Alex
They say hell is fire.
They're wrong.
Hell is cold concrete and steel walls, where time is just the drip of a leaking pipe and the only voice you hear belongs to a man who used to be your brother.
Nolan.
He walks in like he owns the place. Expensive cologne. Polished shoes. A scarf draped around his neck like it's winter outside and not whatever season it is in here.
Today, he's brought tea. A porcelain cup. Real china. Because of course he has.
"Good morning, Lex," he says, setting the tray down like we're in some goddamn hotel.
I sit up on the metal bed. My wrists still burn from the last time he got bored and decided to tie me down and ask questions I wouldn't answer.
"You look tired," he hums. "You dream about her again?"
I don't speak.
He likes it when I speak.
Instead, I stare at the wall.
Nolan chuckles, slow and low. "You know, she still wears your ring," he says softly. "Still clutches it in her sleep, sometimes. I watched her last week. She curled up in Adrien's bed like she was scared of the dark."
My hands curl into fists.
"You were right, though. She's a masterpiece," he continues, taking a slow sip. "But so fragile. You know, the way she talks to him—Adrien—it's… a little much, don't you think?"
My head snaps toward him.
He grins.
"Ah, there he is. The devoted father."
He leans against the metal pole in the center of the room, his eyes gleaming. "She kisses him on the cheek when he looks away. Runs her fingers through his hair. Calls him her baby boy. Even when he glares at her like she's some lunatic."
My chest tightens.
"She's so soft with him," he murmurs, eyes dark now. "Too soft. He doesn't deserve it. He's cold. He snaps at her. Rolls his eyes. Ignores her. Ungrateful little bastard. Just like you."
"You touch them," I growl, finally speaking, "and I'll—"
"You'll what?" Nolan's voice turns sharp, twisted with amusement. "You'll stop me? You're in a cage, Alex. A ghost. They've already buried you. And now she lets him—Adrien—walk around with your face, your name, your wife clinging to him like he's all that's left."
He paces.
"I used to think she'd break. Without you. I waited. I was there when she fell apart. You should've seen her, Lex. Crying in the shower, sleeping in your shirts, hugging that damn wedding album like it could bring you back."
Something flickers in his eyes. Lust. Obsession. Madness.
"But she didn't break," he says softly. "She turned to him. She clung. And now—every time he pushes her away, every time he shuts the door in her face—I want to kill him."
His voice drops to a whisper.
"I could be better. I could be gentler. I'd love her the way she deserves."
I launch myself forward. He steps back lazily, like he's done this before. My chains rattle. My wrist splits open again on the sharp edge of the bedframe. Blood.
He just watches me bleed.
"I should've taken you out of the picture years ago," he says. "High school. First day you walked into the room with that stupid laugh and made her smile. She never smiled at me like that. Not once."
He crouches now. Close. His breath hot, his eyes wide.
"You stole her," he whispers. "So I stole you."
I want to kill him. I want to rip his throat out. But I can't move.
He stands and smooths down his coat.
"Anyway. Thought you'd want to know," he says lightly. "Adrien's skipping meals again. She keeps begging him to eat. He won't. He locked her out of his room last night. She cried in the hallway."
He turns at the door.
"But don't worry, Lex. I'll take care of her. I always have."
The door slams shut.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I scream.
Not in rage.
But in fear.