Anna
She didn't sleep.
Even hours later, after the library's door clicked shut behind him, Anna lay awake in the cold bedroom that wasn't hers, staring at the ceiling, the words echoing like ghosts.
"Then I'll wait until you think you did."
That wasn't power. That was poison. A slow, deliberate unraveling. He didn't want her body. Not just that. He wanted the fracture—the moment she forgot the difference between surrender and survival.
And he was getting closer.
Anna sat up in bed and pulled the sheets tighter around her, as if they could shield her from the truth she refused to name: that something inside her responded to him. Not in love. Not in lust. But in recognition. Like one broken thing calling to another in the dark.
Close enough to choose me.
She hated that part the most. That he spoke those words like a promise. Like a prophecy.
Like he believed them.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded across the room. The floor was chilled, the windows dark, the moon casting long silver lines across the carpet. Somewhere in this fortress of quiet guards and velvet traps, Ivan Astra slept. Or didn't. He didn't seem like a man who rested.
She walked to the mirror.
Stared at herself.
Eyes too sharp. Mouth too tight. A stranger in her own reflection.
"Don't forget," she whispered to the glass. "Don't fall asleep in the lie."
But the lie was seductive.
The days passed slower now, bleeding into one another. Each one more dangerous in its calm. Ivan didn't touch her. He didn't need to. He watched her like he was building her from the inside out—removing bricks, replacing them with silence, suggestion, and slow inches of trust.
And she… she kept pretending.
That was her only weapon now. Pretending to bend while staying unbroken beneath it all.
Until tonight.
She was going to test the lock.
Literally.
Her fingers curled around the thin hairpin she'd hidden in the hem of her robe. She'd found it in one of the bathrooms, left behind or missed during a cleaning. That tiny sliver of metal felt heavier than gold now.
The guard outside her door would be still. He always was around this time. She'd studied his routine—ten-minute phone call, always on the hour. Probably some girlfriend he was too distracted by to notice a girl slipping quietly into the hallway.
Anna slipped to the door. Quiet. Controlled.
One breath.
Two.
She turned the knob slowly, silently.
It was unlocked.
Her heart stuttered. Why?
No alarms. No creaks.
She stepped into the hallway, bare feet soundless against the floor.
And then—
"Going somewhere?"
She froze.
Ivan.
He stepped from the shadows at the end of the corridor, a book in one hand, sleeves pushed up, that same unbothered calm coating his voice.
Her fingers tightened around the hidden pin in her robe.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, steady.
"So you went exploring?"
"I thought the door was locked."
He took a step closer. "It usually is."
"So why wasn't it tonight?"
Ivan didn't answer. He only stared, unreadable.
Then, he said quietly, "Because I wanted to see what you'd do with freedom when no one was watching."
Anna's blood turned to ice.
"You left it open on purpose."
He nodded once. "You're not a prisoner, Anna. Not unless you choose to be."
"You're manipulating me."
"Am I?" He took another step, slower now. "Or are you just afraid that the longer you stay, the more you'll stop wanting to leave?"
She backed up, just one step. "I won't. I never will."
Ivan stopped, tilting his head like he didn't believe her.
"Then go."
The challenge landed between them like a live wire.
Anna blinked. "What?"
"Go," he said. "Right now. No guards. No doors. No tricks."
She stared at him. Frozen.
Her feet didn't move.
He smiled, dark and slow. "See?"
Anna wanted to scream. To run. To throw the pin in his face and claw her way out of this twisted game.
But she did none of that.
Instead, she turned and walked back into her room.
And this time, when the door clicked shut, she knew it was locked.
But not by him.
By her.