it.
And she was giggling.
The sound didn't reach him through the closed car windows, but he could see it—the way her shoulders shook, the smile on her face, the joy that lit her up from the inside.
When was the last time he'd seen her smile like that?.
Not since before. Before he'd walked into her apartment and destroyed her life. Before he'd made her his prisoner and called it love.
Sylus felt something twist painfully in his chest. This was right. This was what she needed. Freedom to laugh at stupid videos and drink cheap coffee and live her simple, beautiful life.
Even if it meant he wasn't part of it.
His hand drifted to his neck, touching the place where a mark had once existed. In their past life, she'd marked him as her mate. The dragon's bond, permanent and unbreakable.
When she'd died, the mark had faded, leaving just a scar over his heart.
In this life, he'd marked her instead. That night when he'd kissed her neck, when he'd been desperate and possessive and so afraid of losing her. He'd left marks that had faded within days.
But beneath them, invisible to everyone except him, was the true mark. The one his dragon nature had burned into her soul without him meaning to. The mate bond, trying to reform across lifetimes.
She didn't know. Couldn't feel it yet. In their past life, it had taken years for her to recognize what they were to each other. For the bond to fully manifest.
He wondered if she ever would, in this life. If she'd ever feel that pull, that recognition, that sense of rightness when they were together.
Or he'd destroyed any chance of that when he'd caged her instead of courting her.
Probably the latter.
Sylus watched her take another sip of coffee, saw her scrunch her nose at something on her screen, saw her laugh again—
And smiled despite the pain crushing his chest.
She was happy. Without him, she was happy.
That had to be enough.
I hope someday you'll remember, he thought, though she couldn't possibly hear him. I hope someday you'll feel the bond and understand why I couldn't let you go. Why losing you the first time broke something in me that never healed.
But until then... be happy, kitten. Live your life. Be free.
Even if it kills me to watch from a distance.
He glanced at the window one more time. Scarlett had moved away, probably going to bed. The light in what must be her bedroom flicked on briefly, then off.
Sylus started his car and drove away slowly, leaving his men to watch over her. To keep her safe from threats she didn't even know existed.
The mansion was dark when he arrived. Empty. Even with dozens of staff and guards, it felt like a mausoleum without her chaotic presence filling it.
He walked to his office and poured himself a drink. Stared at the paperwork on his desk—business that needed handling, enemies that needed eliminating, an empire that required constant attention.
But all he could think about was her laugh. Her smile. Her joy at something as simple as instant noodles and cheap coffee.
She looks happy without me, he'd told himself in the car.
And it was true.
It was also destroying him.
Sylus drank his whiskey and tried not to calculate how long he'd have to wait. How many years or decades or lifetimes before she might—might—forgive him enough to let him back into her life.
A hundred years? A thousand?
He'd wait.
He'd waited this long already. What was a little longer?
Even if every day felt like dying.
Even if his dragon nature screamed at him to go back, to reclaim what was his, to drag her back to his nest and never let her leave again.
He wouldn't.
Because he loved her.
.
.
.
.
.
In her small house, Scarlett brushed her teeth and changed into pajamas and climbed into her new bed. The mattress was comfortable—not as luxurious as the one in the mansion, but it was hers, and that made it better than silk sheets and down pillows.
She stared at the ceiling, expecting to feel triumphant. Free. Victorious.
Instead, she felt... confused.
The house was perfect. Too perfect. Every detail thought out—the flowers she loved, the layout that maximized natural light, the window seat where she could read and watch the street below. Even the blankets were the exact softness she preferred.
He'd paid attention. To all of it. To her.
And then he'd given it to her and walked away.
The dragon you loved would have let you die free, she'd told him on that balcony.he'd listened. Had actually listened and changed and let her go.
Was still letting her go, even now. Staying away even though it probably killed him.
Scarlett touched her neck absently, fingers finding a spot just below her ear. It tingled sometimes, like an old wound that hadn't quite healed. The place where he'd left marks that had faded weeks ago.
But the tingling remained.
Like something was there, beneath her skin. Something she couldn't see but could almost feel.
She dropped her hand and rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Stop thinking about him. You're free now. That's what you wanted.
It was what she wanted?.
Why did the house feel a little too quiet? Why did she keep expecting to hear his footsteps in the hallway, his voice asking if she needed anything, his presence filling the space like he'd always been there?
Because you're traumatized, she told herself firmly. You're used to being watched and controlled. This is just adjustment. You'll get used to being alone.
She would.
She had to.
Because the alternative—missing him, even after everything—was unthinkable.
Scarlett closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
And tried not to wonder if, somewhere across the city, a dragon was staring at the ceiling of his empty mansion, thinking of her.
.
.
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.
.
To be continued.