The air was thick—too thick, pressing against Elysia like an invisible weight, suffocating, inescapable. Malvoria's body was close, her hands firm yet unmoving where they had pinned Elysia in place, her breath warm against Elysia's skin.
Every word Malvoria had spoken still echoed in her ears, I am the one who holds you at night. The one who touches you. The one who marks you.
Possessive. Overwhelming.
Mine.
Elysia's heart pounded so loudly it drowned out every other sound in the room. She didn't know whether it was fear, anger, or something else entirely that made her pulse quicken. She refused to believe it was anything else.
She forced herself to meet Malvoria's gaze, her violet eyes burning with defiance, even as her breath hitched against her will.
"You don't own me," she whispered, her voice steady, though she felt the tremble in her limbs.
Malvoria smirked, slow and dangerous, as if she found amusement in the protest, as if she already knew the truth.
