Emma

In the dim light of a room with cold marble walls, she stood straight despite the fear that gripped her throat. Her hands barely trembled, pressed tightly against the fabric of her dress, while the heavy silence seemed to stretch on forever. She wasn't supposed to be here—torn from the sweetness of her days with the one she loved, she now found herself facing a man whose mere presence made the air itself tremble. The tyrant, whom some whispered as Tyler, advanced slowly toward her, his footsteps echoing like a countdown.

Tyler: "You finally understand," he said in a low, almost gentle voice, "that everything you are... now belongs to me."

She raised her chin, her eyes shining with a fragile but fierce determination.
Emma: "I will never be yours."

A smile stretched across the tyrant's lips, neither surprised nor offended—amused. He loved resistance, like a cruel game whose rules he alone wrote. Yet, in the shadows of his gaze, a darker glimmer persisted: it wasn't just power he desired, but her, precisely her, as if his indomitable will had become an obsession.

Deep down, despite her fear, one certainty still burned brightly: someone would come. Someone who would never give up. And as long as that hope lived, she would refuse to yield—even to a king who thought he had already broken her.