Chapter 45 Vivian
VIVIAN
Istood frozen as the guards dragged Raffaele and the others away. His voice echoed in the vast chamber, raw and desperate.
“Vivian! Please, remember me. This isn’t you.”
His voice sent a pang of warmth and familiarity to my heart, cutting through the icy haze that clouded my mind. For a fleeting moment, I felt the bond between us—fragile, like a thread worn thin. His face flashed in my mind, then his smile, his touch.
But then, like a tidal wave, the connection to Izo drowned out the warmth and replaced it with cold hostility. My focus shifted back to him—my Izo. He was the one who had cared for me, who had shown me my place. These people were intruders, threats to his safety.
They deserved to be taken away.
“Good,” I murmured, watching the guards restrain the prisoners, ensuring they wouldn’t try anything else. They couldn’t be allowed to hurt Izo again.
Izo’s hand brushed against mine. He smiled down at me, his silver eyes soft and warm. “Come,” he said gently, lacing his fingers through mine. “Let’s leave this mess behind.”
I nodded, letting him guide me away from the scene. We walked in silence, his presence a calming force that pushed away the chaos of the battle.
As we passed through the dining hall, my gaze drifted to the table.
Silverware lay scattered across its surface, abandoned in the haste of the guards and servants.
My eyes landed on a steak knife, and instinctively, I grabbed it, slipping it behind me and tucking it into the waistband of my pants.
The cold metal pressed against my back, a small but tangible sense of security.
I didn’t know why I took it—I wasn’t planning on using it—but a small voice deep inside me whispered that I might need it.
Izo glanced back at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
As we climbed the grand, winding stairs, more guards rushed past us, their armor glinting as they hurried toward the lower levels. I assumed they were reinforcing the cells, ensuring the prisoners couldn’t escape.
Good, I thought again, with a clarity that startled me. They deserved it.
Izo’s presence comforted me. He was so steady. How could I doubt him? He had taken care of me, protected me. He would never hurt me.
We reached the top of the staircase, and Izo led me down a dimly lit hallway to a set of ornate double doors. He pushed them open with a graceful flourish, revealing his private quarters.
The room was luxurious in a way that bordered on overwhelming. The walls shimmered with scales that cast shifting colors across the space. A massive bed sat at the center, its frame carved from what looked like a single, enormous seashell.
My eyes locked on the bed, and everything else faded away.
Memories slammed into me, pulling me back to a place I didn’t want to be. I was tied to the posts of Lord Thorne’s bed, his gnarled hands wielding a dagger. He carved into my skin, and the pain nearly suffocated me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, my fingers trembling as I felt the ghost of his blade against my flesh.
“Vivian?” Izo’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I blinked, shaking my head as the memory began to fade. The bed before me wasn’t Thorne’s. The room wasn’t that dark, filthy place. And Izo wasn’t Thorne.
He stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked, softly, almost tenderly.
I looked up at him. “Yes, it’s just… memories.”
His eyes darkened. “Of him?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Izo cupped my cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t need to think about that anymore. He’s gone. I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again.”
His words soothed the jagged edges of my thoughts, and I leaned into his touch.
I glanced back at the bed, my unease slowly giving way to a strange sense of comfort. This was Izo’s space, not Thorne’s. Izo would never hurt me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You’re mine to protect, Vivian. Always.”
The warmth in his gaze replaced the lingering shadows of my memories. But deep inside, a small, quiet voice whispered a different truth. This isn’t right. I ignored it, focusing instead on the steady weight of Izo’s hand in mine. For now, it was enough.
Izo led me into his sprawling bathroom. The space was overwhelming in its opulence, an aquatic dreamscape of shimmering tiles and enchanted water features.
Streams of glowing water ran through grooves in the walls and floor, converging into a central fountain that bubbled quietly.
The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of salt and lavender.
He turned to me, his silver eyes soft with what looked like concern. Or is it manipulation? that little voice whispered.
“Sit,” he murmured, his hands finding my waist and lifting me effortlessly onto the marble counter.
This isn’t right, that voice whispered again.
I shoved the thought away as Izo knelt in front of me. His hands, cool but firm, took mine, and I saw the shallow cut running across my palm. A wound I hadn’t even realized was there.
“You’ve hurt yourself,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the skin just below the cut.
“It’s nothing,” I replied, though my voice sounded hollow to my own ears.
His gaze snapped to mine, sharp and unwavering. “It’s not nothing. You need to be cared for, Vivian. I’ll make sure you are.”
The warmth in his voice sent an inexplicable wave of affection through me, blooming in my chest despite the gnawing feeling that it didn’t belong there.
Izo reached for a damp cloth, dipping it into a basin of warm water before gently pressing it to my wound. I hissed at the sting, but he held my hand steady, his touch firm but careful.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “I know it hurts.”
His words settled over me like a lullaby, softening my tension even as I tried to cling to the fleeting thoughts of someone else.
Raffaele’s face flickered in my mind. The cabin. His arms around me. His whispered promises.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest, stealing my breath.
“Oh,” I gasped, clutching at my ribs with my free hand.
Izo looked up, his expression curious but calm. “What is it?”
“I…” My voice faltered as the pain ebbed away, replaced by a sense of guilt so strong it was suffocating. “I shouldn’t think about that.”
The knowing curve of his lips made my stomach twist. “You’re right. Focus on what’s here, Vivian. On what’s real.”
His voice smothered the lingering whispers of my own thoughts, pulling me back to him. It felt… easier, less painful, to let him guide me.
“I’m here to protect you,” Izo continued as he cleaned the wound with practiced care. “To give you the life you deserve. Not like The Shadow.” His tone darkened, his silver eyes flashing dangerously.
“He’s a monster, Vivian. Do you know what he’s done? The lives he’s destroyed, the people he’s trampled to build his empire? He’s no savior. He’s no hero. He’s just another tyrant hiding behind shadows and illusions.”
His words sank into my thoughts like seeds planting themselves deep in fertile soil.
But beneath the haze, a memory stirred. Raffaele, his voice rough with emotion, telling me he would never let anyone hurt me again.
The pain came back, sharp and sudden. I winced, gripping the edge of the counter.
Izo’s gaze snapped to me, his hand tightening around mine. “Vivian,” he said, his tone soft but commanding. “Look at me.”
I obeyed, my eyes locking onto his.
“You don’t need to think about him anymore,” he said. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you now.”
The ache in my chest eased, and the memories dulled until they felt distant and blurry.
“I know,” I said quietly, though the words felt foreign in my mouth.
Izo smiled, a gentle, almost paternal expression that made the warmth in my chest flare again. It wasn’t real—I knew it wasn’t—but it didn’t matter. It bloomed anyway, spreading through me like wildfire.
When he was finished cleaning the wound, he reached for a small jar of salve. The scent of sea herbs and something medicinal filled the air as he smoothed the ointment over my palm.
“You’ve been through so much. But you’re strong, Vivian. Stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”
His words sent a strange mix of pride and shame coursing through me. I didn’t want to believe him, but the compulsion twisted my emotions, making them impossible to untangle.
When he finished wrapping my hand in a clean bandage, he stood and offered me his arm. “Come, let’s get you comfortable.”
I slid off the counter, my legs unsteady as I followed him back into the bedroom. He led me to a sitting area in the corner with plush chairs and a low table.
I sank into one of the chairs, the exhaustion of the day settling over me like a heavy blanket. Izo sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable.
Before either of us could speak, a sharp knock at the door broke the silence.
Izo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flicking toward the sound. “Stay here.”
As he rose and moved toward the door, I sat back, resting my other hand on the bandaged one.
This isn’t right, that small voice taunted.
I ignored it, focusing instead on Izo’s retreating figure. For now, it was easier to let him guide me.
The knock at the door had barely subsided when it swung open, revealing two men in silver robes. Their faces were hard, their postures stiff with tension.
“Lord Maren,” one of them said. “A word.”
Izo’s silver eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “What is it, Elder?” he asked, his tone cold and authoritative.
The elder glanced at me, his lip curling slightly before he continued. “Some of us have concerns about your methods.”
Izo tilted his head, his lips curving. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”
The other elder stepped forward, his jaw tight. “This obsession with vengeance. With using her”—he gestured toward me dismissively—“as a pawn. It’s cruel, even for you.”
Something inside me snapped.