Chapter 6
The tenth act arrived two days later.
Confess your love publicly.
Marie stared at the message in confusion.
That wasn’t cruel.
That wasn’t destructive.
It felt almost mocking.
He was standing behind her when the phone buzzed.
He read it over her shoulder.
“They’re testing the bond,” he murmured.
“How is that bad?”
“Because if you anchor yourself to me completely, it strengthens their claim.”
Her pulse quickened.
“You mean if I love you openly—”
“They own it.”
Silence pressed in.
Marie turned to face him fully.
“I already love you.”
The words felt like stepping off a cliff.
He stared at her as if she had struck him.
“Don’t,” he said softly.
“Why?”
“Because if you say it, you bind yourself deeper.”
“Then let me choose that.”
His hands came up to her arms, gripping gently but firmly.
“You think love is rebellion,” he said. “But sometimes it is surrender.”
She searched his face.
“And what are you afraid of?”
His jaw flexed.
“That I will want it too much.”
The room seemed to narrow around them.
Marie felt heat rise beneath her skin — not just desire, but longing.
“You already do,” she whispered.
For the first time since she had met him, his composure fractured.
He kissed her like a man starving.
Not frantic.
Not careless.
But undone.
His hands cradled her face as if she were fragile porcelain, then slid down her sides, tracing the fullness of her hips, the curve of her pregnant belly, reverent and aching all at once.
She melted into him, feeling the powerful restraint beneath his strength — the way he held back from consuming her entirely.
The kiss deepened slowly, heat building between them in waves.
She felt desired not as a body, but as a soul.
When he pulled back, his breath was uneven.
“You make me weaker,” he murmured.
“Good.”
His hand rested over her stomach again.
Inside, the baby kicked.
Both of them froze.
A strange silence filled the room.
He closed his eyes.
“I feel it,” he whispered.
“Feel what?”
“Light.”
The word sounded almost foreign in his mouth.
Marie placed her hand over his.
“Then maybe this isn’t a curse.”
His eyes opened.
“They will not stop.”
“Then we won’t either.”
The eleventh act came that night.
Deny God.
Marie’s heart pounded.
She looked at him.
His expression had gone cold.
“They’re forcing the divide,” he said.
“What do I do?”
He hesitated.
“Nothing.”
“But—”
“You refuse.”
Her phone buzzed again.
You have one hour.
Her breathing grew shallow.
He stepped closer, hands firm on her shoulders.
“Listen to me. If you complete this, you sever protection permanently.”
“From who?”
“From Him.”
The word carried weight.
She felt it vibrate through the air.
“What are you?” she whispered.
His gaze held hers.
“I am not what you think.”
Before she could ask more, the lights flickered violently.
The room temperature dropped.
Her stomach tightened painfully.
She gasped.
His hands moved instantly to her belly.
“Breathe,” he commanded.
The air seemed to thicken.
Her phone buzzed again.
Last warning.
Marie closed her eyes.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
The pain intensified — not physical, but crushing. Like invisible hands squeezing her ribs.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I won’t,” she repeated louder.
The lights shattered.
Glass rained down around them.
And then—
Silence.
The pressure lifted.
Marie collapsed into his arms.
He caught her effortlessly.
For a moment, he simply held her — eyes burning with something that looked almost feral.
“You chose correctly,” he said quietly.
Her voice trembled.
“Is it over?”
His expression darkened.
“No.”
Her phone buzzed one final time.
The twelfth will come at birth.
