Did he already reach out to Xavrenith?
Does my father even know I'm gone?
...But then again, maybe silence is their answer.
I drew in a long breath, heavy with the scent of salt and memory.
I crashed right after dinner. My body, wrung out from fear and hunger, surrendered to sleep like it was the only mercy left. Now, before the sun has even dared to rise, my eyes are wide open, restless.
I'm awake. Too awake.
But also—filthy. Gross.
There's a washroom here, and I already rinsed off what I could last night. But no clothes. No warmth. Just damp skin and shame.
Staring out into the deep dark stretch of the ocean beyond, lit only by a few flickering posts along the shore, the truth hit me like cold water:
This place is a cage.
Even if I slipped past the guards—and let's be real, they're built like shadows with no quit—I wouldn't make it far. The sea would eat me alive before the horizon even noticed.
There's only one way out: my phone.
Wherever it is.
If it's with Kaelvynox, then I'm completely screwed. Not just because he's terrifying. But because I can't see his face again. I won't survive that. Not after what he said last night.
It wasn't even cruel, not really.
Just...honest. And that honesty wrecked me harder than any insult could.
If I get that phone, I'll call Xavrenith. I'll tell him everything.
But the real question is—why am I here? What's Knox's real game? Was this a ransom thing? If so, maybe Xavrenith's already moving.
But what if... he's not?
I didn't notice how the sun began to whisper its way through the seam between sea and sky.
It's morning.
Almost twenty-four hours since I vanished from Manila.
Syrelunea probably thinks I'm sipping drinks by the coast somewhere, taking selfies in a flower crown. Not kidnapped.
If Zhyrionth called, would he get suspicious when I didn't answer?
If my phone hasn't died already.
Exactly 6:30 a.m.
Three knocks. Precise. Chilling.
Lying still on the bed, I stared at the door like it might devour me.
Knox. It's him. It has to be—
No.
Relief surged through me like caffeine when the door opened, and Caeloura stepped in.
She looked nervous. Too nervous.
I looked away, couldn't even fake a greeting. Just silence.
"Good morning, ma'am," she said quietly, lifting a tray of food.
Her steps were deliberate. Stiff. Guarded. At the door, another guard stood posted. Watching her, watching me.
"You're already awake."
She placed the tray on the small table. Her eyes flicked to my hands, my feet—subtle surprise at seeing the ropes gone. The marks are still there, though. Rope burns like memories—ugly and red.
I stood. She flinched.
I raised a brow but didn't say a word. Just pulled out a chair and sat down, like this was just another morning and I wasn't a prisoner on some godforsaken island.
Water first. Then food.
I caught her watching me again, as if afraid I'd suddenly lunge and stab her with a spoon.
Honestly? Not a bad plan.
But I'd need to be a siren to swim from this place.
"You know, Caeloura," I began calmly, "you've been with our family for years. I just didn't think betrayal would wear your face."
"I'm... I'm sorry, ma'am—"
"If you're really sorry, then talk. What's going on? What's his endgame? Why me? Why now? This was my plan, not his!"
My voice cracked at the edges, rising with fury I barely managed to leash.
I gripped the utensils like anchors. My hands trembled.
She said nothing.
I closed my eyes. Breathed. Tried to kill the storm inside me.
"I said... are you silent because you're forbidden? Or just too ashamed to admit this is all about money?"
Because I've learned—money moves people like nothing else. You have it? They come. You lose it? They vanish.
Still, part of me hoped for something nobler.
Loyalty, maybe.
But loyalty is easy. Stay where you're told.
Faithfulness? That's something rarer. Something deeper.
And I guess that's what I wanted. What I stupidly expected.
But this?
This was just another proof that this world bows to whatever's printed on green paper.
"Nevermind," I muttered, then shoved a forkful of food into my mouth.
Caeloura didn't leave.
Which was weird. If she thought I might stab her, why stay?
"Sir wants to know if you need anything," she said finally. "He's sending your clothes up."
I almost choked. Clothes?
He's giving me my stuff?
Okay, but there's no way that includes my phone.
"Has he contacted Xavrenith?" I asked, turning my gaze sharp on her.
She blinked, confusion crinkling her brows, like I'd just spoken in a language no one had invented yet.
I sipped from the glass of water beside me and let the coolness calm my tongue. Maybe she really doesn't know anything. But whatever. No time for theatrics. I've got a brain and a plan—time to use both.
"Forget it," I muttered, shaking my head with a dry chuckle. "Just tell him I need my stuff. I'm ready for a real shower."
"S-Sure, Ma'am."
Caeloura turned on her heel, but before she could disappear—
"Oh, and Caeloura," I called out, voice laced with a hint of sugar and thorns, "ask him if I'm going to be locked in here for eternity. Because honestly? This place is starting to feel like a beautifully decorated coffin."
She paused, nodded once, then slipped out. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing me back into this seaside palace-prison hybrid.
The food was still warm, but I barely noticed it once I finished. I was done waiting. I yanked open a cabinet, found a towel, and marched straight into the bathroom like I owned the place. Like I wasn't a freaking hostage.
The water was bliss. Warm. Cleansing. I stayed there for nearly an hour, scrubbing away every trace of yesterday's hell. Even if I couldn't wash away the memories, at least I'd smell better doing it.
When I stepped out, wrapped in nothing but a towel and half a prayer, I spotted my suitcase near the bed—completely emptied.
What the—
I opened the wardrobe and froze.
All my clothes. Neatly folded. Organized like a boutique shelf.
So... I am staying here?
Caeloura didn't just do this for fun. No way. She was told to. Someone planned this.
I pulled on a pair of soft shorts and my favorite spaghetti strap—white, fitted, dangerous. My comfort shirt, the one with the "Good girls go to heaven. Bad girls taste like heaven" print in bold. Petty, I know, but in moments like this, petty feels like power.
At the dresser, I spotted a hairdryer tucked inside the drawer. I used it, not because I cared how I looked—but because doing something normal helped me feel sane.
When I was finally satisfied with my hair's controlled chaos, I walked toward the door and tested the knob.
It turned.
Unlocked.
My heart almost exploded.
Wait... unlocked?
The moment I eased it open, the hallway peeked back—and there he was. A lone guard, hunched over his phone, laughing like no one could possibly escape this place.
Could I run?
Sure.
Would I get far?
Absolutely not. This is an island. For all I know, there are sharks warming up their dinner circles in the shallows.
"Psst."
He looked up. Froze.
Straightened like he'd just seen his boss's ghost.
His hand flew to his walkie-talkie. "She's up. Door's open. What now?"
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out.
From the device, another voice crackled. "No orders from Sir. Don't let her out."
The guard glanced at me, trying not to look nervous.
"Where's Knox?" I asked, stepping forward.
"Ma'am, please return to your room."
"I heard the conversation. He didn't say I can't go out. What do you think I'll do? Swim to freedom? Get eaten by sea monsters? Let me breathe at least."
"Ma'am, please—"
I stepped out farther.
He panicked. Hands reached out, gently pushing me back.
That's when his voice cracked like thunder through glass.
"What's going on?"
I turned.
There he was.
Knox, emerging from a room like a villain stepping out of his lair. The very room I made him kneel in last night. The memory crashed through me like a wave I didn't ask for.
I smiled. Sweet. Wicked. Dangerous.
"Hey there," I said, lifting my hand in a playful wave. "I just wanted to take a little walk."
He stopped. Arms crossed.
My eyes may or may not have dropped to his forearms for half a second too long.
Focus, girl.
When I looked back up, his eyes weren't on mine. They were lower. And honestly? I wasn't sure if it was my chest or the print on my shirt he was staring at.
So I tossed my hair back over my shoulder, giving him a clear view.
His jaw twitched.
That shirt always did provoke reactions.
"Do you really expect me to rot in that room?" I asked, my voice steady. "Let's be honest—I can't escape. I don't know how to start a jet ski, I've never flown a chopper, and my legs are about as useful as breadsticks in the ocean."
I stepped forward again.
The guard blocked me again.
I sighed dramatically. "Come on. I'm bored out of my mind. Let me look at the beach before I lose what's left of my sanity."
I tried to take a step away, but the guard stepped in front of me again, forcing me to stop so abruptly I almost smacked into his chest.
I gave him a death stare that could melt steel.
"Let her go."
The voice sliced through the tension like a heated blade through ice.
My lips curled into a victorious grin as the guard hesitated—then stepped aside. I walked past him like a queen reclaiming her throne.
Of course, I was right. Guards lurked everywhere. At each turn, I caught the buzz of static in their radios, relaying Knox's approval that I had been granted permission to walk. Or maybe to wander. Same thing in this gilded cage.
Even at the grand entrance, another bodyguard was posted like a statue—ready, still, and watching.
The stone path down the hill looked almost cinematic, lined with wind-brushed flowers and shaded trees. As I passed the guest quarters, I spotted Calystron nearly choking on his coffee on the veranda. One eyebrow lifted. His shock was obvious. Me, roaming around like a storm with no chains?
Go on. Ask your master.
By the time my feet touched the sand, all thoughts of entrapment vanished like foam on the shore. The view—good grief—the view was poetry dipped in paint. If I wasn't a hostage, I would've been twirling in circles by now.
Two sun loungers sat beneath a cluster of rocks, shaded perfectly from the cruel eye of the sun. I sank into one of them, letting the waves whisper secrets I didn't yet understand.
For a while, there was only wind, water, and sky. Even the birds seemed to glide just to entertain me.
Then I saw him.
Knox.
Descending like a walking contradiction—his gray V-neck hugging his arrogance, black shorts brushing strong legs, and his face... as unreadable as ever. My spine straightened. I ran my fingers through my hair, letting it fall in a way that exposed the curve of my neck, the slope of my collarbone.
He sat on the lounger beside me. Trailing him were a bodyguard holding a MacBook and Caeloura with a glass of something citrus.
"Thanks for letting me roam... and for the company," I said sweetly.
Yeah, I deserve an award. Because deep down, I wanted to scream at him, punch him, drown him in the sea. But I needed this—needed the illusion.
He barely glanced at me before replying, "I'm working. This spot's better than that suffocating office."
Cold. Ice-cold.
Caeloura nearly cracked a smile. My eyes flicked to her, sharp as glass.
"Bring me a clubhouse sandwich, please," I said, voice silk-laced but venom-tipped.
She nodded quickly and left with the guard, leaving me and Knox alone, framed by sea and silence.
I peeked at him. Locked into his laptop, brows furrowed, absorbed. How is it that someone so infuriating could still look like a magazine cover when he's not even trying?
I remember the first time I met him. I hated him on sight. Still do, I think. But now there's something else. Something unfamiliar and unwanted.
He looked like someone who could take everything from me—if he hasn't already.
I cleared my throat. No reaction.
"I'm glad it's not too hot today. I forgot sunblock," I said lightly. "I was thinking of a swim."
Still nothing.
Is he made of stone?
I turned to the sea, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.
Then... a wicked idea.
I slipped out of my spaghetti strap top slowly, revealing the black string bikini I wore underneath. Thankfully, I'd packed more swimsuits than bras. Priorities, right?
His eyes darted to me.
Victory.
"What are you doing?" His voice was low.
Bingo.
"I'm going for a swim," I replied, flashing him a slow, sunny smile.
I stood up and casually undid the button of my shorts. His eyes followed. I tugged them down slowly, sand sticking to my ankles as I revealed the full bikini.
For a moment, I felt his gaze trace my skin.
And then—shame.
Hot, sticky embarrassment curled in my gut. I wasn't usually shy, not about my body, but the way he looked at me—like I was both a challenge and a conquest—made me feel bare in the worst way.
I swallowed, cheeks heating, and sank back into the lounger. Pretended to fold my top neatly beside me.
When I looked up again, he was smirking. One brow arched, mischief dancing in his eyes.
That look. I couldn't read it. And I hated that.
The cushion beside me dipped slightly. I froze.
His fingers grazed my back. Warm. Intentional.
I stiffened as his leg brushed mine.
"I know what you're doing," he said, voice like smoke and sin.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I hated that he could unravel me with five words.
I let out a shaky breath and forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
I've dated boys. Laughed with them. Danced through late nights and kissed under fake stars. But none of it ever made me forget who I was. Never once did a man blur my mind.
Until now.
Now I feel… empty. Like a fog sits between us, thick and suffocating. I can't see past him, can't guess his intentions. It's like trying to read a book that's written in smoke.
And then, his chest pressed against my back.
Warm. Unapologetic. Real.
The lounger gave a soft creak as he leaned closer, his breath ghosting over my skin. His lips brushed my ear like a secret.
"Let's test the theory—do you really taste like heaven?"
My heart sprinted like it had somewhere better to be. I couldn't speak. Couldn't even blink. My body screamed that something was off, that this was a storm I wasn't built for.
I opened my mouth—to say what, I didn't know—but only a sharp breath escaped.
"Hm?" he hummed, stroking my hair like I was his favorite page to bookmark.
Damn it.
Then he laughed.
A low, deep, sin-stained sound.
What just happened?
His phone rang. He pulled away, fingers slipping from my hair as he stood up. Only then did I remember how to breathe.
I turned my head slowly, catching the start of his conversation.
"Hello. Yes, Zeyllithra. Don't worry. I'll be home soon…"
He strolled away, voice smooth, body relaxed, as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't just cracked wide open.
The wind hit me hard, chilling my damp skin and everything underneath it. I looked down at my thighs, my heart thudding with a slow, dull ache. It was real. It hurt.
What the hell am I doing?
He's taken. He's got her. Zeyllithra. Probably sipping champagne in some luxury villa while I'm here—half-naked and emotionally unraveling.
But wasn't this the plan?
Seduce the devil, escape the dungeon.
If I win him over, I get the key. No more islands. No more fake engagements. Freedom. So why does my chest feel like it's caving in?
I didn't wait for him to return.
I stood up, barefoot, breathless, and marched toward the waves like they owed me something. When the ocean wrapped around my waist, I dove in, hoping it would wash away the confusion.
But when I surfaced, I saw him—still on the phone, still looking out at the sea. Still there. Still him.
Caeloura had returned. Knox whispered something to her, then turned back to his call.
Why do I even care?
This isn't about love. It's about survival. I just need to get out. That's all.
And yet...
I floated for what felt like hours, pretending the sea could erase what just happened. When the clouds thinned and sunlight spilled through, I swam back, heavier than when I left.
He was back at his laptop.
I hated that my earlier confidence had melted into the tide. I reached for the robe—probably left by Caeloura—and slipped it on without a glance his way.
But I knew.
He was watching me. Always watching.
I walked to the table, grabbed the sandwich, and took a bite, washing it down with juice I barely tasted. The knot in my throat refused to move. I swallowed anyway.
When I dared to look at him, he was staring—those eyes darker than obsidian, churning like a storm that didn't know mercy.
It used to scare me. That look. That stare. Now, I don't know what it does.
"Can I use the kitchen?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper, nearly swallowed by the breeze. I didn't want to speak to him. Not really.
There was a war in me. Between the me I know and the stranger that keeps showing up whenever he's around.
His lips curved. "Go ahead."
I nodded, forcing a sweet smile I didn't feel. I grabbed my clothes and bolted like I was racing gravity, heading back up the hill, toward the mansion—toward something that felt like distance.
Cooking isn't exactly my strength, but I could throw together a few Spanish dishes if I tried. Maybe I could please him with lunch.
Maybe then, I'd earn his favor. His trust.
Maybe.
It hurt, though.
Everything hurt.
Maybe it was my pride. Or maybe it was the reality of pretending to care about someone I wanted to hate.
No—I do hate him.
I hate him now more than ever.
More than the first time.
More than the second.
More than all the silences, smirks, and secrets he ever gave me.