บททั้งหมดของ Cage to Cage: บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

BRYNN POV My fingers tremble where they clutch the mirror. The memory hasn’t faded—it’s settled, heavy and real, like it’s always belonged to me.“I remember the dresses,” I say softly. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Not just… fabric. The day. The room.”Vex doesn’t move. He doesn’t rush me. He never does.“Tell me,” he says, careful. Like one wrong step might send the memory scattering.I draw in a breath. “There were rows of white gowns. Too many. I was overwhelmed.” A small, surprised laugh slips out of me. “I kept saying no. To everything. Lace. Tulle. Too soft. Too… me before.”His jaw tightens—not with anger, but with recognition.“You told the woman to leave us alone,” I continue. “You said it like a command. She didn’t argue.” My eyes flick to his. “You never argue, do you?”A corner of his mouth twitches. “Not when it matters.”“You stood behind me,” I say. “Close—but not touching. Because I told you the rules.” My throat tightens. “No touching. Not then. Not yet.”H

VEX POVHer mouth finds mine again before I can overthink it.Not rushed. Not desperate.Intentional.Like she’s reminding me that this—us—has always lived in the quiet spaces between restraint and surrender.I slide one hand to her waist, the other bracing against the wall beside her head. The fitting room feels impossibly small now, air thick with heat and memory and everything I’ve spent three months denying myself.Her fingers curl into my jacket, tugging me closer. The contact sparks—bright, familiar. My body responds instantly, traitorous in its certainty.I break the kiss just long enough to breathe against her mouth. “Brynn…”She tilts her head, lips brushing my jaw. “I know,” she whispers. “Slow.”That word is the only thing keeping me grounded.I trail my knuckles along her arm instead—deliberate, measured—memorizing her again without crossing the line I promised myself I wouldn’t. She shivers, and the reaction hits me harder than any kiss ever could.Nostalgia coils tight i

VEX POVShe wakes wrong.Not startled. Not confused.Too still.Her breath catches first—a sharp inhale like her lungs have forgotten how to work. Her fingers twitch against my chest, then curl, gripping hard enough that I feel the pressure through bone.“Brynn,” I murmur immediately. “Hey. Easy.”Her eyes flutter open.For half a second, they’re unfocused—clouded with sleep.Then her brow tightens.She inhales again, deeper this time, and her hand flies to her temple.“Oh—” Her voice fractures. “My head.”This isn’t a dull ache. I can see that instantly. Her jaw tightens, teeth pressing together as if she’s bracing for impact. Her body goes rigid against mine, every muscle locking at once.I sit up carefully, keeping my arm around her so she doesn’t lurch away.“It’s okay,” I say quietly, steady, grounding. “Don’t fight it.”Her breathing turns uneven.Then her eyes change.Not panic.Recognition.She stares at my throat first. My collarbone. My mouth.Then my eyes.And the way she l

BRYNN POVTwo days pass without another memory.No flashes. No jolts. No cold rush of recognition stealing the breath from my lungs.Just… quiet.Which feels almost suspicious.By the third morning, I’m sitting at the long breakfast table with a mug warming my hands, watching sunlight creep across polished marble like it belongs there. Vex is on his phone, jaw set in that focused way that means business. Kade leans against the counter nearby, arms crossed, pretending not to hover.Normal.As normal as this life gets.I take a bite of toast and try not to flinch when the butter melts against my fingers.“That’s progress,” Kade says lightly, nodding toward my plate. “You’ve eaten more today than yesterday.”I shrug. “Guess my body decided it likes routine.”Vex’s gaze flicks to me—quick, assessing—then away again. He doesn’t comment. He never pushes. It’s one of the reasons I feel steady enough to be sitting here at all.I lift my coffee.That’s when it happens.Not a crash.A slide.Th

BRYNN POVI come back to pain.Sharp. Splitting. Violent enough that for a second I think my skull is actually cracking open—that whatever is inside my head is trying to claw its way out.I gasp.The sound is short, strangled.Because I can’t move.My wrists are bound behind the chair, rope rough and unforgiving against my skin. Not sloppy. Purposeful. Tight enough that every small shift sends a sting up my arms. My ankles are tied too, chair legs biting into my calves. My pulse pounds so hard it feels like it’s echoing off the concrete walls.Concrete.That’s the first thing I register.Cold air. Damp. The faint metallic tang of rust and oil. Somewhere nearby, water drips in a slow, maddening rhythm. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, swinging just enough to make the shadows stretch and shrink like something breathing.Basement. Warehouse. Somewhere forgotten.Somewhere people disappear.A figure sits across from me.Comfortable.Too comfortable.He’s leaned forward slightly, elbo