Hollow Screams

Lucian’s arm stayed locked around her waist—possessive, immovable. He loomed like a shadow over her shoulder, his voice cold and serrated.

“I don’t mind.”

He didn’t spare Simon a glance.

Didn’t need to.

The dismissal in his tone already said, ‘you don’t exist here.’

But to Luciano’s annoyance, Simon didn’t back down easily. His smile faltered, replaced by a tightness around the jaw.

“The drink was a toast—for Miss Noora.”

Lucian turned to him; his eyes dark with something dangerous lurking behind it. “She’s not a strong drinker,” he said smoothly, voice laced with ice. “So how about I entertain you on her behalf?”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Simon’s jaw tightened.

And Noora? She didn’t miss the subtext.

Lucian wasn’t trying to protect her.

No.

He was trying to put her in her place.

That was probably his way of saying, ‘stay in your lane’. Don’t reach too high. Don’t try to mingle with people far above YOUR NAME, YOUR BLOOD, YOUR WORTH.

It was how he always treated her—like a tarnish on his father’s glass reputation. A mistake to be controlled.

As if her value ended where his amusement began.

And she had enough of him.

He stepped forward.

However—

She suddenly stopped him without even looking; pressing the back of her hand flat against his chest. The contact was electric, sudden. Luciano froze.

Her eyes met Simon’s, blazing with fury and defiance.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Luciano,” she said sweetly—too sweetly, her voice laced with poison. “But I can handle my drinks.”

Luciano’s jaw ticked.

“I couldn’t possibly offend Mr. Simon’s kindness, could I?” she added.

She reached for the glass in Simon’s hand, her fingers brushing his before she brought it to her lips and downed the drink in one smooth motion.

Luciano’s grip on her waist turned punishing.

Simon looked impressed while Luciano looked murderous.

“Noo—” Lucian’s voice rumbled, low and livid.

But Noora didn’t let him finish.

“That was lovely,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a clink. She smiled at Simon and then turned to Luciano. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you with Mr. Simon to enjoy your drinks.”

Luciano’s hand tightened once more; tight enough to bruise.

And then, obligatorily, he finally let her go.

Noora rolled her eyes and walked away, her spine straight, her steps graceful—but inside, her chest was pounding.

She felt his stare chasing her through the crowd.

And it burned.

She moved between groups of guests, trying to steady her breath. But something felt… off. The air around her thickened. Heat crept beneath her skin, too fast, too strong. Her dress clung uncomfortably, and sweat prickled her lower back.

Her vision flickered.

Her stomach churned.

Whispers bloomed around her like thorns.

“She threw herself at Simon…”

“Luciano practically had to drag her off him.”

“She’s clearly trying to climb.”

Noora swallowed hard. Cindy’s voice rose like venom in a pond.

“She’s practically drunk. Probably thought she could seduce Simon too. Pathetic.”

Noora’s ears rang.

Her heart thudded erratically in her chest. The walls seemed too bright, the chandelier spinning. She blinked hard. Once. Twice.

‘What’s happening to me?’ Her fingers trembled. ‘Am I already drunk?’

This wasn’t just a drink. It couldn’t be. No. No way.

Her breath turned shallow.

And then, panic gripped her.

‘I need to get out. Now.’ She tried to steady her breathing.

She pushed through the crowd, nearly stumbling, her heels scraping against the marble floor.

Bathroom.

‘Where’s the damn bathroom?’ Her vision spun.

She finally found the door and rushed inside, collapsing against the counter, clutching the edge like it could hold her upright.

Her face in the mirror was pale. Eyes wild. Pupils dilated.

Her hand went to her throat.

‘Was I drugged?’

The room spun.

The cold water didn’t help. Noora splashed her face again, her palms trembling as she clung to the sink for balance. Her breathing was erratic, skin clammy, and her pulse thumped wildly in her ears.

Something was wrong.

Her vision blurred again, edges of the tiled walls kept swaying like waves, and her knees nearly buckled.

Had she really been drugged?

She stumbled toward the stall, hand grazing the wall, when the door creaked open behind her.

She froze.

Footsteps echoed.

Slow. Measured. Too calm for comfort.

She turned and felt ice course down her spine.

Simon stood in the doorway; lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. He shut the door behind him with a soft … click~

"Well, well," he drawled. “Didn’t think it’d be this easy.”

Noora’s stomach dropped.

“Wh—What… are you doing?” she whispered, voice barely a thread.

Simon stepped closer, gaze roving over her trembling form.

“You really are an idiot,” he sneered, the sweetness gone. “Strutting around like you belong here. Like anyone in this place gives a damn about some stray clinging to the Richardson name.”

Her head spun violently now, bile rising in her throat.

“You should be grateful,” he continued, voice turning darker. “For what I’m about to give you.”

She backed away instinctively, one arm reaching for the countertop. Her fingers curled around a glass soap dish—she threw it.

It missed.

He laughed. “Feisty? That’s cute.”

She grabbed a bottle next—shampoo—anything—but her limbs were jelly and her coordination betrayed her. The floor wobbled beneath her feet as he stalked closer.

“Stay back,” she slurred, panic climbing her throat.

She spun again, desperate to reach the door… but he blocked it.

“Now now,” Simon murmured, stepping forward like a predator closing in. “You were begging for attention, weren’t you? Flirting, drinking, making eyes at me…”

“Liar!” she gasped, tears slipping down her cheeks.

He lunged.

She screamed, twisted out of reach—but her balance gave way.

CRACK~

She fell hard, crashing into the porcelain sink. It snapped from the wall, shattering; one jagged piece slicing deep across her side. Blood bloomed instantly, warm and sticky as it soaked her gown.

She collapsed onto the floor, the pain white-hot and pulsing. Her limbs were dead weight. Her vision blackened at the edges.

And Simon hovered above her, laughing.

“So, you did seduce me. Look at you. Look what you’ve done to me…”

His hand gripped her dress and tore at the fabric.

“No…” Her voice cracked. “Don’t…”

Her arms thrashed weakly, hands fumbling to protect herself, but they had no strength, no power. Her body betrayed her.

“No, please… Don’t do this…”

Simon didn’t listen. He didn’t even hear her. Just a monster drunk on dominance, his breath hot and rancid, his grin wide with anticipation. He pinned her down like she was nothing.

Pain tore through her side, but it was nothing compared to the terror curling in her chest.

“Stop… please…”

Her voice dissolved into sobs as her fingers clutched at the remnants of her dress, nails digging into the fabric like she could sew herself back together. But he kept going.

“No one’s coming for you,” Simon whispered in her ear.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Someone… please…

Her mind raced wildly; faces flashing before her eyes like memories already slipping through her fingers.

Mom… Dad…

No. No one. Not anymore.

Lucas…

Her lips trembled. “Lucas…”

She said it like a prayer.

She said it like it could summon him.

But only silence answered.

Just Simon’s laughter and her own broken sobs.

Then… Emptiness.

She searched her heart for someone, anyone, who would come crashing in and rip her away from this nightmare. But no one came to mind.

There was no one.

Not in this cruel house. Not in this party.

No one who saw her.

No one who cared.

Her voice cracked again, quieter now, hollow and stripped of hope.

“…Help…”

The word barely left her lips, more breath than sound. Her world turned dark and her consciousness kept slipping away as Simon’s hands groped her trembling body—until suddenly—

BOOM~

The heavy weight was suddenly lifted off of her body and there was a loud crashing sound with a heart-wrenching scream.