Rayan's Perspective
The penthouse had become unbearable.
Every polished surface reflected Kael's shadow, every quiet corner hummed with Senna's words.
"You're just another prisoner."
"You'll never be free."
The more Rayan tried to silence them, the louder they grew. He pressed his palms against his ears, rocking slightly on the bed. But even that small comfort was stolen when the door clicked open.
Kael.
He stepped inside, his presence filling the room like an eclipse. Rayan's heart jumped violently—half with dread, half with relief.
"You didn't eat again," Kael said softly, holding a tray. The scent of soup drifted in the air, warm, homey.
But Rayan's stomach turned.
What if it wasn't soup? What if it was laced with something, the way Senna had whispered—that Kael would rather keep him weak, dependent, unable to escape?
His throat went dry. "Leave it there."
Kael's eyes flickered with hurt, but he set the tray on the table without a word.
Silence stretched.
