I run away to my room.

Tristan doesn’t come after me.

A part of me wishes he did.

I go to his master suite and slam the door, making sure the entire penthouse can hear it. I don’t care what his guards or cousins or anybody else think. He’s ruining my life.

I imagine Theo provoked him. I imagine that neither side wants this to end in death. But I can’t forgive Tristan for what he’s just done.

He’s forcing me to choose between him and my beloved cousin Theo. More than that, he’s not asking me my opinion at all. He’s just made a decision to go ahead with this duel, and I can’t think of a more reckless move on both their parts.

If only Theo hadn’t called today. If only Theo would just let it rest and let me be with Tristan happily.

But I imagine my father breathing down his throat, constantly making him find me.

My worst fears are coming true, and I don’t know how to get out of it. Someone is gonna die. Either Tristan will or my cousin.

The thought of losing either of them is too much for my heart to bear.

I fling myself down on Tristan’s bed and just cry. Years of frustration come bubbling to the surface. Our families put us in this precarious position, and now it’s all coming to a head.

I don’t see a way out of this. No matter which way I turn, there is blood and death.

I cry for a long time. I cry myself to sleep. And then I wake up several hours later, and the room is dark.

It’s obvious Tristan hasn’t come to find me at all. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s truly a callous and cold killer.

But I know that’s not my Tristan. I know that if he can avoid this, he would.

That’s what makes it all the more damning. Theo’s likely being stubborn, and so is Tristan.

I rub my eyes and try to wake up out of this fucking nightmare.

But it’s real. I can’t run away from this reality anymore.

I get out of his bed and walk over to the large windows. I push the huge velvet curtains aside to look down on the city. It’s the city I live in, yet it’s the city that’s also held me captive for so many years.

Images of the countryside flash across my mind.

The manor. The shooting practice. The nights alone with Tristan with not a care in the world except for the feeling of his strong hands on my body.

Those were some of the happiest days in my life. Carefree and filled with nature and freedom.

I’m living in the antithesis of that now. It’s a nightmare happening before my eyes, and there’s no way to stop it.

I can think of no other way to drown my sorrows than by taking a bottle of champagne from Tristan’s in-room bar and sinking into a hot tub.

Is it wrong that I turn to alcohol so frequently to drown my sorrows?

If one of your loved ones was gonna die in a couple days, you would do the same thing.

I take a bottle of Dom, the most expensive thing he has on hand, and then I go into the master suite, undress, and turn the water on. I make it hot, almost scalding.

Then I pour in some bubbles and some essential oils, and I sink into the water, one toe at a time, one leg at a time, and eventually, my body acclimatizes to the hot temperature.

What is it about a hot bath that makes you feel like you can forget your cares?

In the tub, it’s like I’m in my own world. I try to forget about all of the violence and all the unease. But it’s fucking impossible.

So then I turn to the champagne. I pop the cork and drink straight from the bottle.

This is my tonic. This alcohol is what soothes my soul—for the moment, at least.

And then just as I’m starting to relax, he comes in.

There he is, staring at me with wild, lust-filled eyes.

There’s also a hint of regret on his face. I know he doesn’t want to do it, to kill Theo. But that doesn’t matter.

If Tristan wanted out of this deal, I’m sure he could find a way.

I turn away from him insolently and take a sip of the champagne.

I know I can’t resist Tristan forever. I know he only has my best interests at heart. But at this moment, my anger is making me see red.

All I can think about is the bloodied body of someone I love at the end of this.

“Isobel, can we talk about this?”

I turn to him, unable to hold back the scathing words that are on the tip of my tongue.

“There’s nothing to say, Tristan. You signed over your death warrant. Either that, or you’re gonna kill my cousin, the only person in my life that I’ve ever loved besides Thelma. How do you think that makes you feel?”

He stares at me for a long moment as I’m sitting there naked in the bathtub. He looks like he wants to fuck me despite the circumstances.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the exact same way.

The connection between Tristan and I is always on high. Even when we’re in the midst of our darkest days, this connection keeps us together and promises a better future.

I only want to be in his arms. I want him to take away the pain, even if it’s only temporary.

It occurs to me that I might lose Tristan, and that makes my passion for him all the more prominent. I need this man to complete me, and I’ll be lost without him.

He leans down and tips my chin up so that he can kiss me.

I don’t know why I submit. I don’t know why I return the kiss.

I just know that I want Tristan. He means everything to me. He’s a constant fire that’s burning in my soul that can never be put out.

It’s just him and I against the world.

I know that.

I pull away and drink the champagne. I guzzle it and watch him the entire time.

He can’t be happy that I’m drinking so much, but I don’t care. Let him feel my anger.

In truth, I’m trying to provoke him in every way possible. I just want a reaction out of him. I want him to get on bended knee and apologize to me for being such an asshole.

But I know that will never happen.

“Don’t you think you’re going a little heavy on the champagne?” he asks.

I ignore him and continue drinking.

I’m starting to get buzzed. My head is starting to spin.

He continues, “You’re being insubordinate, Isobel.”

I laugh slightly, feeling sassy and wanting to resist his every move.

“I don’t care what you think,” I say to him boldly. “If you die, none of it will matter anyway.”

“Is that so?” he says, almost too quietly.

Sure, I might be poking the bear, but I don’t care. He’s ruining my life, and I don’t feel like lying back and being his little slave at this moment.

I feel like challenging him and forcing him to look me in the eyes and to tell me why he’s gonna do it.

Before I know what’s happening or how to stop it, he’s picking me up out of the bath. The bottle of champagne drops to the floor and shatters.

He doesn’t seem to care or to notice. There’s this look in his eyes.

I know too late that I might’ve taken my recourse too far.

Tristan will get what he wants.

He always does.

“You think I want this for us, Isobel?” he nearly growls.

I’m dripping soapy suds all over his suit. He takes me into the bedroom, and it’s unnaturally dark. I don’t know what time it is, and I don’t care, because I can see that this night belongs to Tristan.

He throws me down on the bed and then he undresses slowly.

He leans over to light a candle, and I can see his chiseled chest and arms in the light.

He stares at me. It’s almost a glare, really. I can see I might’ve taken things too far in my pulling away from him and admonishing him.

But what else can you do when the game is love and war and death?

“Tristan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pulled away from you. I’m just worried about you…and Theo.”

He doesn’t say a thing, but he removes his belt and flips me over.

I breathe hard into the sheets and wait for it to come.

Whack!

One hit.

Whack!

Two hits.

My ass is sore already, and I decide in an instant not to take it.

I turn over and attempt to fight him. I beat my fists on his chest in vain.

I can’t hurt him. Only he can hurt me.

How is that fair?

He takes both my wrists into one hand and holds them steady, attempting to silence me. But I will not be silenced.

He’s gambling with the nature of my love by engaging in this thing with Theo.

No matter what I will lose.

“Fuck you, Tristan. I hate you.” The venom I spew is real.

I mean everything I say.

I hate him for making me fall in love. I hate him for being the one in control. And most of all, I hate him for threatening to take it all away.

He throws me back down on the bed and spreads my legs open wide.

I stop crying long enough to witness the fierce expression of lust and love and his face.

He slides out of his pants and quickly situates himself between my thighs. My wrists he keeps pinned above my head.

There’s nothing left for me to do but accept this fate of being in love with a man like him.

He forces me to confront the all-consuming desire that I constantly feel for him.

I’m playing with fire and don’t want to get burned. But before I have another second to react, he bears down on me with all his massive weight, and I feel his twelve-inch cock sliding into me hard.

He’s gonna make me pay…for being his obsession, the one that he loves.

And so I stop struggling and let the waves of passionate pleasure come over me in heated spasms.

I am his to consume.