For hours after Adrian left, his words burned in me like a brand I couldn't shake.
"When I see obedience, you'll see your brother. Not before."
It replayed, over and over, poisoning the air, strangling every ounce of calm I tried to force on myself. He hadn't locked the door this time. He hadn't needed to. My prison was no longer the walls—it was the condition he'd left me chained to.
The knowledge pressed on my chest until breathing itself felt like defiance. I hated that he'd gotten inside my head, hated the way my body stiffened when I remembered the cold certainty in his eyes.
Three days passed, though they blurred together until time meant nothing. Each morning I woke with the sun slicing through the curtains, half-expecting to find him standing in the corner, watching. Each night I lay in bed, wide-eyed, suffocated by the silence.
I hadn't seen anyone. The maids brought meals quietly, leaving trays outside my door as if I were contagious. No one spoke to me. No one looked at me.
By the time I finally gathered the courage to touch the door handle, my palms were slick with sweat. My throat was tight, and for one paralyzing moment I considered retreating, hiding back under the blankets.
But I couldn't. Not anymore.
With a shaky exhale, I turned the handle and pushed.
The air in the mansion felt different from my room. Wider. Freer. But it was a freedom soaked in surveillance, and I could feel it. The walls felt like they were watching. Every corner whispered Adrian's presence, even when he wasn't there.
Still, I moved forward, my feet carrying me down the staircase that curved into a wide living room below. The chandeliers glowed soft, throwing golden light across plush furniture and polished marble floors.
At the bottom of the staircase, a woman in uniform passed briskly with a tray of glasses. A maid. She glanced up briefly at me, her eyes flickering with something between surprise and wariness, before she tried to move past.
"Wait," I called. My voice came sharper than I intended.
She stopped reluctantly, her gaze fixed on the tray she carried.
I moved closer, lowering my voice. "Can I borrow your phone?"
The maid's head snapped up, her face instantly tightening. "Miss… I can't."
My frustration spiked. "Why not? It's just a call. I need to talk to my brother. Please."
Her hands gripped the tray tighter. "I'm sorry. It's not allowed. He doesn't—"
"Of course," I cut her off, my tone dripping with venom. "Your boss doesn't allow it. Does he control the air you breathe too, or only the devices you touch?"
Her eyes darted nervously toward the hallway, as if Adrian might appear out of the shadows at the sound of his name. "Please, miss, don't—"
"Don't what? Don't speak the truth?" My laugh came sharp, bitter. "God forbid anyone around here shows a shred of humanity."
The tray in her hands trembled. I wasn't sure if it was fear of me or fear of Adrian, but before I could press further, another voice sliced through the air like a knife.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to crawl out of her cage."
I stiffened at the sound. My head turned, and there she was.
Vera.
She strolled in from the right hallway, her long hair bouncing with each deliberate step. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, lips curved in that infuriating smirk she seemed to wear like a second skin.
"Stacy," she purred, drawing out my name like it was sour on her tongue. "I was beginning to think you were too scared to leave your little nest."
I squared my shoulders. "Or maybe I just didn't feel like entertaining vultures."
Her smirk faltered for only a second before snapping back sharper. "Careful. You might want to remember who you're speaking to."
"I remember perfectly," I said coolly. "You're the one who confronted me like a jealous schoolgirl, I didn't forget."
That struck. The air between us stiffened, Vera's jaw tightening before she tilted her head mockingly.
"Oh, please. Don't act so innocent. You think I can't see the game you're playing? The poor little prisoner act, the fiery glares, the defiant speeches. Do you think men like Adrian don't enjoy that? You're dangling yourself in front of him whether you realize it or not."
Anger surged hot in my chest. "You're wrong. I have no interest in him. If you're so insecure about your place in his world, that's your problem, not mine."
Her eyes flared. "Insecure?" she snapped, her voice losing its silky edge. "You dare—"
"Yes, insecure," I cut in, my voice sharp as glass. "You came to me, remember? You confronted me, thinking I'd steal what you claim as yours. That says more about your fears than it does about me."
The maid shrank back, clutching her tray tighter, eyes darting between us like she wanted to vanish into the walls.
Vera, on the other hand, stepped closer, her smirk gone, her features twisted in rage. "You filthy little—"
She was about to unleash a string of venom, I could see it in the fire of her eyes, when the air shifted.
Footsteps. Steady. Heavy. I felt them before I heard them, a rhythm that seemed to command silence from the walls themselves.
And then he appeared.
Adrian.
He stepped into the room with the kind of presence that silenced everything in its path. His gaze swept the scene—the trembling maid, Vera's seething fury, my defiant posture—before settling on me.
Sharp. Cold. Unreadable.
"Is there a problem?"
The words cut through the room like a blade.
My breath caught. Vera straightened instantly, her rage twisting into something resembling composure, though her fists clenched at her sides. The maid lowered her head, nearly shaking.
But his eyes never left me.