Chapter 3

Days passed in a twisted sort of calm. During the daylight hours, I was the nominal "lady" of the cold, oppressive fortress known as the Old Keep. The maids treated me with distant respect, their politeness devoid of warmth. Meals were exquisite but utterly lifeless. I was allowed to walk through the vast gardens or browse the ancient tomes in the library—books filled with incomprehensible texts. But my movements were confined to those spaces. I felt like a gilded canary, meticulously caged, without freedom, surrounded only by the vast emptiness of solitude. My only solace came from news of my brother, Benjamin. Caleb kept his promise, transferring him to one of the world's best hospitals where a team of top specialists oversaw his care. The lawyer would deliver regular updates—reports on Benjamin's improving condition accompanied by photographs. Seeing my brother’s face gradually regain its color, his smile reemerging, I reassured myself that all of this was worth it. But at night, I fulfilled my “duty.” Caleb’s bloodline frenzy struck without warning—sometimes in the dead of night, other times at dawn. Whenever that familiar, uncontrollable aura of violence began to seep through the walls of the Old Keep, my heart would clench in anticipation. Soon enough, a maid would knock on my door, her voice flat and emotionless as she informed me, “Madam, the master is waiting for you in the study.” Like a programmed tool, I would make my way to his study. Sometimes, he was just as rough as he had been the first time, drawing the soothing energy from me with an almost brutal urgency. Other times, he seemed marginally calmer, merely requiring me to sit beside him. My presence alone, inexplicably, seemed to act as an anchor, steadying the storm that threatened to consume him. One night, after a relatively "gentle" episode, he didn’t send me away immediately. He leaned back in the large armchair, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed as though battling an unrelenting internal pain. The firelight from the hearth flickered across his chiseled features, casting deep shadows on his face. In that moment, he no longer seemed like the cold, domineering wolf king who had bound me to a cruel contract. He looked more like a man—exhausted, tormented, and utterly human. I found myself staring at the sharp line of his jaw, still tense even in apparent rest. A strange, fleeting sense of pity stirred within me. For all his wealth and power, he was trapped in a torment so inhuman that it consumed him. But that pity was short-lived. “Have you seen enough?” His voice startled me, low and rough with a trace of grogginess, yet still as cold as ever. I flinched, lowering my gaze immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” “Remember your place,” he cut me off, opening his eyes. They were sharp, distant, their usual indifference and precision fully restored. “You are nothing more than my remedy. Don’t entertain unnecessary curiosity or thoughts.” His words doused me like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing any trace of warmth that had momentarily surfaced in my heart. I stood and bowed respectfully. “Yes, sir.” As I turned to leave the study, I could feel his gaze on my back, cold and piercing like needles. This was the life I lived—a double existence. By day, I was an idle prisoner, a bird in a cage with nothing to do but wait. By night, I was a remedy summoned at will. The thought of Benjamin’s recovery was the only thing that kept me going. And yet, the rare moments when Caleb’s pain slipped through his icy exterior were like small stones tossed into still water, creating dangerous ripples in the depths of my heart. I had to remind myself constantly: Leah, you are just a tool. Do not pity him. Do not wonder about him. And above all, do not let yourself fall.