CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7

ADRIEN

The knock came mid-morning. A single, sharp rap on the door.

I didn’t bother answering. Just rolled over in bed, face pressed to the silk pillow, my body curled in the tangle of sheets. I hadn’t really slept. Not after the dream—or the memory. Whatever the hell it was.

Another knock. Then the door opened without waiting.

“Package for you,” came Damon’s voice.

I groaned. “What, no breakfast in bed? What is this, prison?”

He tossed a box onto the foot of the bed. “Would you like a bell too, princess?”

I dragged myself up slowly, not bothering to cover my bare chest. “Only if you’ll crawl in on your knees when I ring it.”

Damon muttered something under his breath that sounded like why does he talk so much and left, slamming the door behind him.

Typical.

I turned to the package.

It was sleek. Unmarked. Suspicious as hell.

I peeled it open. Inside: two phones. Brand new. Latest models. Already charged, already powered on. Clean interface. No instructions. Just…there.

Luca’s idea of a gift.

And I wasn’t stupid. Tapped. Tracked. Probably even recording my breath.

Still. I’d begged for connection, and the devil had delivered.

“Thanks, Daddy Moretti,” I muttered, twisting one of the phones in my hand.

I kept one. Hid the other under a floorboard I’d pried up two days ago. This place was old in some parts, new in others. Rich men’s homes always had a skeleton or two in the woodwork.

I opened a blank app—on the surface, a music player. But I’d written it myself years ago. Touch the corners in a pattern and it opened a shell. A message prompt.

ADR: u alive?

Sent to: RAY//BURN

I stared at the screen. Waited.

Nothing.

My jaw tightened. I typed again.

ADR: plz just one ping. Anything.

Still nothing.

I powered the screen off.

Boredom crept in like rot. I wandered the halls in silk, the scent of Luca’s cologne clinging to the walls like a ghost. Woodsy, crisp, expensive. It made me sick how easily I recognized it now.

The mansion was a fortress. Armed men. Unmarked doors. Eyes that followed every step. 

I gave them a show. Winks. Smirks. I even moaned once walking past a particularly stiff guard just to watch him flinch.

They wanted fear. I gave them spectacle.

But inside? Inside I was spiraling. Fracturing.

I couldn’t let anyone see it. Not them. Not Luca.

Especially not Luca.

That night, the silence was unbearable. I tried music. Books. Anything. But the walls pressed in like they knew something I didn’t.

So I laid back, arms spread wide, letting the dark take me.

And then—

Dark water. Screams. My name.

A flash of light.

A gunshot.

And blood.

So much blood.

I jerked awake, gasping, drenched in sweat. My throat raw from a scream I didn’t remember letting out. My pulse slammed through me like a war drum.

But I didn’t cry.

I never cry.

My hand trembled as I reached for the phone again.

Still no reply.

I stared at the message. My vision blurred, burned.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Just tell me you saw this…”

The next morning, I was silk-clad and smiling.

The maid blinked at me when she walked in.

“Good morning,” I said, voice chipper. “How’s the weather outside my gilded cage?”

She didn’t answer. Just set down the tray. Pancakes. Eggs. Fruit carved into shapes like it mattered.

I grinned. “You know, if you’d like to poison me, I’d recommend starting with the coffee. I’ll never say no to coffee.”

Still silent.

I leaned back against the chair, letting the robe slide slightly down my shoulder. “You’re not much for conversation, are you?”

“Do you require anything else, sir?” she said quietly.

“Sir,” I repeated. “Wow. So formal. Makes me feel important.”

She started to leave.

“Wait.”

She froze.

“Can I get a few books?” I asked. “Preferably something that doesn’t end in tragedy. Unless it’s about rich men falling in love with charming, kidnapped strangers. I hear that genre’s hot right now.”

She gave me the smallest blink before nodding once and exiting.

I sighed, stabbing a strawberry with the fork.

What the hell was I doing?

Every laugh felt fake. Every smirk, forced. The performance was getting heavier.

I wasn’t this person.

Or maybe I was. Maybe I’d become him.

But God—I hated him.

Hours passed. I curled up on the window seat, staring out at nothing. The phone buzzed once—I lunged for it.

Nothing. Just a network ping.

Not a message. Not a miracle.

I pressed my forehead to the glass. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that.

Long enough that when footsteps sounded, I didn’t even flinch.

“You look like a kicked puppy,” Damon said behind me.

I glanced at him. “Is this you checking in? That’s almost sweet.”

He walked in, eyed the food tray I’d barely touched. “Still playing the part?”

“Better than being the tragic hostage, don’t you think?” I turned back to the window. “No one likes a crier.”

Damon leaned on the wall. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Flattered.”

“Luca’s watching you, you know.”

“I figured. Does he like the show?” I looked back over my shoulder, letting the light catch just right on my cheekbone. “Do tell him I’m open for reviews.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he muttered.

“Not if I keep being entertaining.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, then left.

I curled tighter in the seat.

By the time night came, I was wearing a different silk robe, this one navy blue. The room smelled like linen and something richer—Luca had walked past earlier, and the scent still lingered.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated how he looked at me like he was dissecting every inch. That cold, clinical stare that somehow still managed to feel…hungry.

I wanted to scratch that look off his face. Or maybe… maybe I wanted him to look harder.

I didn’t know anymore.

I lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not scared,” I whispered aloud, echoing the words they all seemed so obsessed with.

Maybe I wasn’t.

Maybe I was just numb.

Maybe I was already gone.