Behind Velvet Doors: 7. Breaking Point

Morning light slanted across the academy’s stone courtyard, casting long, sharp shadows. Yet within Evangeline’s chest, the world still thrummed in the muffled pulse of last night — the taste of forbidden skin, the muffled gasp against her lips, the dangerous way the library door had been left just barely closed.

She had crossed the line.

And so had Isobel.

At breakfast, the clink of cutlery against porcelain seemed far too loud. Evangeline sat at the head of the staff table, spine straight, gaze measured. Across the hall, Isobel was seated among her peers — uniform immaculate, hair swept up, posture flawless. Only the faintest quirk in her lips betrayed anything unusual. And Evangeline caught it. That tiny, private smirk.

Every moment, Evangeline’s mind replayed it — her hands tangling in Isobel's hair, the heat of her thigh pressed between the girl’s knees, the muffled sound of control slipping away. She forced herself to sip her tea, to appear indifferent,