Chapter Eight

LYSANDRA

‎Another morning dawned in this decorated cage. I woke to the oppressive silence of the penthouse, my hand instinctively reaching across the vast, cold expanse of the bed to find it, as always, empty. My sister is no longer living with me.

‎A hollow routine had taken root. I moved through the motions: a shower in the marble cavern of a bathroom, the steam doing little to warm the chill inside me. Then, the daily dilemma—the walk-in closet. It was a monument to excess, bursting with couture gowns, delicate silks, and daring cocktail dresses, all tags still attached. But where were the clothes for living? The worn-in jeans, the soft cotton sweaters? They were absent, a silent reminder that my existence here wasn't about life; it was about presentation.

‎I finally settled on a simple black vintage-style silk dress. It felt like armor, but it was the only thing closer to comfortability. Slipping into it, I descended to the dining room.

‎The scene was a still life painting: a single place setting of polished silver, a crystal glass filled with fresh juice, and a plate of eggs Benedict, artfully arranged and already beginning to cool. The staff were ghosts, their presence marked only by the perfection they left in their wake. I ate in the profound quiet, the only sound the faint clink of my fork. I was just raising the last bite to my lips when a sound shattered the silence.

‎Riiiiing.

‎It was jarring, alien. The house phone. A sleek, obsidian device mounted on the wall near the kitchen entrance. I’d never seen it used. My own phone, an expensive burner, had only one contact: CASSIAN.

‎I ignored it, forcing myself to finish the bite. The ringing stopped. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

‎Riiiiing.

‎It started again, more insistent this time. The staff wouldn’t answer it. Their orders were clear: be invisible. Swallowing hard, my heart beginning an uneasy rhythm, I pushed my chair back and walked to the wall.

‎“Hello?” I said, my voice hesitant.

‎The voice on the other end was a breathless, panicked rush, punctuated by what sounded like a distant alarm. “Miss Lysandra? It’s Dr. Evangeline Shaw. Listen to me carefully, we don’t have much time.”

‎My blood ran cold. “Dr. Shaw? What’s wrong? Is it Elara?”

‎“There was an attack. Armed men, dressed in black, they stormed the private wing. They knew exactly where to go.” Her words tumbled over each other, laced with pure terror. “There was a struggle… Elara… her life support was disrupted in the chaos. She has crashed. We’re coding her now.”

‎The world tilted. I gripped the phone so tight the plastic creaked. “What? No… no, that can’t be. What do you mean, ‘crashed’? Where is she?!”

‎“I lost my mobile in the struggle. This is the hospital’s landline. It’s programmed to call this number for any emergency related to Miss Elara. I can’t reach Mr. Vale. You have to call him. Tell him we need reinforcements, security, now! We’ve barricaded ourselves in the underground surgical suite, but they’re still in the building. I have to go—!”

‎The line went dead.

‎For a moment, I just stood there, the dial tone buzzing in my ear like a dying insect. The words swirled in my head—attack, crashed, coding—each one a physical blow. Elara.

‎A sob ripped from my throat. I dropped the phone, and it clattered against the marble floor. My sister. My bright, brave little sister who had fought so hard. I had to… I had to…

‎Cassian.

‎I scrambled, slipping on the polished floor in my haste, my heart hammering against my ribs. I ran through the living room, down the hallway, and burst into the bedroom. My phone was on the bedside table. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely punch his name on the screen. I held it to my ear, each ring a lifetime of agony.

‎He answered on the second ring. His voice was cool, slightly impatient. “Mother, we’re on the FDR Drive. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

‎The sound of his voice, so normal, so utterly detached from the nightmare unfolding, broke the last of my composure. A raw, guttural cry escaped me. “It’s… it’s Elara… She… they… I just got a call… they said…”

‎“Lysandra?” His tone shifted instantly, sharpening from impatience to razor-focused intensity. “Slow down. What about Elara? What happened?”

‎The words poured out of me in a torrent of panic. “They attacked the hospital! Men with guns! Dr. Shaw called… she said Elara’s life support was hit… she’s… she’s dying, Cassian! You have to go! You have to go now! Please! You have to save her!”

‎I was screaming, my voice raw and desperate, tears streaming down my face, blinding me.

‎There was a beat of silence on the other end, and I could almost feel the calculation, the gears turning in his mind at a terrifying speed. Then, his voice came back, cold, hard, and utterly decisive. “I’m coming.”

‎The line went dead.

‎I slumped onto the bed, the phone slipping from my numb fingers. The silence of the penthouse rushed back in, but now it was deafening, suffocating. I was useless. Here I was, surrounded by obscene luxury, while my sister fought for her life and I could do nothing but scream into a phone. I was a doll in a glass case, beautiful and utterly powerless.

‎Thirty minutes passed. Each second was an eternity. Why wasn’t he here? Why hadn’t he called back?

‎I snatched up my phone again and redialed. It rang once and went to an automated voicemail. “The number you have dialed is currently switched off…”

‎A new, colder fear seized me. I tried again. And again. The same message.

‎Switched off.

‎Cassian Vale’s phone was never switched off. Ever. He’d taken calls from me from thirty thousand feet in the air. He was always reachable, always in control.

‎The horrible, unthinkable thought took root in my mind, fed by my own insecurities. Has he abandoned us? Did he finally decide my sister is more trouble than she’s worth? Was this all a cruel game that’s now over?

‎The trust I’d begrudgingly placed in him—the trust that he was a man of his word, that he protected what was his—began to crumble, leaving behind the bitter ash of betrayal. I couldn’t just sit here. I couldn’t wait for a savior who might not be coming.

‎I had to do something. Anything.

‎My mind, frantic, seized on a dangerous memory. A text, weeks ago, from an unknown number. A taunt. A lifeline offered by a snake.

‎‘If the mighty Cassian ever fails you, little bird, you know who to call. -S’

‎I scrolled through my messages with trembling fingers, finding the number. I called it. It rang and rang before going to voicemail. Desperate, I typed a message.

‎Me:Please. Help me.

‎The response was immediate.

‎Unknown: Cassian, is this a new form of entertainment? I’m not in the mood for games.

‎Me: It’s me. Lysandra.

‎There was a long pause. I could almost feel his surprise, then his keen interest, radiating through the screen.

‎Unknown: Lysandra. How… intriguing. What could you possibly want? And where is your keeper?

‎Me: They attacked the hospital where my sister is. She’s dying. Cassian is gone. His phone is off. I have no one else. Please. Help me save her.

‎Another pause, longer this time. I could picture his smile, cold and calculating.

‎Unknown: A direct assault on a Vale asset. How bold. And how very unfortunate for you. I can look into it. I have certain… resources that might bypass the chaos.

‎Me: Thank you. Oh God, thank you—

‎Unknown: Don’t thank me yet. We’re not friends. If I do this, you will owe me a favor. A significant one. Do you understand the kind of debt you’re about to incur, little bird?

‎I did. I understood perfectly. It was a deal with the devil. It would cost me everything. But as I pictured Elara’s face, pale and still in a hospital bed, I knew there was no choice. My finger hovered over the keypad, ready to type my soul away.

‎Me: I underst—

‎The door to my bedroom exploded inward, splintering the lock and frame with a violent crack.

‎I screamed, dropping the phone as I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.