Page 95 of Semper

His hand dropped to my neck, fingers curling around my throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who held the power. "Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "You’ll prove it to everyone. Our Rite will be tomorrow evening."

The finality of his words washed over me. The Rite. Our binding. There would be no turning back. I wasn’t ready—I didn’t know if I ever would be—but he was giving me no choice. He was laying the path, and I was expected to follow.

I started, my voice shaking as panic rose in my chest. "I thought—."

"You thought what?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. There was no warmth in his gaze, only cold command. "That you could run? That you could leave?" He smiled, but it was more sinister than comforting. "You know better than that."

I swallowed hard, unable to speak as his grip tightened enough to remind me of my place.

"Tomorrow," he said again, his voice soft but unyielding, "you’ll show me, Lolita. You’ll show me that you belong here—with me, forever."

The words twisted around my heart. I nodded slowly, even though I could barely breathe under the weight of them. "I will,"I whispered, my voice trembling. It was both a promise and surrender.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against my forehead in a kiss that felt more like a brand.

The gentleness of it was a cruel contrast to the knot of fear and confusion tightening in my chest. He stepped back, and in that instant, I felt it—the hollow space where his warmth had been, the yawning chasm of emptiness that grew with every step he took away from me.

"I only came to tell you that," he added, his tone dismissive, already detached. Already gone.

"Wait!" The word tumbled from my lips. I reached out, grabbing his arm, clutching it like a lifeline. I couldn’t bear it—him leaving me again. Not after the silence, not after the ache of his absence had almost swallowed me whole.

He paused and looked down at my fingers clutching his sleeve, desperation clinging to my every breath. Slowly, deliberately, he pried my hand from his arm, each movement calculated, a reminder of the control he wielded over me.

"Didn’t I say I’d come back to you?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous. "Don’t doubt me, Lolita. Not when I’ve given you everything."

His words, cutting and cruel, ripped through me. Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, and I tried to blink them away, but they fell anyway, silent and unnoticed.

My chest tightened with fear, with the unbearable truth I couldn’t escape—I didn’t want to be without him. I didn’t want to be alone, to be left in this limbo of waiting and wanting. How could I have let him pull me into this? How could I need him this much?

"Tomorrow," he repeated, softer, as if the word could soothe the ache.

It only made the emptiness grow, the sense of abandonment cutting deeper. Before I could speak, before I could beg him to stay, he leaned in, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly cold.

There was no warmth in it, only a finality that broke something inside me. When he pulled away, the air seemed colder still, the emptiness around me echoing louder. Without another word, he turned, disappearing from my sight. I watched, helpless, the frigid air rushing in to fill the space he left behind.

And I was alone again.

I stood there, my hands trembling, the tears now flowing freely, feeling like the most pathetic version of myself. How had I come to this? How had I let him do this to me—make me need him so deeply, so violently. I didn’t even recognize the girl I had become, the girl who was so desperate for his approval, for his touch. The girl who would let him walk away, even as she shattered under the weight of his absence.

If this was how I felt after only two days without him, how had I ever imagined a life where he wasn’t there?

Tomorrow, I would show him that I was his, that I could never leave. But tonight... tonight, I was left to crumble, to fall apart in the hollow space he’d left behind.

I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind raced, thoughts of Alexander swirling like a storm I couldn’t escape. The house was too quiet, too still. I needed him. Needed to feel his presence. I tossed and turned, trying to will sleep to come, but the emptiness in the bed beside me was impossible to ignore.

Then Verity appeared, her soft voice breaking the silence as she brought me a drink.

She set it down on the nightstand, her eyes full of understanding, as if she knew exactly what I was feeling. "From Alexander," she whispered. I took the drink without hesitation.

Whatever it was, I trusted that he wouldn’t give me anything to harm the baby—the baby I hadn’t even told him about yet.

He had to know, didn’t he? There was no way he couldn’t. I drank it slowly, feeling the warmth of the liquid spread through my body. It didn’t take long before I began to drift, the exhaustion finally pulling me under.

But the dreams that followed were anything but restful.

The chapel loomed around me, its gothic arches casting long shadows over the stone floor. At the far end of the room stood the massive statue of the Devil, dark and imposing, watching over everything with his cold, unfeeling eyes.

At his feet knelt the weeping woman, her face hidden in her hands, her sobs echoing through the stillness. Then, as if the dream were alive, the scene shifted. It wasn’t the statue anymore—it was Alexander, his figure dark and powerful as he stood before me.