Provocative Dark Romance: The Tug at Midnight

The hallway glowed in that faint, silvery haze the Château seemed to keep hidden for nights like this velvet drapes drawn just enough for moonlight to slip through, spilling soft over the marble floor.

She moved slowly, deliberately, the click of her heels almost inaudible on the marble. Her silk robe clung and swayed in a rhythm she didn’t rush, each step a quiet declaration that she belonged here. 

The air smelled faintly of jasmine and smoke, the kind of scent that lingers when secrets have been told but not confessed. From the shadows at the edge of the corridor, a hand darted out gentle but insistent catching her by the wrist. Not enough to hurt, just enough to stop her.

She turned, eyes unhurried, lips curved in something that was not quite a smile.

 “Careful,” she murmured, voice soft as the midnight light, “you might not want to know where I was going.” The hand loosened, but didn’t let go.

Somewhere far below, in the quiet of the garden, the sound of a single glass breaking floated up like a signal neither of them acknowledged.

 I am yours, in ways I haven’t said out loud x