"The chains that once broke you… become ribbons when you learn how to tie them for yourself." — Ava Carson
---
The memory didn't arrive like thunder.
It came quietly.
A whisper in her bloodstream. A flicker in the base of her spine.
A ripple in the mirror when no one else was in the room.
Ava lay in the private suite above the Crimson Room's Grand Hall, silk sheets pooling around her hips, breath still shallow from the night before. Her skin was warm, marked from Damien's worship, and yet her mind wasn't with the man who loved her.
It was with the man who tried to erase her.
Julian Voss.
He'd slithered back into her world like perfume you never meant to wear again—seductive, expensive, toxic.
She hadn't told Damien about the photo.
Not yet.
Not because she feared his reaction.
But because it wasn't Damien's ghost to fight.
It was hers.
And ghosts didn't leave until you looked them in the eye.
---
A Meeting Called in Shadows
That afternoon, she summoned the council.
Privately.
Not in the Grand Hall.
But in Room 33.
It was symbolic. Intentional. Painful.
She stood at the center of the reclaimed space, once a chamber of punishment, now a museum of survival.
The leaders from each house arrived one by one.
The Ice Queen from London, veiled in white and silence.
The Tokyo Oracle, graceful in her robe of twilight silk.
Even the Crown Prince of Pain, who rarely bowed to anyone, dipped his head when Ava gestured him inside.
Julian didn't come.
He didn't need to.
His presence was already woven into the edges of every breath in the room.
Ava opened with no theatrics.
"I'm not asking permission," she said, voice steady. "I'm giving warning."
The Crown Prince arched a brow. "What kind of warning?"
She looked him straight in the eye.
> "The man who once collared me is trying to reclaim my story. And I plan to end it."
The Ice Queen spoke next.
Calm. Cool. Terrifying.
> "Does he still hold proof?"
Ava didn't flinch. "He held a photo. I burned it."
The Oracle murmured, "Then he'll return with something worse."
Ava nodded.
"I know. That's why I'm not waiting. I'm summoning him."
Gasps. A few murmurs. No objections.
Because even they knew—
Queens don't wait for war.
They set the field themselves.
---
An Ultimatum Delivered in Silk
Julian received the summons with the arrogance of a man who thought he'd already won.
It was written in her handwriting.
Short.
Precise.
Unmistakably royal.
> "Meet me at midnight. Room of Glass. No guards. No lies."
He didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
Because some invitations don't get answered.
They get obeyed.
---
The Room of Glass
Midnight.
No clocks.
No sound.
Only the hollow hum of the Crimson Room sleeping around them.
Ava stood in the middle of the Room of Glass, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling panels that reflected everything except shadows. Every angle showed her body—her crownless head, her long black coat over blood-red silk, her bare feet against marble.
The door creaked open.
Julian stepped inside.
Alone.
As requested.
He said nothing at first.
Just walked slowly into the center, his shoes echoing like guilt.
"You're still dramatic," he murmured.
"You're still pathetic."
He tilted his head.
"Why summon me here, Ava? We've played this scene before."
She circled him once.
Then twice.
Then stopped behind him.
> "Because the first time, I didn't know who I was. Now I do."
He chuckled.
"I made you."
"You broke me."
"I trained you."
"You caged me."
He turned.
Fast.
Hand outstretched to grab her wrist.
She didn't flinch.
She let him touch her.
Just for a second.
Then raised her other hand and pressed it flat against his chest—right over his heart.
> "You still think the chains you left on me are tight. But I melted them. And I turned them into a throne."
He stepped back.
"You're not afraid anymore."
"I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of what I'd become if I stayed."
---
The Final Chain
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out something small.
Metal.
She tossed it to the floor between them.
His old collar.
Not the ceremonial ones. The real one.
Heavy. Cold. Rusted.
The tag still intact.
"Property of J.V."
Julian stared at it.
Frozen.
"I thought I destroyed that," he whispered.
"I hid it. Until I didn't need to anymore."
He looked up.
For the first time, there was something hollow in his eyes.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
Something worse.
Recognition.
> "You really did stop loving me."
She laughed.
Not cruelly.
Not loudly.
Just… truthfully.
"I never loved you, Julian. I loved the leash. I thought it meant safety."
She stepped forward and placed her palm on his chest again.
> "Now I know better."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then whispered, "Then finish it."
She bent slowly.
Picked up the collar.
Held it out.
And he didn't fight when she wrapped it gently around his neck.
Not to lock it.
Not to claim him.
But to return it.
To its rightful owner.
> "This was never mine to carry. You can keep it. As a souvenir of a girl who doesn't live here anymore."
---
Leaving
He didn't speak again.
Just turned and walked out.
No guards escorted him.
No crowd watched.
Just the silence of power changing hands.
And when the door closed behind him—
Ava sank to her knees.
Not in submission.
Not in shame.
But in triumph.
Because there was no one left to kneel for—
Except herself.
---
After
Back in their private suite, she found Damien waiting.
Reading by firelight.
Still dressed.
Still silent.
She didn't say a word.
Just crawled into his lap and curled against his chest.
He closed the book and held her close.
"I thought I'd feel jealous," he murmured.
"I thought I'd feel broken."
"And now?"
"I feel… free."
He kissed the top of her head.
Then whispered, "Then let me love the version of you that's finally whole."
---
To Be Continued in Episode 11: Crownless, Fearless