The Vulture's Whisper
Valenhart Manor – Private Gardens, Monte CarloLate Morning, After the Collapse
Anna hadn't spoken since last night.
Not after the fight.
Not after the wall.
Not after he took her again and made her scream into velvet until her voice broke.
She'd awoken alone.
The sheets cold.
Her body bruised and bare beneath them.
She dressed in silence.
Soft gray. A scarf that didn't cover the throat. Bare feet against marble.
She needed air.
But she couldn't escape.
Only wander.
So she did—into the private gardens, where the air smelled like wine-soaked roses and the sea beyond whispered through the hedges.
She thought she was alone.
Until—
"He used to fuck me here too."
The Return of Celeste
Anna turned sharply.
And there she was.
Celeste.
Perched on a wrought-iron bench like a black swan among blood-red petals.
Still in silk.
Still painted like sin.
Today it was black—lace sleeves and emerald earrings. A cigarette holder rested between two manicured fingers. Her lips were redder than ever.
Anna didn't speak.
Celeste didn't wait.
"He liked to do it right against that wall." "The stone scratched my back the first time." "But the second time, I stopped caring."
She smiled.
"You've stopped caring too, haven't you?"
Anna's hands clenched at her sides.
"Why are you here?" she asked, voice hollow.
Celeste exhaled smoke toward the roses.
"Because you're not the first."
She turned her head slowly. Her gaze landed on Anna's throat, her wrists, the invisible fingerprints still living in her skin.
"And because you're still pretty enough to believe he might love you."
Anna flinched.
"Shut up."
"You think you're different?"
Celeste laughed softly.
"We all think we're the one who'll fix him. The one who'll soften the wolf. But Daimion doesn't break for anyone." "He just watches you break, and calls it love."
The Warning
Celeste stood.
Walked toward her.
Heels clicking softly against marble.
"I'm not here to steal him back," she said.
"I'm here to tell you what it feels like—when he almost loves you. And still fucks you like he owns your soul."
She brushed a strand of Anna's hair behind her ear.
"You'll stop recognizing yourself."
"And one day, you'll wake up, and your name won't feel like yours anymore."
Anna stepped back.
Tried to say something.
Anything.
But the words wouldn't come.
Celeste leaned in.
Her voice was softer now.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
"You're already halfway there, aren't you?"
A Final Blow
Anna turned to leave.
But Celeste called out behind her.
Louder. Crueler.
"If he ever does love you— It'll be the worst thing that ever happens to you."
Anna didn't answer.
She just walked.
Fast.
Heart pounding.
Tears in her throat.
Because some part of her knew—
Celeste wasn't lying.
Not all rivals fight to win. Some stay to warn you: The monster you love Is always hungry.
The Silent Line
Valenhart Manor – The Garden RoomJust past noon.
Anna hadn't moved in an hour.
She sat in the long-backed velvet chair near the garden-view windows. The sea shimmered beyond the glass, gentle waves crashing beneath the cliffs.
But inside her?
A storm.
She'd returned from the garden changed. Celeste's voice still echoed in her skull.
"You'll stop recognizing yourself.""If he ever does love you, it'll be the worst thing that ever happens to you."
Anna hadn't cried.
She hadn't screamed.
She had simply folded her hands in her lap.
And waited.
The door opened.
She didn't turn.
She knew it was him.
She felt it in the air.
The weight. The chill. The shift in gravity.
Daimion Valenhart had returned.
Something Is Off
He stepped into the room. Slow. Measured.
Wearing black again. Always black. Always unbuttoned just enough to show power in casual exposure.
He looked at her.
Expected her to stand.
Speak.
Flinch.
She didn't.
She just sat there, eyes on the horizon, like she hadn't heard the man who had broken her body walk into the room.
"Anna."
Silence.
"Turn around."
She didn't.
He moved closer.
"Are you ignoring me?"
Still nothing.
He was in front of her now. Blocking her view of the sea.
She blinked once.
Looked up.
And met his eyes.
For the first time—he saw it.
Not fear. Not pain. But stillness. Like something inside her had stopped shaking. And started… watching.
The Confrontation
"You're angry," he said finally.
She blinked again. "No."
"You're hiding something."
"I'm not hiding anything," she said softly. "I'm just… thinking."
He narrowed his eyes.
"What about?"
She tilted her head.
"Whether I'm still afraid of you."
That landed.
Hard.
Not because it was shouted.
Because it was whispered with the quiet cruelty of truth.
"You should be," he said.
"No."
She rose slowly, moving past him toward the fire. She poured herself a glass of wine—his wine—and took a slow sip.
Her voice stayed calm. Too calm.
"I think I was once. When you touched me the first time. When you kissed me in that hotel room without asking. And again when you stood over me at the altar and said 'she does' for me."
She turned.
Her eyes were glass, not tears. Polished. Cold. Reflective.
"But now?" she continued.
She stepped toward him.
Her heels silent on the stone floor.
"Now I know you're just a man. One who hides behind money, fear, and power."
He moved closer.
"Don't test me, Anna."
"No," she said. "I want to. I want to see if you flinch. I want to see if the man who breaks women can stand still when one finally stops breaking."
The First Crack
He reached out—fingers brushing her jaw, the way he always did when he wanted control.
But she didn't shiver.
She didn't soften.
She didn't close her eyes and lean into it.
She held his gaze.
And suddenly, he wasn't the one looking down anymore.
"I could take you right now," he whispered.
"You already did."
"I could bend you over that table."
"You already did."
He grabbed her chin harder.
She smiled.
Not sweet.
Cruel. Mocking. Dangerous.
"You've already taken everything from me, Daimion." "The problem is—you don't know what I'm taking from you."
The Shift
His grip loosened.
Not out of mercy.
Out of confusion.
He was losing something—and he didn't know what.
She stepped back.
"Now you're afraid," she said.
He frowned. "Of you?"
"No," she said with quiet venom.
"Of what I might become."
She walked out.
Didn't wait for permission.
Didn't ask for it.
And for the first time since he first touched her—
Daimion didn't follow.
She didn't scream. She didn't run. She just stood still long enough for him to finally feel the one thing he swore he'd never let happen—a shift in power. And the beginning of her revenge.