Chapter 2

My eyes fluttered open, my skull pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. A sharp ache spread from the back of my head down to my spine, and for a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. But the harsh white light glaring above me burned away any hope of that.

I groaned, shifting, only to feel the bite of ropes digging into my wrists. My ankles too. Great. Tied to a chair, a splitting headache, and a mouth like sandpaper. If this was hell, it was horribly underwhelming.

I blinked hard, trying to adjust. The light was fixed directly above, but most of the room was swallowed in darkness. I couldn’t see the walls, couldn’t tell how big it was. The shadows felt alive, like they were leaning closer, waiting.

“So this is what rock bottom feels like,” I muttered under my breath. “Could’ve at least bought me dinner first.”

A figure stirred at the edge of the light. My stomach dipped as he stepped forward—it was the same guy from the street. Tall, draped in that strange cloak, face partially hidden, expression unreadable.

“Ah,” he said, voice smooth and cold, like glass dragged over stone. “You’re finally awake.”

“Well, aren’t you observant,” I shot back, though my throat was dry. “Next, you’ll tell me water’s wet.”

He ignored the jab, turning instead to another cloaked man I hadn’t noticed until he moved in the shadows. “Go. Inform Sire that he’s awake.”

The second man left without a word, the heavy door creaking shut behind him.

That left me and Cloak Number One, staring at each other in silence. My heart was hammering, but I wasn’t about to show him fear. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was talk.

“Okay, let’s get this straight,” I began, my voice carrying louder than it needed to in the empty room. “Are you organ harvesters? Because, fair warning, my liver’s basically vodka at this point. Or maybe this is some weird cult thing? The robes, the dark-room aesthetic—very dramatic. Ten out of ten for effort. But if this is about money, you’ve got the wrong Griffin. My credit card is maxed out, and I owe more to my landlord than to society.”

The man’s jaw ticked.

“Oh wait,” I continued, smirking despite the pounding in my head. “Maybe it’s a sex thing. I mean, tying me up is usually step one, but you could’ve just asked.”

His patience snapped. “Can’t you just shut up?”

I leaned back in the chair as far as the ropes allowed, grinning at him. “I’ll shut up if you tell me what’s going on. Fair trade, yeah? You kidnap me, I get a plot summary.”

His glare could’ve burned holes through steel.

Before he could bite back, the sound of a door opening cut through the room. Footsteps followed—slow, deliberate, heavy with authority. The kind of sound that made the air itself tighten.

Cloak Number One immediately stepped aside, head bowing. His voice dropped to something like reverence. “Sire.”

And that’s when I saw him.

He didn’t just walk into the room—he owned it. His presence filled every corner, commanding without a word. His movements were fluid, precise, almost predatory, and I couldn’t help but track every step. But it wasn’t just the way he moved. His face was almost unreal, as if carved by some merciless sculptor. Ethereally handsome, sharp-boned yet elegant, the kind of beauty that both draws you in and warns you to stay away. His dark hair fell in a smooth wave, perfectly framing a face that was too flawless to belong to a man. And then there were his eyes—piercing gray, so pale they almost glowed against the shadows. Cold, assessing, like storm clouds right before they break.

They placed a chair across from me, and he sat, posture relaxed but gaze sharp enough to cut.

And then he looked at me.

Dark eyes, colder than stone yet burning with something I couldn’t name. They pinned me in place, made me forget my next snarky remark. For a long moment, it was just us, locked in a silence so thick I swore I could hear my own pulse racing in my ears.

I wanted to look away. I couldn’t. It was like those eyes saw too much, like they could peel back layers of me I didn’t want anyone to see.

Finally, his voice broke through the tension. Deep, smooth, and commanding. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Perth Otho.”

The name sent a ripple through me, though I couldn’t explain why. My gut clenched, my instincts screaming that nothing about this was ordinary.

“And you, Santa Griffin…” He leaned forward slightly, his lips curling in the faintest ghost of a smile. “…unless you can pay off your father’s debt, which he owes to me, you now belong to me.”

The words hit harder than the blow to my head. My stomach plummeted, twisting into a pit of dread. For the first time since this whole nightmare started, my wit failed me.

Belong to him? What could that possibly mean? I wondered to myself

I stared back, chest tight, the fear cold and sharp in my veins. Whatever game this was, whatever these men were, I just knew—deep down—that my life had just tipped into something I couldn’t control.

And nothing about it felt normal