Twisted Flame

[AUTHOR'S NOTE 🔥]

Welcome to *Twisted Flame* 🖤

This is a dark, steamy, emotionally twisted love story about cults, survival, blood, betrayal—and the kind of man who would burn the world just to love her.

If you like spicy, steamy romance + morally gray obsession... you’re home.

Comment 👑 if you're ready to fall in love with Rael. He bites.

— SANNE (The pen that bleeds in silk💎)

---Now let’s begin...

Rael’s POV

“You don’t break a girl like her with violence. You do it with silence…”

Her voice was softer than I remembered. Not the way it used to echo through stone walls—full of rebellion and rage.

Now?

She speaks like she's trying not to exist.

I sit across from her in the therapist’s room. Clinical. Sterile. White walls pretending to comfort.

She thinks she’s safe here.

She thinks she’s free.

Cute.

She has no idea that her past didn’t just follow her here. It walked in first, sat down, and waited patiently for her to return.

"Rael," she murmurs, reading the name on the file, her voice calm but clipped. Her eyes lift to mine—just once, like she's afraid of what she'll see. "That’s… an unusual name."

I offer a slow smile, one that doesn’t touch my eyes. My voice is smooth, amused. "It’s not mine."

"I’m sorry?" she blinks, confusion clouding her gaze. She leans forward slightly, pen paused in her hand.

"Names are illusions," I say, my tone casual, but each word laced with weight. I lock eyes with her. "Yours too, Sera."

She freezes.

Her spine stiffens just enough for me to notice. The way her fingers twitch slightly against the clipboard. She doesn’t realize it, but her breathing has changed.

Good.

"How do you know my name?" she asks carefully, her voice a notch quieter now. She's trying to sound composed, but there's a tremor under the surface.

"I read people," I reply, shrugging slightly as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"You read my file?" she presses, suspicion now peeking through her gentle facade.

I lean in, resting my elbows on my knees, eyes never leaving hers. My voice drops to something darker, intimate. "I don’t need to."

There it is—fear.

Not obvious. Not loud.

But I catch it in her eyes.

That flicker of uncertainty.

Like a candle guttering in the dark.

"Why are you here, Rael?" she asks, trying to reroute the session, regain control. Her tone is firmer now, but I hear the crack.

"You mean… what did I do to end up here?" I echo her question with a soft chuckle, tilting my head.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink.

She just waits—professional mask back in place.

But it’s too late. I already slipped under it.

"Let’s just say I have a history with trust," I say, voice low, emotionless. "And people who betray it."

Her lips part, slightly. Her eyes soften—sympathy, maybe. Or fear. It’s always hard to tell with her. "That sounds… painful," she whispers, unsure whether she’s poking a wound or falling into one.

I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then I speak, barely above a murmur. "Only for the ones who lie."

She draws back slightly. Just an inch. But I see it.

This is the moment a normal therapist would scribble something on their notepad. Redirect. Offer comfort. But she doesn’t.

Because deep down…

She knows me.

Even if her mind doesn’t remember—her soul does.

And I’m going to drag every piece of that memory back to the surface.

Even if it breaks her.

Especially if it breaks her.