Chapter 12 · Gilded Traps

"Smile, Alice. You're engaged, remember?"

Caine’s hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. He didn't just hold me—he owned the air between us, hauling me flush against his chest. He smelled of expensive cologne and arrogance. The smell of a man who thought he’d already won.

"Get your hands off me," I hissed.

I tried to wrench my arm back. He just tightened his grip, fingers digging into my skin.

"Not in front of the guests," he whispered, lips brushing my ear. "Play the blushing bride, or I'll make sure your little 'rebellion' ends with a public execution. Deal?"

I looked at the ballroom. Gold leaf. Crystal chandeliers. A hundred nobles watching us with hungry eyes. They didn't see a captive. They saw a villainess finally brought to heel.

Then, a hum.

My sensing talent spiked. It wasn't a physical blow—it was a puppet spell. A thin, invisible thread of mana snaking toward my mind, trying to latch on. Caine wasn't just holding my arm; he was trying to override my will.

*Nice try, bastard.*

I didn't fight the thread.