Page 23 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

"What do you know about Riven?"

She doesn’t falter. Her arms are folded, and that sharp, resolute stare meets mine like a challenge. "That depends on what you’re offering."

I raise a brow. "You want to negotiate with me now?"

"I want the document Noel stole—the blood pact. I’ve never seen it. I’ve seen the marriage contract, but not the full document. I want to know who sold me off to De Corsi."

I’m surprised. I thought she’d ask for her freedom—that would’ve been the obvious move. But maybe she knows this game too well. Maybe she already understands that I wouldn’t let her go so easily now—not when she’s tangled in this deeper than she realizes.

"Why does it matter now?"

She glares at me. "Because I can’t be at peace until I see it. I know it was my father. He wasn’t the most gentle man, but I need to see it. I need to know the condition. I need to know what I was worth to him."

My mind ticks, slow and sharp. Her words hit a nerve inside me—deeper than I want to admit. There's a gravity to them, a heaviness I can't ignore. She’s not asking for some symbolic closure—she’s making a move. And if she’s negotiating, it means she has information. I know this game. I invented it. She wouldn’t throw this into the conversation unless she was trying to tip the balance, unless she had leverage I hadn’t expected. But she’s not going to like what she sees. Not only that, she’s going to hate me even more than she does now.

"You really think seeing that ancient contract will give you peace?" I ask, voice edged.

"I think it’ll give me clarity," she snaps back. "And if I’m going to play your game, I need to know exactly what my father gave away."

I take a step closer, watching her carefully. "You want to trade intel for a contract that means nothing to you?"

"It means something to me. And you’ll get what you want in return. And trust me, it'll be worth it."

There’s silence between us, but it’s not empty. It’s charged, simmering. Neither of us says anything about the kiss, but we both know it’s on our minds.

I lean against the edge of her dresser, arms crossed. "You really think I’ll just hand it over because you asked nicely?"

"I think you’re desperate enough to hear what I know," she says coolly.

I narrow my eyes. "Try me."

"You try me first," she fires back. "Bring me the document, then we’ll talk."

I tilt my head. "You’ve got guts."

"And you’ve got leverage. But I’m not some pawn you can dangle on a string. You want loyalty, give me answers."

"You’re not loyal," I mutter.

"Then stop treating me like I should be."

I exhale slowly. Her defiance is a drug. Addictive. Dangerous.

"Fine," I say eventually. "I’ll bring you the document tomorrow."

She nods once, calm as ever. "I also want to be allowed to return to work at my studio."

That makes me laugh—low and sharp. "You’re not negotiating terms at a spa, Calla. You’re a prisoner, not on a retreat."

"I’m bored," she says simply. "Unless you want me picking locks, maybe give me something to do."

I smirk, despite myself. "You don’t get bored—you cause chaos."

"Maybe you should be grateful I haven’t started yet."

I step closer, pulled in despite every reason not to be. She’s not afraid of me—and damn if that doesn’t drive me insane. I can see the pulse ticking beneath her skin, steady and sure. There’s power in her calm, in her refusal to be intimidated.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, Calla," I say low.

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