My Son’s Girlfriend Locked Me In the Basement

Elara had just graduated middle school—top of her class, sharp as a whip and twice as headstrong. To celebrate, I planned a small getaway: just the three of us. Me, my husband Dominic, and our daughter basking under the Bermuda sun, pretending—for a few days—that the world was soft and safe.

When we returned, I suggested we stop by the Hale for dinner with Cassian. My son. The one I hadn’t seen in nearly a month. He was running the family’s casino now, carrying the weight of our name on his shoulders like he was born for it.

Dominic begged off. Said he was tired, needed rest. So it was just me and Elara who made the detour.

The Hale had never been my scene. Crowded. Flashy. Thick with money and danger. Even after marrying into a mafia family, I never quite grew used to the shadows it cast. But motherhood has a way of softening your fear. And I missed my son.

We had barely stepped through the casino’s polished glass doors when a girl appeared—like smoke. Short dress. Heavy eyeliner. Confidence that looked borrowed.

“How may I assist you, miss?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet.

I offered her a polite smile. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

I didn’t offer a name. Never liked the fuss that came with being Cassian Hale’s mother.

Something shifted in her expression. The kind of shift that made your skin go tight—like the hairs on your neck knew something your brain didn’t.

A flicker of something dark passed behind her eyes, but she blinked it away so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined it.

She gestured toward one of the lounges. “Please, this way. We had newly furnished lounge area that you can sit and wait.”

I was tired. Flights always did that to me—left me sluggish and soft around the edges. So I followed.

She glanced back at me with a tight smile. “Miss, may I ask who you're waiting for?”

“Cassian. The owner of this casino. You know him?”

“Oh, Mr. Hale?” She flushed. Actually flushed. “He’s been very kind to me. Gave me a job when no one else would. And he’s… very handsome.”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it. That’s my boy.

“He sure is the best,” I said, warmth blooming in my chest.

Another flicker of something passed through her eyes—jealousy? Fury? But it was gone before I could name it.

The path we took wasn’t familiar. The walls felt too quiet. Too clean.

Renovations, I told myself. I haven’t been here in months. Things change.

And then we were there.

She opened a door. “Here you go, miss. A private lounge—thought you might prefer something quiet while you wait.”

Private. Thoughtful. A little too perfect.

Still, I nodded my thanks and stepped inside.

That’s when the world went black.

The blow came fast—sharp and blinding. My knees buckled. My last thought before the darkness swallowed me whole was Elara. My daughter.

Was she safe? Had they gotten to her too?

…

When I woke up, everything was wrong.

The air was damp, metallic. The walls were concrete. No windows. No sound beyond the soft, sickening drip of water somewhere in the distance.

The Hale’s basement. I had only been here once, when Dominic used to run this casino, he would always handle his enemies here. Later, I found this place too bloody and never came again.

I pushed up weakly, but my head throbbed with every movement.

And then the door creaked open.

She walked in like she owned the world. Gone was the fake smile and saccharine politeness. What replaced it was raw, bitter malice.

“Who are you to Cassian Hale?” she asked, voice cold.

“I’m his—”

Crack.

Her hand whipped across my face before I could finish. My head snapped to the side, my cheek instantly aflame. The ringing in my ears was deafening.

I blinked, stunned. “What are you doing?”

She sneered. “Do you know who I am, whore?”

The venom in her voice cut deeper than the slap. “I’m Lila Moreau. Mr. Cassian Hale’s girlfriend. The future Mrs. Hale. And you—how dare you walk into my casino trying to steal him away?”

The name clicked. Lila. Cassian had mentioned her once—a girl who wouldn’t stop chasing him. He said she wasn’t quite his type, but he didn’t mind her too much. Persistent. Clingy. Harmless.

God, how wrong he was.

“I’ve heard of you. I’m Cassian’s—”

Another slap. Harder.

“You’re just another one of his whores, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Do you know how many I’ve had to get rid of? Every day, bitches like you try to crawl into his bed. Pathetic. Some even like that he’s taken. You’re that kind, right? The homewrecking kind.”

Before I could respond, she shoved me.

My head cracked against the wall. Pain shot through my skull like a lightning bolt. Everything spun.

And then—Elara.

Lila turned her gaze to the small, motionless body on the floor. My daughter. My baby girl.

“Who’s this?” she sneered. “Another whore?”

“No—please—” My body wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t move. I could only watch in helpless horror as she crouched beside Elara, lifting her chin to study her face.

“She looks like him.” Lila's eyes narrowed, full of hate. “You gave Cassian a daughter?”

She turned back to me and drove a kick straight into my stomach.

I doubled over, gasping, seeing stars.

“You disgusting bitch.”

Then she turned and stalked out, heels clicking like gunshots across the floor. “You better pray for angels, whore,” she called over her shoulder. “Because you’re not going anywhere today.”

The door slammed shut.

I don’t know how long I lay there—long enough for the pain to dull, for the ringing to ease. Long enough for panic to settle in like rot.

“Elara…” I clawed my way toward her, dragging myself across the rough floor. “Elara, baby—can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond. Her lips were pale, her skin clammy. Blood trickled from her temple, staining her curls. She didn’t move when I touched her. She didn’t even flinch.

I gathered her gently into my arms, trembling.

Just hours ago, she was smiling at me on a beach in Bermuda.

And now—bleeding. Broken. Silent.

My hands fumbled for my bag—thank God Lila hadn’t thought to take it.

With shaking fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number that mattered.

Cassian.

Please, please pick up.

The basement had barely a flicker of signal. I tried again and again, my trembling fingers fumbling at the screen. At last, the call went through. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

For Christ’s sake, Cassian. Where the hell are you? Your mother is locked in a basement. By your girlfriend.