14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Ophelia
J ulian and I had an incredible night. I notice the mark is changing—becoming more solidified, the gold burning brighter.
I press my palm to it, and it starts pulsing.
I miss him. I never thought this would happen to me. I’ve always been someone who enjoys solitude, someone who needs it. But now, for the first time, I don’t want to be alone.
I want to be with someone. With him. Not because of a stupid mark. Because of who he is.
He said I could reach out—just think of him and speak.
Ophelia: Julian?
Crickets. Nothing. A big fat zero. I try again, because I’m not a quitter.
Ophelia: Julian?
It’s like a black cloud rolls in, and when I reach for him, I slam straight into a mental brick wall. Is this asshole telepathically ghosting me? Rude. Guess even soulmates come with call screening. What a dick move.
Seriously, fucked up.
I’m done. Why do I keep trying? What if I’m the only one feeling this while he’s perfectly fine? My chest tightens. I can’t breathe right. Maybe he doesn’t care like I do. Maybe I’m just... alone in this. Wanting him. Needing him. And he’s slipping away.
I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I think of him one last time. Take a shuddering breath and close my eyes.
A single tear slides down my cheek.
Before I can even scream, I feel a yank—and we drop. I know this feeling. It’s the same one from before, when we teleported.
“Oh shi—” I blurt, but I’m cut off.
I land in a living room. Not mine.
“Well fucking shit. Look who showed up,” Owen says.
Wait. Owen?
“What—Owen? I—” I blink, totally disoriented.
That’s when I see the others. Strangers. All of them.
A woman with sharp eyes and quiet grace, like she’s holding secrets in the stillness between breaths. Another with a flowing, dreamlike presence—her gaze soft but piercing, like she sees right through me. A man stands nearby, broad and composed, with a kind of quiet control that hums in the air. Then another—taller, colder, the room dimming just from his presence.
They’re all watching me.
Like I’m the one who doesn’t belong.
“Where the hell am I?” I mutter, heart pounding. None of this makes sense. Did Julian do this? Am I losing my mind?
A voice drips sarcasm. “Hell, huh? Nailed it on the first guess,” Seth says, slouched like he’s been waiting just to piss me off. “Welcome to the shitshow, newbie.”
And now I want to punch him.
Julian is across the room. Staring at me.
Fuming.
He looks furious , though I don’t know why. He’s the one who brought me here.
“Julian?” The man seated speaks with quiet authority. “Who is this?”
Julian doesn’t hesitate. “Dad… this is Ophelia. My soulmate.”
The woman cuts in. “What is she doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Julian says.
“You don’t know?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “But I—” He cuts me off, guiding me aside with a firm, steady hand.
“What are you doing here, Ophelia?” His voice is low. Measured. Controlled.
“I have no idea,” I say. “One second I was calling you— being ignored, by the way—and next, I’m in this living room.”
“I was occupied,” he replies flatly, eyes unreadable.
“Clearly,” I mutter, arms crossed.
He gestures toward the group. “Come.”
His stride is calm, almost too calm, as he leads me forward.
“This is Ophelia,” he says. “Mother, Father, Aunt, Uncle—Liora, Evander, Selene, Theron.”
“We’ve been expecting something like this to happen,” Selene says, voice smooth, inscrutable.
“Something like what ?” I ask.
“Your power is getting stronger,” she replies.
“Power?” I frown. “You mean the bond?”
“No,” Evander says, his tone final. “ You. ”
Julian steps in before I can question further. “That’s enough. Lia, I think it’s time we talk.”
Owen chuckles darkly. “Whole damn tapestry’s shifting—hope she’s ready to stitch it back.”
Before I can say a word, the room disappears.
One blink—and I’m somewhere else.
A living room, but his this time. I can tell.
Dim blue light flickers from torches mounted on sleek, black stone walls. Velvet drapes choke a massive window, and a fireplace burns low with flames that don’t crackle—just glow. Strange, dark, and silent. The seats are deep and cushioned but not exactly welcoming —more like they’re daring you to sit.
I turn to him slowly. The words come out low, tight with too many things to name. “Tell me everything.”
He doesn’t pretend not to understand.
Julian leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed, gaze steady but distant.
“Your father made a deal. A cruel one. He traded your power—the way you pour emotion and empathy into your paintings—and gave it to Melanie. To fuel her career.”
I blink. “What?”
He keeps going. “Every stroke of your brush, every raw piece of you—he siphoned it. Melanie’s tears on screen? Her ‘gut-wrenching’ performances? That’s you. Stripped and repackaged.”
I stumble back, hands shaking. “How could he—why would he do that? My paintings were mine. ”
“For power,” Julian says, voice sharp. “His pride. Her fame. And there’s more. He threw in your soul as the final stake. When Melanie hits her peak—when he’s basking in the glow of her success—your soul becomes mine to take. ‘The most successful,’ he said. That was the trigger.”
“My soul?” I whisper. “No. I don’t believe you. He wouldn’t… Cassius is cold, but this? You’re lying.”
Julian doesn’t flinch. “It’s the truth. Check the mark if you doubt me. It’s pulsing brighter because the contract’s closing in.”
I glance down. The gold glows hot against my skin. My breath catches.
“He ruined my life,” I whisper, tears burning. “He took my art. My heart. Everything I was. Dominic loved me for that—for my soul. And when it faded, he left. Fell for her. For Melanie. Because of what Cassius stole.”
I spin toward Julian, rage burning through my grief. “And you! You took the deal! You let him rip me apart—my soul, my everything —for some contract? How could you?”
Julian straightens, his voice cool but not cruel. “It’s what I do, Lia. I collect souls. I make deals. It’s my nature. But I didn’t know you were mine. I didn’t feel the mark burn until it was too late. Cassius played us both.”
I sink into the nearest chair. I don’t even know where to start. He’s telling the truth—I know it. I always knew what he was. But it’s different now. It’s me.
“There’s more,” Julian says quietly.
“More?” I ask. “I don’t know if I can take more.”
He exhales, gaze distant. “Cassius knew you’re the Weaver of the Loom of Fate.”
I blink. “The Greek myth? With the three women spinning destiny?”
“No myth,” he says. “It’s real. And it’s you.”
My knees wobble, and I grip the armrest to keep upright. “That’s insane. I’m not—I don’t control fate. I’m just me. ”
Julian’s gaze sharpens. “It’s not insane. It’s power. Ancient and rare. You are the Weaver. Every thread, every choice—they bend to you. Cassius knew. And he exploited it.”
“Exploited it how?” I ask, dread curling in my stomach.
“To put Melanie in control,” he says. “He didn’t care about you. He used your power to fuel her rise. Your empathy. Your essence. All siphoned through the Loom.”
I shake my head. “So I was just… a tool? He didn’t even care if I survived?”
“You were never his goal,” Julian replies, stepping forward. “You were the key. But he didn’t expect you to wake up—to start pulling the threads yourself.”
I stare at him, but the blows keep coming.
“Your mother was the Weaver before you,” he says. “Calliope. The gift passes through the Lysandra line. Her maternal line. She was meant to prepare you. But she was killed before she could.”
My throat tightens. “She was killed ? How do you know?”
Julian’s expression softens. Just a fraction. “She came to me. To my family. Warned the Infernal Council someone would come for the Loom. Someone like Cassius. She didn’t have long.”
My voice cracks. “The Infernal Council?”
“They oversee Hell’s order. Old, powerful. They only intervene when it suits them. Calliope begged for protection, but… they stayed out of it.”
“Who killed my mother?” I ask, though deep down, I already know the answer.
“Your father,” he replies.
I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat. “So... do you have it?” I ask, quieter than I mean to. “My soul?”
His eyes lock on mine, steady and careful.
“I thought you did,” I say, the words rushing out. “With the bond. With all of this. I thought it already belonged to you.”
Julian shakes his head. “It doesn’t,” he says gently. “Not unless you give it to me.”
I blink, trying to wrap my head around it. “But... my father sold it.”
“He did,” Julian says, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “But claiming it isn’t automatic. Not with a soul like yours.”
I pause. “What happens now?”
His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Now... you decide.”
I search his face. “Decide what?”
“To willingly become mine,” he says. His voice is calm, but there’s weight behind every word.
My stomach twists. “Aren’t I already?”
“You’re marked. We’re bound. But that’s not the same. I can’t take what you haven’t offered.”
“What?” I ask. “Does Melanie suddenly lose her success? Do I magically become the Weaver? What is my power?”
“If you take it back, she’ll feel it. Whether she loses everything? That’s not up to me. You already are the Weaver. You were just too numb to feel it. And your power?” He meets my eyes. “It’s not something you use. It’s something you survive.”
“And if I decide to give my soul to you,” I ask slowly, “what happens next?”
“The Infernal Claim,” he says, voice low.
“The infernal what?” I raise an eyebrow.
He doesn’t smile. His expression shifts—darker, weightier, like he’s speaking something sacred and dangerous.
“It’s not a spell,” he says, his voice like a prayer sealed with ash. “Not a ritual. It’s a progression. A descent. It begins the moment your soul reaches for mine—not with words, but with need. And yours already has.”
My breath catches. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, “the first call happens when you think of me. Not casually. Not in passing. It has to be real. Intimate. Vulnerable. When you feel something deep enough to break you open… the bond answers.” His throat works. “That first time—you invoked it. You didn’t know. But I felt it. In my blood. In every part of me.”
I look away, heat blooming beneath my skin. “You mean—”
“Yes.” His voice tightens. “That was the spark. That’s what woke it up.”
He continues before I can speak. “After that comes the kiss. The real one. That’s when I give you a piece of my essence. It latches into you—carves itself under your skin. That’s why you saw what you did. That’s why it felt like something ancient waking up.”
I nod slowly. “I remember.” The fire. The visions. The way it wasn’t just mine.
“Next comes the corruption touch,” he says. “Your body starts to respond. You’ll feel heat. Pain. Need. Even when I’m not there. The bond tightens. It feeds on proximity, on want, on denial. The more you resist, the more it takes.”
“It already is,” I murmur.
“I know.” He watches me. There’s a flicker of guilt there. Or maybe reverence.
“And the final step?” I ask.
He exhales, slow and deliberate. “Consummation.” He meets my eyes. “But not the way you think. It’s not sex that seals it. Not entirely. It’s what happens after. What you give.”
“What I give?”
“Yourself,” he says. “Your mortality. Your softness. The part of you that isn’t ready to become something else.” A beat passes. “It hurts. Only you can do it. I can’t help you. I can only hold you through it.”
Something cold and electric dances down my spine. “And after?”
“If you survive it,” he says, voice almost reverent, “you’re rewritten. The Mark completes. The bond finalizes. But not with a bite—not anymore. Not with blood. With will. With sacrifice. With something you can’t take back.”
I go quiet.
“Then,” he says, softer now, “if you want… you speak my true name. That’s the knot. The end. If you say it, you bind us. Forever. If I die, you suffer. If you die, so do I. If we’re apart too long...”
“It hurts,” I finish for him.
He nods once. “More than anything.”
The silence stretches between us, dense and trembling.
“What if I don’t want to?”
His voice doesn’t waver. “I won’t take you. This isn’t about power. This is about choice. Yours.”
I think about Julian. The bond. I don’t know how to hold all of this. It doesn’t fit inside me.
My father didn’t just ignore me. He didn’t just favor her. He sold me. Carved out my soul and handed it to Melanie like a gift, wrapped in applause and red carpet lighting.
And I didn’t even feel it go. I just knew something inside me had broken, and no one ever told me why.
I thought it was me. That I was too much. Too sensitive. Too intense. I thought maybe the world had just moved on and forgotten to take me with it.
But it wasn’t me.
It was him.
It was them.
And Julian... he’s not blameless. But he didn’t lie. He didn’t run from the truth. He looked me in the eye and gave it to me straight, even when he knew I’d hate him for it.
And I did. For a moment, I wanted to. I wanted to scream that he was just another monster trying to own me.
But I saw his face. He didn’t know I was the one. He didn’t expect this either.
And now... now he’s offering something no one ever has.
Choice.
He could’ve claimed me. Could’ve used the bond, the rules, the loopholes. But he didn’t. He gave it back to me—my agency. My soul. My say.
And somehow, that means more than anything I’ve ever been given.
I don’t know who I am now—with the Loom of Fate coiled in my blood and a legacy I never asked for hanging heavy on my shoulders.
But I know if I give myself to Julian, it won’t be because I was stolen. It won’t be because I was tricked or bound or broken.
For the first time, I want something.
And it’s something I’m willing to do anything to take.
“I want to do it,” I say, barely audible.
Julian’s eyes flick to mine. “Do what?”
“I want to claim you,” I say, the words steady and deliberate, as if I’ve always known them—and only now found the strength to speak them.
Julian doesn’t move, but something shifts in his expression—subtle, stunned, like the ground beneath him has tilted.
I step closer. My voice softens, but I don’t hesitate. “I need your soul. Your love. The fire and fury you try to hide.”
He doesn’t speak. His silence feels like gravity, heavy and expectant.
I reach for his hand and guide it to rest over my heart. “I’m ready to give you everything,” I say. “Not because of the mark. Not because fate demands it. But because you are the only thing in this world that has ever felt real.”
I look up at him, my words weaving between us like a vow.
“I love you,” I whisper. “Not in spite of who you are—but because of it. Because even when everything else was taken from me, you saw me. And now, I want to be yours. Completely. Willingly. Because I know exactly what it means.”
Julian doesn’t speak at first. He just watches me, eyes unreadable, hand still over my heart.
Finally, his voice breaks the silence. “You already are,” he says. “You always were.”