"This has to be a nightmare."
My thoughts were in shambles—torn between screaming my lungs out or trying to make sense of the chaos unraveling before me.
But no sound escaped. My mouth was sealed tight with a strip of industrial tape, stifling both my rage and desperation. I kept shouting through the gag, hoping Calystron or one of the guards would somehow understand me—but it was useless.
Idiots!
What did they trade their honor for? A paycheck? How long have they been stabbing me in the back—since I left, or from the moment I returned?
I was barely back in Manila for a few weeks, pulled in only because of what happened to my father. They were already here when I arrived, so what the hell happened?
Even the house staff?
Was Caeloura part of this scheme too? Probably. If she weren't, she'd be in ropes like me by now.
You dare lay a hand on me?!
Did Knox offer them twice as much? Triple? I could outbid him a hundredfold! But no—I only reward loyalty, not treachery.
Once I break free, I swear—I'll bring every last one of you down.
You'll rot in cells so dark you'll forget what daylight feels like!
Calystron shoved me into a room washed in deep crimson. I recognized it instantly. Though I'd only been here a few times, this was always the place they made me sleep.
My feet refused to move, rooted in rebellion at the doorway.
"Ma'am... please," Calystron said softly.
I didn't budge. He thought I'd pity him? That their fake politeness would disarm me? Even Vaelricon barely gestured toward the room as if I were some guest in a hotel, not a hostage in my own home!
Then came the force. Someone pushed me hard—I stumbled into the room and hit the floor hard.
"Ngh—!" The gag mangled the sound of my cry.
Pain flared through my ankle. My stiletto had twisted violently—possibly fractured something.
I shut my eyes tight, crumpled on the floor. My wrists were bound behind me, the ropes at my ankles so tight that the skin was flushing red and sore. I wanted to rub the pain away, but I was tied too tight to move.
I could hear them whispering.
Muttered curses. Vaelricon was clearly blaming someone. Panic was building. Accusations were already being tossed around.
I was sweating despite the cool air, my body shaking in both pain and fury.
Then—silence.
Knox.
I heard his voice before I saw him. The room split in stillness when he entered. Every guard froze, aligning like statues along the doorframe. He stared at me, sprawled and broken, and the humiliation burned through my veins like acid.
How did I end up like this?
Why was he the one looking down at me, like a judge at my trial?
He shrugged off his coat. His shirt, crisp and white, had its sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing tensed forearms. Still dressed in black slacks and polished shoes, he knelt slowly before me. His stare was ablaze—definitely anger. I glared back with equal fire. I didn't care how powerless I looked.
His eyes were predatory—obsidian depths that dared you to look further but offered no warmth. His sharp jaw, the thick lashes, those furrowed brows—he was too perfect for someone so heartless.
I couldn't remember the last time I looked this close. Or this long.
I never liked looking at him.
Suddenly, a coarse hand gripped my ankle and I recoiled in disgust. Every nerve in me flared.
He let go and rose, his expression turning frost-cold.
"Fetch Caeloura," he ordered without looking back.
One of the guards scurried away.
Knox dragged a hand through his hair, as if the situation had finally cracked into his skull.
I had no strength left, but I hurled every muffled curse I could. He didn't flinch. His expression didn't even waver. His lips were pressed thin, and a lock of hair fell perfectly near his temple. Arrogant bastard.
My voice was hoarse, cheeks flushed, and I knew he didn't understand a word—but I didn't stop. I wouldn't give him the silence he wanted.
Then she appeared.
"You called, sir?" Caeloura said, calm as ever.
No surprise. No guilt. Just… service.
You traitorous witch!
You fell for it too, didn't you? Did he buy your dignity? Your loyalty?
Knox gave her a look.
"Take off her shoes."
He leaned against the wooden cabinet, arms crossed, watching with disinterest as Caeloura approached me.
I twisted my legs away. Yes, I wanted the damned shoes off, but she was the last person I wanted touching me. She represented every betrayal I never saw coming.
"Please, Ma'am… don't move," she whispered, as if we were still playing our old roles.
But I wouldn't stop.
Not for her.
Not for him.
Not until someone truly listened.
Her hands trembled, worn out and stiff, yet they still managed to tug off my heels. I couldn't stop her—not when my limbs were tied and my strength nearly gone.
I thrashed too much on the cold floor, and the hem of my dress crept up to my thighs. My sharp glare swept over the silent guards pretending not to see. They stood like statues near the door, as if guilt couldn't touch them.
I groaned, fury simmering beneath my breath. Damn it. My crimson undergarments must be exposed by now. I knew I was right when—
"Fix her dress, Caeloura," Kaelvynox commanded in a voice like thunder.
She tugged the fabric down. I was still panting from the struggle when she finished.
"It's done, Sir," she announced, presenting my broken shoes like some twisted trophy.
"Bring her slippers," he said without emotion.
I felt drained—like my soul was unraveling—but I refused to bow. I stared him down, even if every part of me screamed for rest.
Just as I geared up to hurl another storm of curses at him, a ringtone cut through the tension. My heart leapt—was that my phone?
But no, it was Knox's. He slid a sleek, dark replica of my own phone from his pocket, answering with a daggered glare aimed at me.
He straightened and turned to leave. I caught the tail end of his words:
"I'm sorry, Zeyllithra. I'll fix this. I promise."
Then the door shut behind him. He gave a signal, and the guards vanished with Caeloura, sealing the room in silence.
I began mumbling for help, again and again, voice smothered by the tape. I knew no one would hear. Still, I tried—until my exhaustion defeated even desperation.
I could walk to the bed. I could reach the balcony. But the fall was long—straight to the jagged shore. Even if I lived, I'd break more than just bones. And I wasn't trained to sail. If I ever escaped, the jet ski's my only hope. I don't know how to steer a yacht. A chopper? Forget it.
Lost in thought and fatigue, I passed out on the floor.
I woke to a soft knock. The door creaked open and Caeloura stepped in with a tray. She froze seeing me still sprawled like a discarded doll.
She put the tray down and approached to help me up.
I let her—for a second—before lashing out again, strength returning like fire to frostbitten limbs.
"Apologies, Ma'am," she whispered.
None of this made sense. Not yet. But ranting would waste the strength I had left. I couldn't burn out. Not now. Not here.
"Eat," she said gently.
She peeled the tape from my lips. My mouth stung as cold air brushed over it.
"Why did you do this to me?"
"I'm sorry," she said again, unable to meet my eyes.
Sorry? What was I supposed to do with sorry?
"How much did he pay you? Did he offer more than I did? You should've told me, Caeloura. I could've given you three times the amount."
She responded with silence, like the wind—there, but untouchable.
She picked up the spoon and fork, scooped some of the hot meal, and moved to feed me.
I turned away. I was starving, yes—but I would not be fed by betrayal.
"You'll get hungry," she murmured.
"Then let me rot! Leave! I don't want traitors near me."
She gently set down the spoon and left, closing the door behind her.
I stared at it like my hatred could burn it to ash. My stomach was already whining, and the aroma of her cooking tortured me like a cruel memory.
I dragged myself to the bed. My ankles were still tied, but loose enough to allow a shuffle. I checked the balcony. It was real. A fall from here would be a cruel end. My eyes scanned the sand below—too far.
Even though I kept claiming I'd rather die, I wasn't ready for that kind of pain.
"Ugh..."
I slumped onto the mattress. My stomach growled. The clock above the door read nearly three in the afternoon.
Zeyllithra. That was her name. His fiancée.
What's he doing now? Back in the city? But I never heard the chopper leave. Don't tell me… he took the yacht.
I scrambled onto the bed, peeking past the balcony railing to the dock. The yacht was still there.
So where the hell is he?
Breaking off the engagement?
Postponing it?
Or just screwing around while I starve?
Pride doesn't fill the stomach. That truth hit me hard as I slowly dragged myself toward the table, surrendering to the mouthwatering scent that clung to the room like a ghost. The food was lukewarm now, but the aroma still whispered promises of flavor. Even the glass of violet-tinted juice looked heavenly. I couldn't believe I was admiring a drink.
With my wrists still bound, I had no choice. I bent down and awkwardly tried to scoop soup with my mouth, like a desperate beast. Then I nudged some rice toward me with my chin, trying to eat like a forsaken stray. It was humiliating. Impossible.
"This is pathetic," I spat, nearly choking. "Help!"
My voice cracked. Hunger clawed at my insides, thirst seared my throat. I was drained, hollow. This is how I die? Starving like a forgotten prisoner? What kind of cruel irony is that?
"Help! Help me!" I screamed again, scrambling toward the door.
And just like that—it opened.
Vaelricon stood there like nothing was wrong.
"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked, as if I hadn't just been begging to be fed.
My eyes narrowed. The duct tape was gone, which meant I could finally unleash my rage.
"You people are shameless. Tell me—how much did Kaelvynox pay you to betray me?"
He scratched the back of his head and looked like he was about to shut the door again.
"No, wait!" I cried, voice wobbling. "Please, Vaelricon. I'm starving. I'm dying of thirst."
He gave me a once-over, uncertain. I tried a weak smile.
"Just a little help. Just water. Please."
He peeked into the hallway, nervous. That's when the deep voice arrived—cool and venom-smooth:
"What's the matter now?"
I groaned inside. Great. Him. For a moment I had actually hoped he left for Celistrad—Manila. That would've given me a better shot at escape.
Kaelvynox strode into the room like he owned gravity, in a casual white shirt and dark shorts that looked far too clean for someone so twisted. His presence knocked the air from my lungs. He looked infuriatingly perfect, while I looked like a disaster dragged across the floor.
My eyes locked on his body—every contour of it, from the low dip of his chest to the arrogant line of his shoulders. He looked like a sculpture cursed with life.
"I—um—well," I stammered. What the hell was I even trying to say? "I just need food. And something to drink."
His gaze sharpened. I pulled on a soft smile.
"I'll collapse if I don't eat something. I was only going to ask Vaelricon to help me... I know you're busy."
Sweet tone: activated.
He tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Summon Caeloura," he said to Vaelricon.
My fake smile vanished. Why her again?
"I need food now," I said, my voice tightening.
Vaelricon left. I pouted, stubborn as ever.
"It won't take long—I'll just eat a little. And drink. I'm dying of thirst, Knox," I said, drawing out his name.
He exhaled deeply just as Caeloura walked in, looking pleased, like she'd won something.
"I'll feed you, Zaryn," she said sweetly.
I shot Knox a desperate look, but he turned away, talking quietly with Vaelricon before closing the door behind them.
I glared at the air where he'd been. Damn him.
Fine. I gave in. Let her feed me.
But every bite fueled my rage. I began planning little rebellions—subtle, petty, satisfying. When she offered another spoonful, I jerked away so the rice spilled.
She assumed it was her mistake. Good.
"Caeloura, please. Let me go," I whispered.
She didn't respond.
"Please. Have mercy. My father's already in prison. Our company is collapsing. People will lose everything. Homes. Futures. Please, help me."
Still, nothing.
She raised another spoon. I tilted, lunged—and bit her wrist.
Not hard enough to maim, just enough to mean it.
"Aw! Help!" she yelped.
The door slammed open. Guards stormed in. Kaelvynox followed, face dark and unreadable.
The guards pulled Caeloura away. I met his stare head-on, trembling with fury.
"I didn't even bite that hard!" I cried. "I'm angry! You people betrayed me! You betrayed my family! How could you? Do you have no honor?"
My voice cracked as tears threatened to fall. I still couldn't believe it. These people had served my family for years—and for what? A bag of silver?
Kaelvynox muttered instructions, and the guards filed out, increasing the security around the room. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, and stars flickered into view.
I pressed my head against the glass window, staring into the nothing.
What was he planning?
Was this revenge?
A ransom scheme?
Does he intend to drain Xavrenith's wealth dry?
The thoughts swirled—until the door creaked again.
I tensed.
If it was Caeloura, I swear I would scream.
The light switched on, stabbing my eyes. I squinted.
Knox.
He walked in, carrying a tray. He placed it on the table and sat down.
I looked at him, exhausted, probably looking like hell while he... didn't.
"Why not just send a guard to bring the food?" I asked, voice hoarse. "If Caeloura doesn't want to?"
His lips quirked into a smirk. That smirk.
Gods, he was infuriating.
And damn him for looking so good while doing it.
"Oh? Still under the illusion you're calling the shots?" he said, one brow cocked like a challenge.
I froze. My gaze held his—unwavering. But the smirk carved into his lips was already fading, giving way to something colder. Sharper.
"What do you really want from all this?" I asked, voice tightening as my eyes narrowed.
He stared back, unmoving. Then, as if the silence itself demanded breath, he finally sighed.
"I should be asking you that," he said, his tone like smoke curling in a quiet room. "Weren't you the one who started this game?"
"What?" My voice trembled, but it carried fire. "You think I planned this first? If I did, none of this would've gone so wrong."
I pushed off the wall and stepped toward him, the pulse in my throat threatening to explode. I wanted to scream. To tear into him with every bitter word that had burned inside me for days. But he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. As if none of this touched him.
Then, he laughed. A soft, dangerous sound. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip like I was nothing but a bad joke.
I nearly lunged at him.
But I hesitated—because if I did, I knew I'd be the one to break first. His body was a fortress I couldn't storm.
"Maybe now's a good time to reflect, Miss Velmireaux," he said, voice slick with poison. "Was everything you did really worth it?"
"That's not—!" I started to yell, but my breath caught as he stood.
He didn't speak.
He just looked at me.
And that look? It nearly crushed me.
There was something violent behind his stillness, something that suggested he was seconds from exploding. His fists were clenched tight enough to whiten his knuckles.
I stumbled back.
"Forget it," I spat. "Men like you don't want answers. You want control. You speak like your voice is divine law, like your pain is the only pain that counts. Why'd you even bother showing up? I don't need your pity."
"I'm not here to pity you," he replied.
Before I could step away, his hand shot out and caught my wrist.
I gasped. My heart pounded like war drums. That's when I saw it—the glint of a blade.
"No—don't!" I shouted, struggling, but he pulled me closer until every inch of him pressed against me.
His thigh brushed my palm, his chest pinned my elbow, and his breath fanned over my hair like wildfire. I could feel his pulse surging where he gripped me—tight, firm, unrelenting.
"Let go! Someone help me!" I yelled as the burning in my wrist intensified. I thought he was cutting me.
But then—snap.
The ropes fell.
He stepped back.
"You can eat on your own now," he said, his voice colder than any steel in that room.
Then he walked out, the door sealing shut behind him.
And I was left there. Free, but furious.