Chapter 5
Five
I wake alone.
The memories come slowly, filtering through layers of exhaustion and the dull ache in my body that tells me yesterday actually happened. Wasn't a nightmare. Wasn't something I can pretend away in the harsh light of morning.
Morning. If that's even what this is.
The House of Ruin exists in perpetual twilight, yet another place with that sourceless light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that never change. No sunrise. No sunset. Only endless, unchanging perfection. This light is silver though, white almost.
I hate it.
I sit up slowly, every muscle protesting.
The silk sheets pool around my waist. I finger the hem.
Are these new sheets? They’re white and pristine and completely untouched by what happened last night.
Someone changed them while I was in the shower?
While I sat on the cold shower tile, crying under the spray.
My clothes from yesterday are gone too. In their place, draped over the chair near the bed, is a different outfit. Simple black pants. A white silk shirt. More of Seraph's meticulous attention to detail? Does he need to ensure I'm always properly dressed in his house? Like I’m a fucking toddler.
Or making sure there's no evidence of what happened between us?
I look down at myself. I'm wearing a nightgown I don't remember slipping into—soft white cotton, modest, nothing like the provocative silk I half-expect from Seraph. My hair is dry, falling loose around my jaw. I don’t remember climbing out of the shower or getting dressed. Someone did it for me. Seraph?
The thought makes my skin crawl.
But at least the gold chains are still here. Still at my throat and wrists, warm against my skin. As if Croesus still claims me, even after everything.
Through the binding, I reach out tentatively. Carefully. Like I'm approaching a wounded animal that might bolt.
Croesus is there. Distant but present. His emotional landscape is... quiet. Too quiet. Like he's pulled all his walls up, locked himself behind defenses so thick I can barely feel him.
But he's not blocking me. Not cutting me off entirely.
Just... protecting himself.
I don't blame him.
Croesus, I think, I'm so sorry. I'm—
The bond warms slightly. Not forgiveness. Not quite. Just acknowledgment. I know.
That's all. Those two words.
And somehow that's worse than if he'd raged at me. Worse than if he'd screamed through our connection or cut me off entirely.
The quiet acceptance is devastating.
I swing my legs over the side of the massive bed, feet touching the cold marble floor. My boots are placed neatly beside the nightstand. Someone thought of everything. The room is exactly as I remember it. White and silver and mirror-bright. Crystal sconces casting perfect light.
No sign of Seraph.
No sign of anyone.
Only me and my guilt and the too-perfect room that witnessed my betrayal.
I stand on shaky legs and immediately regret it. My body aches in ways that are impossible to ignore. The pleasant soreness of sex mixing with the deeper ache of a purge. My throat is raw, but from the purging words or from crying, I'm not sure. Maybe both.
I catch sight of myself in one of the many mirrors.
I look like hell.
Hair tangled despite being dry. Shadows under my eyes so deep they look like bruises. Skin pale except for the flush still lingering on my cheeks. The gold chains gleam against my throat—beautiful and damning in equal measure.
And my eyes. My bourbon brown eyes look... different. Haunted. Or older. Like I aged a year in one night.
Maybe I did.
I force myself to walk to the bathroom. Force myself to go through the motions of being human. Brush my teeth with the expensive toothbrush, wash my face, and try to tame my hair into something resembling order.
The shower where I broke down last night is bone-dry now. Perfectly clean. Like it never happened.
Everything in this house erases evidence. Maintains perfection. Pretends nothing messy or human or real ever touches its pristine surfaces.
I hate it so much.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I freeze.
Someone is in the room.
Not Seraph.
The mirrors, every single mirror in the chamber, are glowing faintly gold. And in their reflections, instead of seeing myself, I see him.
Croesus.
He's standing in what looks like his study back at the House of Gold.
Still wearing the same charcoal suit from yesterday, though now it's rumpled.
His hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
His blind eyes are fixed somewhere in my general direction, and even though I know he can't see me, it feels like he's looking straight through me.
His face is carefully blank.
Too blank.
"Raven," he says, and his voice echoes from every mirror at once. Surrounding me. "We need to talk."
My throat closes up. "Croesus, I—"
"Don't." The word is sharp. Final. "Don't apologize again. I felt your guilt all night. Your self-hatred. Your regret. I don't need to hear the words."
"But I am sorry," I whisper. "What I did—what we did—"
"Was necessary." His hands clench at his sides, the only sign of emotion breaking through that blank facade. "The lust required purging. Seraph denied you the proper ritual. You found another solution. It was... practical."
"Practical." The word tastes wrong. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What would you prefer? That I call it betrayal?" His voice rises slightly, that careful control cracking. "That I tell you how it felt to experience every moment of you with him? Every touch? Every—" He stops. Takes a breath. "I was there, Raven. I felt all of it."
The tears I've been holding back since I woke up finally spill over. "I know. And I'm so—"
"I know you're sorry." He sounds exhausted. Defeated. "I felt that too. Your guilt was almost worse than the actual..." He can't finish the sentence. Can't say the words. "You were crying through most of it. Did you know that? I felt your tears even while you were, even while he was—"
"Stop." I can't listen to this. Can't listen to him describe what I did to him. "Please. Just... stop."
Silence. Heavy and thick and drowning.
Then, softer: "I don't blame you."
I look up sharply, meeting his reflection in the mirror. "What?"
"I don't blame you." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles. "The lust was too strong. You were trapped. Seraph forced your hand by denying you the ritual. You did what you had to do to survive." A pause. "I understand that."
"Understanding doesn't make it hurt less."
"No." His laugh is bitter. "It doesn't."
I walk closer to the mirror, close enough that if it were real glass between us instead of space and magic, I could touch him. "I wish you'd yell at me. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I'm a terrible person and you never want to see me again."
"Would that make you feel better?"
"Yes. Maybe. I don't know." I press my palm against the cool glass. "I deserve your anger. Your hatred."
"You have neither." He mirrors my gesture, placing his hand against his side of the mirror.
Through the binding, I feel the warmth of his touch even though we're separated by distance and dimensions.
"What you have is my understanding. My forgiveness.
And my absolute terror that this is only the beginning. "
My breath catches. "What do you mean?"
"You have to serve this house and five more, Raven.
Six more angels." His voice is carefully controlled now, but I feel the fear beneath it.
"Last night happened because of lust. But what happens when you absorb pride in Seraph's house?
Or wrath when you get to Kael? Or any of the other sins that might.
.. require purging in ways that involve—" He stops. Can't say it.
The realization hits me like he’s actually slapped me.
He's right.
Last night wasn't a one-time thing. It was a preview of the next six years of my life. Five more houses. Five more sins. Five more potential... complications.
"I won't," I start to say, but we both know it's a lie. "I'll find another way. The ritual. I'll insist on the ritual."
"And if they deny you? Like Seraph did?" His hand presses harder against the glass. "What then?"
I don't have an answer.
And when I don’t, I feel his resignation. His acceptance of something inevitable. Something he can't stop even though it's killing him.
"I love you," he says quietly. "I need you to know that. After everything, after last night, I still love you. That hasn't changed."
"Croesus—"
"Let me finish." He takes a breath and clenches his jaw. "I love you. But I'm not na?ve. I felt what happened between you and Seraph. It wasn't only the lust. There was something else there. Something neither of you wanted but couldn't deny."
"No." I shake my head violently. "I hate him. Last night was—"
"What? Simply a necessity?" His laugh is sharp.
"Raven. I felt everything. The hatred, yes.
But also the... chemistry. You challenged each other.
Pushed back against each other. And he looked at you like you were the first interesting thing he'd seen in centuries. " A pause. "The way you looked back."
"That's not—I don't—"
"I'm not saying you love him." Croesus's voice is gentle now. Devastatingly gentle. "But I am saying there's something there. And over the course of a year in his house, that something is going to grow."
The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. Because he's right. As much as I want to deny it, as much as I want to pretend last night was purely mechanical, purely about the purge, I can’t deny there was a moment.
Just one. When Seraph looked at me after and said "impressive," and I felt something shift.
Something I can't name.
Something that terrifies me.
"What do we do?" I whisper.
"We?" His smile is sad. "You continue serving your contract. You survive your year with Seraph. And I..." He trails off.
"You what?"