جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

The light finally won.It pierced through my eyelids even when they were closed, a searing white lance that cooked my brain inside my skull.I didn’t know how long I had been standing. My legs were no longer part of my anatomy; they were columns of fire that had long since burned down to ash.I swayed.Keep standing. If you fall, he adds an hour.But the command didn’t reach my muscles. The connection was severed.The room tilted sideways. The white walls dissolved.I fell.I hit the concrete not with a thud, but with a bone-jarring crack. My cheek slammed against the floor.Darkness—blessed, cool darkness swarmed the edges of my vision. I let it take me. I let the floor hold me.Splash.Ice-cold water hit my face.I gasped, sputtering, inhaling liquid. I choked, my body arching in a violent reflex.I opened my eyes.Killian stood over me. He held a metal buc

The IV bag was empty.I lay on the bed, watching the last drop of clear fluid hesitate at the plastic nozzle before slipping down the tube and vanishing into my vein.The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thud of boots patrolling the hallway.I felt… alive.It wasn’t a good feeling. It was a sharp, stinging awareness. The sugar and fluids had done their job. The fog in my brain had cleared, leaving behind a high-definition picture of my nightmare.My hand—the burned one—throbbed in time with my heart. My ankle, chafed by the leather cuff, burned.The door opened.Killian walked in.He brought the cold air with him. He was wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the thick veins of his forearms. He looked powerful. Rested. Lethal.He didn’t look at my face. He looked at the empty bag.“Refueled,” he stated.He walked to

Third person pov:The study was dark, illuminated only by the blue-white glow of the monitor and the ember of a cigarette burning in the ashtray.Killian Alatorre sat in the high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber whiskey untouched on the desk. His hand rested on the mouse, his index finger hovering over the button.Click.The video rewound.Play.On the screen, Luna’s face filled the frame.It was the moment before she cried. The split second where her composure fractured, where the “spoiled princess” mask dissolved, and something else peered out from beneath the grime and the fake bruise.Killian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.He watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed a sob. He watched the way her pupils dilated, swallowing the hazel iris until her eyes were black pools of terror. He watched the tremor in her bottom lip—a microscopic, involuntary spasm that no amount of acting classes could teach.He froze the frame.He stared at her eyes.He was looking for the

Morning arrived with a boot to the ribs.It wasn’t a kick meant to break a bone. It was a nudge. A reminder of my status.“Up,” Killian ordered.I uncurled from the rug. My body was stiff, my joints locking up from the cold floor and the damp draft that swept under the door.I sat up, pushing hair out of my face.Killian stood over me. He was fully dressed in a charcoal suit, looking like he owned the city. He held a cup of coffee. The steam rose in the air, smelling of heaven.He didn’t offer me any.He watched me brush the hair from my eyes. His gaze narrowed.I had thick, dark hair. Even after Carmina had hacked a chunk off in the linen closet, there was still enough of it to fall forward, to create a curtain, to hide my face when I wanted to disappear.Killian took a sip of his coffee.“You are hiding,” he stated.I froze. I kept my head down, letting the hair shield me.“

The chain rattled.It was the first sound of the morning.I woke up on the rug at the foot of Killian’s bed. My body was curled into a tight, defensive knot, my spine pressed against the heavy mahogany post where my ankle was tethered.My neck was stiff. My hip, resting on the hard floor through the thin rug, ached with a dull, bruising throb.I opened my eyes.The room was gray. Dawn.Above me, the bed shifted.Killian sat up.I didn’t move. I didn’t scramble away. I just watched his bare feet hit the floor inches from my face.He stood up, stretching. The muscles in his back rippled under his skin. He didn’t look down at me. He walked to the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.I lay there, staring at the shackle on my ankle. The leather had chafed the skin raw during the night. A thin line of dried blood crusted the edge.I didn’t care.Pain was just noise now. Bac