Chapter 4: The Proposal of Necessity
Isadora had never felt such a profound sense of satisfaction as when she shut the door in Killian Blackmoor's face. She had expected him to leave, to retreat into the night like a wounded beast.
But Killian Blackmoor was nothing if not relentless.
As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft golds and pinks, she found him still there—standing on the grand steps of her family's estate, his coat dusted with morning dew, his expression unreadable.
The sight of him stirred something within her, something dark and dangerous. She had spent months trying to forget, trying to move forward. Yet here he was, standing on her doorstep, a ghost she had never truly exorcised.
A sharp knock echoed through the hall. The servants hesitated, their gazes flickering toward her for instruction.
She could ignore him. She could send a footman to turn him away.
Instead, with slow, measured steps, she walked to the door and pulled it open.
Killian met her gaze with those cold, piercing eyes, unreadable as ever.
"I assume you enjoy suffering," she said coolly. "Otherwise, you would have taken my answer and left."
"I am not leaving."
His voice was low, steady. As if he had already decided that this conversation would end on his terms.
Isadora's lips curled into a smirk. "You overestimate your influence, Your Grace. I have no obligation to hear you out."
His jaw tightened. "No, you do not." He exhaled sharply, glancing past her, as if searching for something. Or someone. "But you will want to."
A flicker of unease danced down her spine. She masked it with practiced indifference. "Then speak."
Killian stepped past the threshold, moving into the dimly lit entryway. His presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
He removed his gloves with slow precision before finally meeting her gaze. "I had no choice."
A cold laugh escaped her. "You had every choice, Killian."
His expression did not waver. "No. I didn't."
She crossed her arms. "Then tell me. Tell me what was so grave, so impossible, that you had no choice but to ruin me before the entire kingdom."
His silence was answer enough.
Isadora shook her head, disgust curling in her stomach. "So this is what you do now? Appear after months of silence, demand my patience, my understanding, without offering so much as an ounce of truth?"
"I came to offer you protection."
The words sent a sharp chill through her. "Protection?" she repeated, a bitter edge to her voice. "From what?"
Killian hesitated. It was brief, nearly imperceptible, but she caught it. He was hiding something.
"Marry me," he said. "And I will ensure no harm comes to you."
She stared at him.
Then she laughed.
It was a soft, hollow sound, one that carried no amusement. "Marry you?" she repeated. "Is this some sort of cruel jest?"
"It is a necessity." His voice was void of emotion. "We both know what happens to noblewomen left discarded. If you remain unwed, you will be vulnerable. I offer security."
"You offer a prison."
His jaw clenched. "I offer you a future."
"A future with a man who abandoned me?"
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I had no choice."
"Then what a convenient pattern that seems to be for you," she bit out. "No choice. No explanation. And now, no love."
He exhaled sharply. "Love has nothing to do with it."
That hurt more than it should have. More than she would ever admit.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and thick with unspoken words.
Then she took a step forward, standing so close she could see the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. "I would rather burn."
His throat bobbed. He had expected her anger, but he had not expected the sheer finality in her voice.
"Isadora—"
She held up a hand. "No. I do not care what forces held your hand at the altar, nor do I care what obligations you claim prevented you from coming to me. You made your decision, Killian. Now I have made mine."
She turned on her heel, her heart hammering against her ribs as she walked away. But before she could disappear down the hall, he spoke again.
"I will not let anything happen to you."
She did not turn back.
"If you truly wish to protect me," she said softly, "you will leave."
The silence stretched between them, thick with unresolved tension.
Then, finally, she heard his footsteps retreat toward the door.
It was over.
Or so she thought.
That night, the air was heavy with the promise of rain. The wind whispered against the stone walls of the manor, rustling the curtains in her chamber.
She sat by the window, staring out into the darkness, her thoughts a tangled mess of anger and exhaustion.
Then—
A flicker of movement.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. But no. A shadow shifted just beyond the tree line.
Her breath caught.
She rose slowly, pressing a hand against the cool glass. The figure remained motionless, watching.
A chill curled down her spine.
Someone was there.
Watching her.
She stepped back from the window, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced. Had Killian been telling the truth? Had he known something she didn't?
The letter. The warning she had dismissed weeks ago.
You are not safe.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, and when she dared look outside again—
The shadow was gone.