LENA
Time stopped meaning anything after the first day.
Or maybe it was the second. The third. Each hour bled into the next until I measured time by Marcus's visits. By how often he tried to break me.
Morning, noon, night—though there was no sun or moon in this underground lair, only the heavy breath of the mountain and the stale flicker of artificial light. I counted Marcus's footsteps before I saw him. Counted the false tenderness in his voice. Counted the ways he tried to win me.
At first, he brought gifts.
Silks in deep jewel tones, soft enough to tempt even my stubborn hands. Perfume in crystal bottles. Even rare books, as if I were a princess locked in a tower, and he a suitor from some twisted tale.
Then came the words.
"You deserve to be worshipped, Lena," he whispered once, his lips too close to my temple. "Dom never knew what you truly were. But I do. You're not just a girl with power. You are power."
I didn't answer. I stopped answering long ago.
