College was supposed to feel like freedom.
Instead, it felt like being on display in a zoo.
Scarlett sat in her usual spot in the lecture hall—third row from the front, left side by the window. The same seat she'd occupied for two years. But everything else had changed.
The air itself felt different, charged with tension and fear that had nothing to do with the upcoming midterm exam.
Her old friends sat on the opposite side of the room now. Girls she'd studied with, laughed with, shared late-night ramen and exam stress with. They wouldn't even look at her. When she'd tried to wave at Mei this morning, the girl had gone pale and quickly looked away, whispering urgently to the person next to her.
The whispers followed Scarlett everywhere.
"That's her.The one who married him."
"I heard he killed twelve people just to get to her."
"My cousin works security in the N109 zone. He said Sylus Qin burned down an entire building because someone looked at her wrong."
"Don't stare too long. His men are watching."
And they were. Lin, Marcus, and Tao stood outside the classroom door, visible through the small window. Professional. Intimidating.
A constant reminder that Scarlett wasn't really free at all.
She was just a prisoner with a longer leash.
Now it was lunch break, and Scarlett sat alone in the courtyard with her steaming bun and bubble tea. The table that used to be crowded with her friends was empty except for her. They'd scattered the moment she'd approached, mumbling excuses about needing to study or having other plans.
Only one person had been brave enough—or stupid enough—to approach her all week.
Chen Le.
He'd cornered her on the second day, his usual friendly smile somehow sharper around the edges.
"Scarlett, I got your message. Are you okay? Do you need help?"
Relief had flooded through her so intensely she'd almost cried. "Yes. Yes, I need—"
But before she could finish, Tao had materialized beside them. Silent. Menacing. Chen Le's smile had faltered, and he'd backed away with a mumbled excuse about being late for class.
That was five days ago. According to the gossip that spread through campus like wildfire, Chen Le hadn't been seen since last week. His classes were empty. His apartment was dark. His phone went straight to voicemail.
Nobody knew what had happened to him.
But Scarlett knew.
She knew with a certainty that made her stomach turn and her hands shake. Sylus had found out about the message. Had discovered that Chen Le was helping her. And now Chen Le was gone—disappeared like he'd never existed at all.
Another person hurt because of her. Another casualty in Sylus's obsessive need to keep her caged.
Scarlett shoved the rest of her bun into her mouth, chewing mechanically.
The food tasted like ash.
Everything tasted like ash these days.
She wiped at her eyes angrily, refusing to let the tears fall where people could see.
She was fine. She was okay. She just needed to get through the day.
Pretend everything was normal.
Pretend her husband hadn't murdered her friend.
Pretend she wasn't planning to escape tomorrow during the class break when the guards would be at their most relaxed.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Scarlett gathered her things and walked back to class, three shadows following ten feet behind.
.
.
.
.
.
Sylus came to her room that night carrying flowers and chocolate.
Scarlett was sitting on the window seat—her usual spot, staring out at the gardens she wasn't allowed to walk through alone—when she heard the knock. Three soft raps, polite and civilized, like he was a gentleman caller instead of the monster who'd stolen her life.
"Come in," she said flatly. Like she had a choice. Like he wouldn't use his key if she refused.
The door opened, and Sylus entered carrying an obscene bouquet of red roses—at least three dozen, arranged with baby's breath and tied with black ribbon. In his other hand was a box from the most expensive chocolate in the city, the kind that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
It took her a moment to remember. Valentine's Day. Of course.
"Happy Valentine's Day, kitten,"
Sylus said, his voice warm. Affectionate. Like they were a normal couple celebrating a romantic holiday instead of a captor and his prisoner.
Scarlett didn't turn from the window.
"Get out."
He didn't. Instead, she heard him set the flowers and chocolate on the table, heard the soft sound of him settling onto the couch. Making himself comfortable. Making it clear he wasn't leaving just because she'd asked.
"The roses are fresh cut this morning," he continued conversationally. "I remembered you liked the ones at the wedding. And the chocolate—Belgian, dark, filled with champagne ganache. I had them specially made."
"I don't want them."
"I know"
There was a smile in his voice.
"But I'm giving them to you anyway."
Silence stretched between them. Scarlett could feel his eyes on her back, could feel him reading her the way he always did—like she was an open book and he'd memorized every page.
"You're planning to run tomorrow," he said casually. "During your art history class. There's a fifteen-minute break at 2:30 PM. You think my men will be tired by then, less vigilant. You're going to ask to use the bathroom and slip out the side exit near the old library."
Scarlett's blood ran cold. She finally turned to look at him.
Sylus sat on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, completely relaxed. He was dressed more casually tonight—black slacks and a deep red shirt that made his eyes seem to glow. He looked like sin incarnate. Beautiful and terrible.
"How do you know" she started.
"I know everything you think, sweetie. Every plan. Every hope. Every desperate prayer that someone will save you." He tilted his head, studying her. "It's all written on your face. In your body language. In the way you've been watching the guards' rotation patterns."
She hated him. Hated that he could read her so easily. Hated that there was no privacy, no secrets, no corner of her mind he couldn't access.
"And Chen Le?" The question came out broken. Accusatory. "Do you know what I think about him too?"
Something dark flashed across Sylus's face. "Yes."
"You killed him.?"
"Yes."
The casual way he said it made her want to scream. "He was my friend!"
"He was an assassin." Sylus's voice went cold. Factual. "Sent specifically to get close to you. To gain your trust. To kill you when the opportunity presented itself."
Scarlett laughed, bitter and broken.
"Liar. You're lying. You killed him because he tried to help me escape!"
"I killed him because he had a sniper rifle aimed at your head." Sylus stood, crossing to her in three long strides.
"I killed him because I found evidence on his phone—contracts, payments, detailed plans about how he was going to make your death look like an accident. I killed him because he was a threat to you."
"No!" Scarlett pressed her back against the window, trying to put distance between them. "You're making that up! Chen Le was kind, he was—"
"He was a professional killer being paid two billion to put a bullet through your skull."
Sylus braced his hands on either side of her, caging her in. "I saved you, Scarlett. Again. And you're crying over the man who was planning your murder."
"I don't believe you! You're a monster! You're the dangerous one! I can't live in this cage anymore—this cage that has no love, no freedom, nothing but blood and lies!"
"No love?" Sylus's voice dropped to something dangerous. His hands came up to cup her face, forcing her to look at him.
"You think this mansion has no love? Then you're blind, sweetie. Every single drop of blood spilled in these halls was for you. Most of the people trying to break in? They're looking for you. The woman with the rare healing Aether core. The prize every crime lord in this city wants to possess or destroy."
"Stop __
"Every wall I've built, every guard I've posted, every freedom I've taken from you—it's all to keep you alive. To keep you safe. To keep you mine."
His red eyes blazed with something fierce and possessive. "So don't tell me there's no love in this cage, because I have loved you through death and resurrection and a thousand years of searching. I have loved you with every breath, every heartbeat, every drop of blood I've spilled in your name."
Then he kissed her.
His lips crashed against hers, hard and demanding and desperate. Scarlett's breath hitched, her hands coming up to push against his chest, but he was immovable. A wall of muscle and heat and overwhelming presence.
She tried to pull away, tried to turn her head, but his hand slid into her hair, holding her in place. His tongue swept across her bottom lip, seeking entrance,she pressed her lips together in denial.
That's when she felt it. Cold metal pressed against her temple.
The gun.
Scarlett froze, every muscle in her body going rigid. Her eyes flew open, meeting his. Sylus's expression was twisted with something that looked almost like pain, almost like regret, but his hand was steady. The gun was steady. The message was clear.
Stop fighting me.
She stopped struggling. Went limp in his hold like a doll, letting him do what he wanted. Because what choice did she have? He held all the power. He always held all the power.
Sylus's lips moved against hers, softer now but no less insistent. His tongue slipped past her parted lips, tasting, claiming,her as his. The kiss was deep and thorough and wrong in every way, but Scarlett couldn't pull away.
She could only stand there with a gun pressed to her head while the monster she'd married took what he wanted.
She bit down on her lip—hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to hurt herself because she couldn't hurt him.
Sylus made a sound low in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan.
His brow furrowed, but he didn't stop. Didn't pull away. Just kept kissing her like she was oxygen and he'd been drowning.
When he finally released her, a thin string of saliva connected their lips. Her blood mixed with their combined taste, copper and salt and something darker.
Sylus's thumb brushed across her bleeding lip, his eyes hooded and intense.
"Sweet as always," he murmured, voice rough.
And then The gun was gone. He stepped back, straightening his shirt like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just forced himself on her. Like the taste of her blood on his tongue was perfectly normal.
"Happy Valentine's Day, kitten," he said again, softer this time. Almost tender. Then he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a gentle click that sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
Scarlett stood frozen for several heartbeats.
Then she ran.
She scrambled to the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before her stomach heaved. She braced herself against the counter, gagging, her whole body shaking. When the nausea passed, she turned on the tap and began scrubbing at her mouth.
She brushed her teeth three times. Used mouthwash until her gums burned.
Washed her face until her skin was red and raw. But she could still taste him. Could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers. Could still feel the cold press of the gun against her temple.
Disgusting. She felt disgusting. Violated. Used.
Scarlett looked at herself in the mirror.
Her lip was still bleeding, swollen where she'd bitten it. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her face was pale, almost gray.
She looked like a ghost.
Felt like one too.scarlett hand drifted to her chest, pressing against her racing heart.
And there it was—that traitorous, stupid organ doing things it had no business doing. Racing not just from fear but from something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
Something that made her hate herself almost as much as she hated him.
Because underneath the disgust and violation and rage, there had been a moment—just one terrible, fleeting moment—when his lips had been soft against hers, when his hand had been gentle in her hair, when the kiss had felt less like an assault and more like...
No.
Scarlett slammed her palm against the mirror, cracking it. The spider-web fracture split her reflection into fragments.she wouldn't let herself think it. Wouldn't let herself feel anything but hatred for the monster who'd killed her friend, who'd forced a kiss with a gun to her head, who'd imprisoned her in silk and gold and called it love.
But as she stood there with bleeding knuckles and a bleeding lip, staring at her shattered reflection, she couldn't deny the truth her racing heart was screaming.
Her body was a traitor.
And she hated it almost as much as she hated him.
Almost.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.