Chapter 26 Gaetano
Gaetano
My new obsession’s name is Nicole.
I don’t know what else to call this urge to keep stalking her, even after our last encounter. Over the past few hours, I’ve been watching her from the shadows, tracking her every move, imagining what it would be like to make her submit in my hands.
Today, she’s doing something that mesmerizes me just as much as the tiny expressions playing across her face while she does it.
She’s drawing, curled up in her desk chair, wearing soft shorts and an oversized T-shirt, with one leg tucked under her, her hair tied in a messy ponytail.
My mark on her forehead, now decorated with sparkling crystals, makes her eyes shine even brighter.
When she leans back to examine her work, I take the opportunity to do so as well.
A sense of recognition flickers beneath my ribs.
It’s a wolf, facing forward. Black strokes shape its face and vibrant eyes that glimmer with life.
She’s invested time in every line, yet the drawing doesn’t feel finished.
Certain edges blur, like the creature is caught in motion, ready to leap off the page at any moment. That only makes it more haunting.
Maybe it’s the hunger that never fades—the need to chase, tear, and survive—the reason I’ve always felt a kinship with wolves. Back in Madeline’s coven, we moved like a pack, with her as the alpha and the rest falling in line as obedient betas. But I never truly belonged in line, and she knew it.
This wolf…The Little Baroness has really captured the beauty of the beast. It’s easy for me to appreciate her artistic talent. I grew up with a father who built a trade by bewitching people with what he could conjure onto canvas. Nicole has done exactly that, without the help of magic.
She’s about to pick up her pencil again when someone knocks on the door. “Nicole?”
That bitter feeling slithers through me at the sound of her father’s voice.
She straightens in her chair. Before she invites him in, the door swings open, and he steps inside in his expensive suit.
No tie, mussed hair, dark circles under his eyes.
He scans the room as if he’s conducting an inspection.
Then he speaks, without pleasantries, “Just wanted to let you know: the dinner with Daniel is still on. They confirmed for tomorrow evening. I’ll give you some time alone.
No formalities. I don’t want you to feel like a hostage. Just be kind. Smart. Mature.”
Finally, his attention settles on Nicole and my letter on her forehead. I expect him to comment on it, but instead, his gaze narrows on the paper. “You’re drawing?”
Her fingers tighten around the pencil. “I needed a distraction…”
He steps further into the room, eyebrows knit together. “I thought that phase was over.” He takes in her sketch and scoffs. “Nicole… You’ve got so many responsibilities. And you’re wasting time on this? Doodles? Little animals?”
Heat flares in her cheeks. Her jaw clenches, and the corners of her mouth twitch, like she’s fighting to hold back words that would only make things worse. “It’s not—”
“You know what I want from you? I want you to use your time wisely. Be on site. Talk to people. Learn real architectural processes. Don’t stay in your room sketching!”
She presses her lips together.
“If you want to build something real someday, stop escaping into imaginary worlds.” He pivots, muttering as he storms out, “Tomorrow, at 7 PM. I expect you to be the daughter of the Construction Baron. And wipe that glittering nonsense off your face. It’s not a costume party.”
The door slams shut behind him.
Nicole doesn’t move. Her fingers still clutch the pencil, her hand frozen above the page. She stares off into nothing.
From the shadows, breath caught, I wait. Her fingers twitch, and the silence is sharp enough that the faint brush of graphite on paper seems deafening.
Slowly, almost expressionless, she lifts the sketchpad, then tears the page in half.
Again. And again. Deliberate, vicious little movements.
Her shoulders start to shake—barely at first, then harder.
Tears stream down her cheeks. Her knees curl toward her chest, elbows wrapped around them.
She buries her face in her hands, and her entire body trembles with sobs.
Cold rage fills me. My thoughts narrow to one brutal clarity: I can’t help her. I shouldn’t.
And yet, I step out from the shadows.
She spots me from the corner of her eye. “Please… just go. Not now…”
I reach out and grab her elbow. My inked fingers hover over her delicate skin, the runes burning like brands. Her scent reaches me, stirring something I thought was long buried.
“Get out!” Nicole screams, trying to yank her arm away.
Her gaze clashes with mine and her expression goes slack. Magic is already crackling through my veins, preparing itself. Maybe it’s warping my features.
Or maybe it’s the fury I haven’t experienced in years.
“It’s time for the second trial,” I growl.