07: My Prison

KILLIAN

The steam fogged up the mirror and the air around me. It dulled my senses, but it wasn't enough to drown him out.

I stared at my reflection, my jaw tightening. There he was, behind me. He was still dressed in his favourite pinstriped suit, his pale blue eyes watching me. He had that same cold sneer curling his lips.

Father.

He'd been dead for ten years, and still I couldn't fucking escape him.

"You think you're in control? You think you've mastered this obsession, boy? You're a slave. And she sees it."

My fists clenched. He was always the same. Always right there when the cracks showed. And Alexa or Seraphina, whatever name she was hiding under now, had peeled back a layer I hadn't let anyone touch in years.

"I taught you better," he said, stepping closer until his breath ghosted my ear. "Weakness is a disease, son. And you...you reek of it."

I snapped.

My fist shattered the mirror, and the impact shot through my bones. Shards of glass splintered across the sink and the floor, blood slowly dripping from my knuckles.

The mirror was broken.

The image was gone.

But the shame?

It was still there, breathing inside me.

I stood there for a long time, letting the sting distract me. My towel was half-loosened on my hips, but I didn't care. All I could think about was the way she'd looked at me tonight, like I was a threat.

And that should've pleased me. The old me would've laughed.

But all I could think was: She used to trust me enough to die beside me. Now she flinched like I might break her.

I stepped out of the bathroom, blood still dripping from my hand, and grabbed a shirt from the armchair. The fabric soaked up the blood quickly.

Roman had texted me earlier. He had intel on Vincent. But I couldn't pay attention to that now.

I walked instead. Past the guest rooms. Down the private hall. To the wing no one else was allowed to enter.

My sanctuary. My prison.

I opened the door to the cold therapy chamber. The room was sterile white, frozen in time. Just like him and the past he'd carved into me.

I stripped the towel away and sank into the tub of ice water. My body screamed in protest, and my breath hitched.

Good.

The cold reminded me that I was still the master of my body. Not her. Not him. Not the ghosts. Just me.

My father's voice drifted into my mind.

"She betrayed you, Killian. Don't forget that she chose him."

I tilted my head back against the edge of the tub, the water lapping at my chest.

Seraphina had chosen Vincent.

She'd betrayed everything we’d built. Everything I bled for.

But here's the thing, I couldn't bring myself to hate her.

I wanted her to remember every lie, every vow, every goddamn moan she’d given him that should've been mine.

I wanted revenge because I was a monster, yes. But she'd created me.

....

My fingers drummed against the armrest of the leather chair in my study. A file sat open in front of me, one of many in the black box of Vincent's crimes, each one bloodier than the last.

The door creaked open.

I didn't need to look up. I recognized the footsteps instantly. Roman stepped in grinning like the devil. He was dressed in combat boots, a designer jacket, and madness in his green eyes.

But this time, he was holding something.

"I intercepted this at the gate earlier," Roman said. "It wasn't sent by courier. It was dropped off by hand. There's no name on it, but I figured it was meant for you."

He tossed it on the desk, and I stared at it. It was a wax-sealed blood-red envelope.

I knew what it was before I opened it.

Vincent had sent it to me.

My jaw tightened as I broke the seal with my thumb. Inside was a single black-and-white photograph... and a note.

I stared at the image.

Seraphina.

Not Alexa. Not the version I was grooming to trust me. She was the version he'd owned first.

She was asleep in his bed. His sheets tangled were tangled around her body, her shoulders bare. She was vulnerable in the way only someone who felt safe can be.

Vincent had taken this when she was still his.

The note read:

"Your bride used to moan my name in her sleep. She will return to her place soon enough."

My vision went red.

I stood, the chair slamming backwards as my fist clenched around the photo. Roman flinched only slightly. Even he knew when not to poke a live wire.

I tossed the photograph and the note into the bin, pacing back and forth as my rage swelled.

"You think he's going to try and sneak her out of this place?" Roman asked.

I scoffed. "No, he's too much of a coward to do that. But he's going to try to play mind games."

I paused by the window, a smile tugging at my lips. The more I thought of it, the more exciting it became.

"Have Adam track Vincent's location," I said to Ronan, and he nodded. "Yes, boss."

...

I went back to the room later.

Not to check on her, I told myself. Just to confirm that she hadn't tried to run. The hallway was quiet, unnaturally so.

Then I heard a strangled cry.

It wasn't loud. But I knew right away who it was coming from.

I stepped inside the room, and the sight before me stopped me in my tracks.

She was thrashing beneath the silk sheets and her skin glistened with sweat, her lashes damp.

"Don't...Vincent, please...stop—"

Vincent.

That name on her lips felt like acid. I should've turned around. I should've let her burn in it.

But I didn't.

I sat on the edge of the bed, slowly.

"Tesora," I murmured.

She whimpered.

Clenching my jaw, I reach for her, letting my fingertips graze the edge of her temple, sweeping back the strands stuck to her skin.

Her body stilled slightly. She blinked, her eyes wide as she shot upright. Her chest heaved, her gaze finally finding mine.

"It was just a dream," I said, knowing damn well that it wasn't.

She blinked at me as if I wasn't real. Then her gaze dropped to my bare chest.

I saw the fear in her eyes right then.

"You're afraid of me," I said, calmly.

"No," she whispered too quickly.

"Yes."

I said it for her.

Then, slowly, I moved closer. Enough to breathe the same air and invade her space.

"You think I'm going to... become him."

She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the sheets again.

"I'm not going to touch you tonight, Tesora," I said finally. "Not unless you beg me to."

Her eyes widened, and I leaned back slightly, just enough to ease the tension coiling between us. But seeing her like that, shrinking with fear, it tugged at my heart.

And then, I did something I didn't plan.

I pulled her against my chest.

She resisted at first. But she was tired and broken.

"You don't have to sleep alone," I whispered. "Not anymore."

A minute passed. Maybe more.

Then she melted into me, and eventually, she fell asleep in my arms.

And I held her.

When I was sure she was deep under again, I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"One day, you'll love me, Seraphina. And on that day, I'll destroy you," I murmured.

…

I didn't remember falling asleep.

I never do.

Sleep wasn't something I easily drifted into, it was something that only came when I was too exhausted to resist. Most nights, I paced the hallways, worked until my eyes blurred, and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think of her face.

But tonight...I succumbed to sleep without warning. And the nightmare came for me like a blade to my heart.

"I'm not yours," she whispered.

Then she pulled the trigger, and pain exploded on my chest just below my collarbone.

I jolted awake with a gasp.

I dragged in a shaky breath, my breathing ragged.

But I wasn't alone.

Alexa stood in front of the bed.

She was barefoot. Her hair was messy, and her silk robe hung loosely around her shoulders.

But it was the gun in her grip that stole the air from my lungs.

My custom-made .45.

I remember keeping it in the safe. But, somehow, it had made its way into her hands.

And now, it was pointed straight at me.

I leaned back on the bed, my chest still heaving. Then I let out a laugh.

It startled her, causing her to flinch.

"Are you planning to shoot me in my sleep, Tesora?" I rasped in a low voice, and she tightened her grip on the weapon, her eyes growing cold.