But before it could stop, Vigg reached for it and slammed the glass. The sudden motion froze the group, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. His eyes burned with barely restrained fury, fixed on Julian as if he was about to eat him whole.
Alina’s hand froze mid-air, her playful grin vanishing as she stared at Vigg.
“Vigg, what are you doing?” she asked, a faint tremor beneath her usual confidence.
“Let’s go, Aryl,” Vigg said, his voice low and controlled as he slowly turned from the table. He walked away, his shoulders slumped, hands clenched at his sides.
Aryl’s calm expression faded as she studied Vigg—his hunched back, gritting teeth, and the tremor in his fists. She had never seen him this angry, definitely not the brother who had been gasping and moaning so innocently the day before.
Her brow furrowed, a flicker of concern mingling with confusion, and she stood awkwardly. She nodded to the others, then followed him.
The others at the table watched silently as the brother and sister moved through the crowded restaurant. The chandeliers cast flickering shadows across their forms until they vanished through the doors into the night beyond.
After they left, Calen sighed in relief, slumping back in his chair. “Well, that went off the rails,” he said, shaking his head. “Dude’s so insecure, can’t handle a little heat from a viscount.” His eyes flicked to Julian, a spark of amusement dancing there, as if the drama had only made the night more entertaining.
Torr laughed loudly, breaking the lingering tension. “Yes, sissy boy,” he said, lifting his glass for a toast. “Vigg’s got a temper, but I’ve never seen him that angry. Never seen him bolt like that.”
Julian, amused by their conversation, joined in as well, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What’s up with them?” he asked. “Are they not brother and sister? They seem too close to be just that.”
His gaze swept the table, lingering on Alina for a moment, giving them a smirk as if he had caught a whiff of the Ravenswood family’s darker secrets.
“Hmm, not sure,” Torr said, standing with a lazy smile. “The Ravenswood are… intense, let’s say. Always something brewing beneath the surface.” He shrugged, stepping back from the table, ready to move on from the night’s chaos.
Liora and Calen stood as well, exchanging a quick glance before turning to the group. Liora’s lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes sparkling with lingering intrigue as she waved her hand.
“See ya,” she said, her voice warm but teasing, “we’ll be going ahead as well. Don’t have too much fun without us.”
She cast a final, appreciative look at Julian before walking away.
Meanwhile, Alina stayed behind, her hand pressing against Julian’s arm. “You know, my lord,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a hushed tone, “the Marquis Ravenswood is twisted.”
Her fingers trembled slightly, her gaze darting around the table to ensure no one could hear.
Julian leaned toward her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, go on, Alina,” he murmured. He shifted closer, the scent of his cologne mingling with the floral perfume of hers.
Alina smiled, a nervous edge to her usual playful charm. Her breath quickened as she leaned further, her lips barely an inch from his ear.
“The Marquis…. has a cuckold fetish,” she whispered, her eyes widening slightly, as if the confession startled even her.
Julian’s smirk faded, his composure cracking as he pulled back slightly. “What…” he gasped, his eyes searching her face for any hint of a joke. But she was not playing around; she was really serious.
Alina glanced around in panic, her eyes darting to the scattered nobles chatting at nearby tables. She clutched Julian’s arm tighter.
“We’ll get executed if this gets out,” she hissed, her cheeks flushing with a mix of fear and adrenaline. She bit her lip, her gaze pleading with him to keep this buried.
Julian nodded, calming himself with slow breaths. He leaned back in, his shock replaced by newfound curiosity.
“I understand,” he said. “Tell me more, Alina. I won’t make any noise.”
She hesitated, then continued, her words tumbling out in panic. “My father told me the Marquis loves seeing his wife get taken by someone else,” she said, her eyes flicking nervously around again. “He gets this… thrill from watching.”
Julian smiled in surprise, a low chuckle escaping him as he shook his head. “That was not something I thought I would hear,” he said. He leaned back, his fingers tapping the table lightly, processing the twisted tale.
Alina nodded, her own chuckle breaking through. “I mean, not just anyone,” she added, her voice dropping even lower. “Someone close, someone like their own son.”
Her gaze held his, trying to see how he would react to this.
Julian nodded slowly, his smirk deepening. “So you mean Vigg,” he said, the pieces falling into place—Vigg’s fury, Aryl’s closeness, the Ravenswood legacy of twisted desires. “That’s… quite a family secret.”
Alina nodded, chuckling in disbelief herself. “Yes,” she whispered. “I heard my father was invited to see the act once, but he made some excuse and didn’t go.”
She shook her head, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. “He said it was too much, even for him—too dark, too twisted.”
**
After a few minutes, Aryl and Vigg were already back in the Ravenswood castle, the golden walls glowing dimly under the flickering torchlight. Vigg remained silent the whole time, his eyes fixed ahead as he walked through the luxurious corridors.
Aryl followed closely behind, her unease growing with each passing second.
“Vigg,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. “What happened?”
The question made Vigg pause mid-step. He turned to face her, his expression raw, the fire in his eyes now replaced by something deeper—something desperate.
“Sister,” he said, his voice low and strained, “I’ve never felt this way before.”
He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto hers, intense. “You are my sister, but after everything we’ve been through, I want you to be only mine.”
His words hung in the air, his chest rising and falling unevenly, as if the admission had torn something loose inside him.
Aryl froze, her eyes widening as his words sank in. Yes, of course they were close—too close, bound by the twisted rituals their father, the Marquis, had orchestrated in these very halls. But it had never been her choice; she had just gone with the flow, swept along by the Ravenswood legacy, by the weight of their father’s commands.
To hear Vigg’s obsession laid bare, to see the possessive hunger in his eyes, made her stomach twist. Her lips parted, but no words came, her fingers twitching nervously at her sides.
“Vigg,” she finally said, her voice quieter now. She stepped back, creating some space. “You’re my brother. What we’ve done… It’s what Father wanted, not…”
She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “You can’t mean that,” she added, her eyes flicking back to his, searching for a way to defuse the intensity radiating from him.
Vigg’s expression wavered, and Aryl could see his face twisting in pain. “I do mean it, Aryl,” he said, his voice rough, stepping closer to close the gap she’d created. “I see how others look at you—that viscount brat, tonight, with his smug charm. I can’t stand it. You’re mine, not his, not anyone’s.”
His hand reached out, hesitating in the air, as if unsure whether to touch her.
Aryl’s heart pounded, her cringe deepening into a mix of fear and pity. Her mind flashed to the restaurant, to Julian’s bold gaze, to the life beyond these walls she had confessed to wanting.
“Vigg, this isn’t right,” she said, her voice steadying, though she brought her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. “We’re bound by blood, by Father’s games, but I’m not… I’m not yours like that.”
Aryl’s words made Vigg’s anger flare. “No, you are mine!” he roared, his voice echoing off the golden walls.
He lunged forward, pinning her against the cold, polished wall with a forceful thud. His hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging in, his face inches from hers.
“I have fucked you, you have sucked my cock,” he spat, “and now you say that was just a joke? Am I nothing but a joke and plaything to you?”
Aryl’s breath hitched, her body tensing against the wall. The force of his grip sent a jolt through her. Her heart pounded, her hands pressing against his chest, trying to create distance, though his strength was unyielding.
“Vigg, stop!” she gasped, her composure fraying under the intensity of his stare. “Vigg, please,” she said. “I’m your sister, not your… not your lover. What we did was for Father, for the Archduke’s show. It wasn’t real, not like this.”
Her eyes watered, her words escaping desperately. “Let me go, Vigg. Don’t make this worse.”
Vigg’s eyes searched hers, his grip loosening slightly. The pain in his expression deepened.
“Not real?” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “It was real to me, Aryl. Every touch, every moment.”
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