The afternoon sun was a lie.
It poured golden, indifferent light over the city, glinting off car windows and skyscrapers.
A day for normal people with normal problems.
I walked through it, a ghost, the chill from Room 721 still clinging to my bones.
Each step was an effort. My mind was a trapped thing, scrabbling for purchase.
His wallet. The carpet. The silence.
The memory replayed, not as a thought, but as a physical echo.
The weight of the leather in my hand.
The stark, frozen calm on Falon Gray's face.
The sheer, terrifying absence of sound after the door clicked shut behind me.
A bus roared by, and I flinched, my heart lurching against my ribs.
The noise was a violation. The sunlight was an interrogation.
I was a secret walking in the open, and every corner felt like an ambush.
I picked up my pace, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the pavement.
The Onyx Club wasn't a sanctuary, but it was the only cage I had, and for the first time, its familiar shadows promised a desperate kind of shelter.
The grand facade finally loomed ahead.
I ducked into the alley leading to the service entrance, the sunlight vanishing as if cut by a knife. The air grew cold and still. Almost there.
The service entrance came into view.
The door hissed shut behind me, severing the last thread to the outside world.
The air changed. It was now filtered, scentless, and cold, carrying the faint, sterile notes of polished marble and bleach.
I moved through the opulent corridors, a ghost in the mouseum of my own captivity.
The gilded mirrors lining the hallway didn't feel glamorous anymore; they felt like a hundred accusing eyes, each one reflecting a different version of my fear.
The silence here wasn't peaceful; it was the silence of held breath, of secrets kept behind soundproofed doors.
I didn't make it to my room.
"Riley."
Danny's voice. A low, strained command from the common room doorway.
I froze, my hand still pressed against the cool wall.
I drew a slow, silent breath, pulling a fake mask over my face before I turned.
He stood there, his broad shoulders blocking the light. The usual softness in his hazel eyes was gone, replaced by a hard, worried intensity.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Finn was looking for you. After the Volkan call, you just... vanished."
The air grew thick. The secret was a scream in my throat, begging to be let out. I saw him. I saw the Alpha. I have a weapon and I'm terrified of it. I could unburden myself onto his solid, dependable shoulders. For one second, I wanted to.
But then I saw Anya's hopeful face in my mind. I saw Nonna's quiet kitchen. I saw Billy's smile.
Telling him doesn't share the weight. It passes him a death sentence.
I let my shoulders slump, not in defeat, but in performance. I injected a well-practiced weariness into my voice.
"It was Volkan," I said, the lie smooth as silk now, polished by terror.
"He made me another one of his... offers. A fake contract. I just... I needed air after. I'm tired, Danny. I'm so tired of being a thing on their menu."
I saw the shift in his face. The protective anger rose, eclipsing his suspicion.
He believed me. He believed the lie because the exhaustion behind it was real.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Okay. Okay. I'll handle Finn. Just... next time, take me with you. That's my job."
Job. The word echoed in the silent, screaming space between my truth and his.
I just nodded, the good little slave, and continued my walk. The performance was over. Now, I could fall apart.
I was just steps from my door, my hand reaching for the handle, when another voice stopped me cold.
"Miss Riley."
It was a senior security guard. His presence here, in the residential wing, was unusual. His face was neutral, but his eyes were alert.
"Finn's orders," he said, his voice flat. "I was assigned to perform a security sweep. It's a standard procedure after high-profile events. I need to check your room, ma'am."
My heart stopped. My room. Where my private phone was. Where the photo of Billy was hidden. Where the cash from the "old man" was stashed. Where I kept all my secrets.
This isn't random. He found me. He knows. He sent them to search my things.
I forced a calm I didn't feel. "Of course. Is there a problem?"
"Like I said. Standard." He gestured for me to open the door.
My hand was steady as I turned the knob, a miracle in itself. I stepped inside, my mind racing.
My room was a study in contradictions—the only place where the Jewel and the prisoner coexisted.
It was smaller than most would guess, with a single window that didn't open.
The bed was neatly made, the dark silk duvet a stark contrast to the pale grey walls.
A vanity held my stage makeup, organized with military precision, next to a simple wooden jewelry box that held my real treasures.
It was a space that was both luxurious and lifeless, a beautiful inner-cell within the larger one.
He moved past me, his gaze sweeping the room.
He didn't rummage. He was looking for something specific.
He paused by my nightstand, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the small, locked box beneath it.
My breath hitched. He knows?.
His gaze lifted to mine, flat and impersonal. He didn't touch it. He just nodded. "All clear."
He left without another word, his heavy footsteps fading down the hall.
I stood there, the door still open, my body cold. Standard procedure.
The words were a joke. They were looking for something. They were testing me. Watching me.
The fragile sense of safety I'd felt moments before shattered completely.
The walls of my cage weren't just a prison; they were alive, and they were watching.
I finally pushed the door shut, the click of the lock a hollow comfort.
I slid down the back of the door, the strength draining from my legs, and crumpled onto the floor.
The cool wood was a balm against my feverish skin.
Tremors wracked my body, the delayed shock of it all. I drew my knees to my chest, making myself small.
His eyes. That horrifying, frozen calm.
A sob clawed its way up my throat, but I choked it back. Slaves don't get the luxury of noisy breakdowns. Our grief must be silent.
My gaze fell on the small, locked box under my bed. My sanctuary. I crawled to it, my hands shaking as I worked the combination.
Inside, nestled beside the stack of cash, was a photo.
It was us.
Billy, age six, and me, squished into a photo booth. His gap-toothed smile was a beacon.
My arm was wrapped around him, my face pressed against his hair, my own smile… real.
Flashback
The scent of candy apples and diesel fuel. Billy was on my shoulders, his small hands gripping my hair.
"Again, Mom! Again!"
I collapsed onto a bench, pulling him into my lap, both of us breathless and glowing. He looked up at me, his warm brown eyes serious.
"This is the best day ever."
I kissed his forehead, my heart so full it ached.
"This is just the beginning, my love. I promise you. Just the beginning."
The memory was a physical pain, so beautiful it felt like it was tearing me in two.
That was the future I was fighting for.
I traced Billy's face in the photo. The trembling in my hands began to slow. The cold fear in my chest warmed, hardening into something new. Something solid.
This is my world. Right here. Everything else is just noise. I will bury what I saw so deep it can never touch him.
I placed the photo back in the box, my movements now deliberate, calm.
I had made my decision. I would be silent. I would be small. I would be nothing, so that he could be everything.
The lock on the box clicked shut, sealing my vow. Silence. Safety.
Then, my personal phone buzzed on the floor beside me.
Danny.
I tapped the screen, a small, weary smile touching my lips.
The message loaded.
[System Alert] Storm detected from Northern Territories. Secure your position and Await instructions.`
My blood turned to ice. Northern Territories. The heart of Gray pack lands. Secure your position. Await instruction. It was a command. A threat. He was telling me to stand down.
A second text, seconds later.
`Damn it. Ignore that. My new secure comms app is in beta. It's spamming my contacts list with dummy alerts. Deleting it now. Get some sleep.`
A shuddering breath ripped from my lungs. A glitch. Just a glitch.
I put the phone down. I stood up. I told myself to breathe.
But the words of the first message were etched on the back of my eyes.
Secure your position.
It didn't matter that it was a glitch.
My mind, now a weapon turned against itself, had already accepted the command.
The fear was the weapon.
And I was already bleeding.