All Chapters of Bound to the Enemy’s Bed: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

I did not scream when the Gate breathed.I felt it.Not as sound, not as wind—but as recognition.The moment stretched thin, taut as a vein pulled too far. The false-Draven stood at the threshold where the hollow bled into the world-that-was, his silhouette cut from radiance and ruin. Light poured through him, not around him, as if his body were only an outline the universe had agreed to pretend was solid.His smile did not move his eyes.Those eyes were doors.They opened inward.Elaria staggered back as the hollow convulsed. The ground—memory pretending to be stone—rippled beneath her feet, layers of collapsed realities shuddering like disturbed sediment. Threads of light snapped and recoiled, screaming without sound as pressure mounted from both sides of the tear.“No,” she whispered. “You don’t get to wear him.”The thing tilted its head, studying her with an intimacy that made her skin crawl.“I’m not wearing him,” it replied gently. “I am what was left when the world finished us

Elaria did not disappear.She unraveled—and then reassembled into something the universe could no longer pretend it understood.The passage through the Gate was not motion. There was no forward, no downward plunge, no crossing from one space to another. It was inversion—existence folding in on itself like breath pulled too sharply into lungs that had forgotten how to exhale.Inside became outside.Name became distance.Memory became gravity.She felt herself spread across a place that was not empty but undecided.This was not the Hollow she had fallen through before.Not the beneath-place where echoes rotted into whispers.Not the buried chambers where the Vale hid its mistakes.This was the interval.The pause between one truth collapsing and the next one daring to form.Here, light did not exist as illumination. It existed as pressure. Sound was not vibration but insistence. Thought did not belong to her alone—everything that had ever been unfinished pressed inward, hungry for resol

The system did not ask again.It activated.Elaria felt it the instant the unfinished structure flared—felt the way reality reoriented itself around probability, how consequence snapped into alignment like teeth in a vast, merciless gear. This was not judgment. This was mechanics.The place behind the Gate began to calculate.Light surged through the forming framework, tracing impossible angles that folded inward and outward simultaneously. The structure was not solid; it was conditional—built to exist only if the choice it demanded was fulfilled.And at its heart—Elaria.Kael.Draven.Three presences, pulled toward the same center by different forces, each tethered by bonds that were no longer metaphorical. They were equations now. Balances. Loads to be distributed.Draven hit the space like a meteor that refused to cool.The darkness recoiled as he tore free of the Gate’s constraints, his form blazing with raw, unfiltered fury. He was not fractured here. Not leashed. Not rewritten.

The Gate did not open like a door.It remembered how to be open.Light surged—not outward, but inward—folding the broken framework back on itself as if the universe were inhaling after a long, choking silence. The hollow screamed, its layered geometries shuddering as the recalibration Draven had triggered rippled through every remaining seam.Elaria staggered, the force dragging at her bones, at the memory stitched beneath her skin. She tasted copper and frost and something older—ozone threaded with grief. The place beneath the Vale bent around her, not collapsing, not stabilizing, but listening.Something had changed.She could feel it the way one feels a storm before the clouds arrive—pressure without form, intent without voice. The third presence Draven had awakened pulsed at the edge of perception, neither light nor shadow, neither Gate nor anchor. It moved like a thought learning how to breathe.“Draven,” she whispered again, even though she knew he would not answer. The pull tha

The first thing Elaria felt was weight.Not the familiar gravity of a body anchored to a world, but the crushing insistence of being chosen. The kind of pressure that did not ask whether she consented—only whether she would endure.The hollow collapsed inward with a sound like a cathedral imploding underwater. Light screamed as it folded, twisted, and devoured itself. The thing Draven had let through did not surge forward in haste—it arrived, as inevitability always did.Elaria’s scream was torn from her chest, stretched thin as the space around her began to narrow. Kael’s arms locked around her, his grip desperate, grounding her to something solid even as the universe insisted there was no solid left.“Elaria—look at me!” Kael shouted.She tried.His face blurred, doubled, tripled—each version a different possibility of grief. One where he lost her. One where she left him behind. One where neither of them survived what came next.“I can’t—” she gasped. “It’s pulling—”“I know,” he sa