Celina didn't leave her room.
Not when the maids knocked. Not when her sister passed by humming. Not even when her mother called her for lunch with that perfectly pleasant voice that made everything sound normal.
She sat curled on the far end of her bed, blanket around her shoulders, still in the same clothes from the day before. Her throat still burned. Her skin still buzzed with Rafael's touch, her mind haunted by the twisted smile he wore just before she escaped.
And all of it made her breakup with Erik, the cheating, the lies, the humiliating texts, feel like a memory from a different life. A shallow heartbreak compared to the one blooming now in the pit of her stomach.
There was no name for this ache. It wasn't grief, or betrayal. It was dread.
A sharp knock cut through the silence.
"Miss Celina," came Halworth's voice through the door. "Your father has requested your presence in his office."
Requested.
Which meant it wasn't really a request.
She peeled herself out of bed slowly. She didn't change. Just wrapped the blanket tighter around her and walked barefoot down the hall.
The house was too quiet. Like it knew something was about to shift.
The door to her father's office was already open when she arrived. Halworth gave her a nod and stepped back, leaving her alone to face the man who ruled the Strander family.
He stood near the window, tall and broad, in a dark gray suit. He didn't turn when she entered.
"Close the door."
Celina obeyed.
"I heard from your mother. And Cassia."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "About what?"
He turned slowly, his eyes hard. "About you finally stepping into the real world."
She flinched.
"I didn't step anywhere. I—Cassia pushed me into it."
"Cassia understands duty. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't run."
Celina's heart pounded. "I never asked for this."
"You think any of us did?" he snapped. "Do you think I chose this life? You think Cassia wanted blood on her hands at ten?"
She stared at him.
His face softened, just slightly. "But she did it. And so will you."
"I want to dance," Celina whispered. "That's all I ever wanted."
He walked closer, slow, steady. "And who do you think gave you that stage?"
She blinked.
"Those roles. Those companies. Those sold-out nights. You think they chose you because of your talent alone?"
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
"I made you who you are," he said, voice low now. "I paved the road. Protected it. Paid for it. And now it's time for you to pay it back."
Tears pricked her eyes. "Please... I don't belong in that basement."
He raised his voice. "You belong where I say you belong!"
She flinched hard.
And just like that, the anger drained from his face. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. Strong. Controlling. Final.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "But I know you can do it, my sunshine. You're a Strander. That means you survive. That means you win."
She didn't hug him back.
But she didn't pull away.
"I believe in you, Celina."
She closed her eyes, and in the dark of her mind, she saw Rafael again.
Her father eased back into his seat, folding his hands together on the desk.
"Let's talk about Erik," he said.
Celina stiffened. The name struck like a whip. She hadn't mentioned Erik to anyone. Not her mother, not even Cassia. Not a soul. They had kept their relationship secret, both to protect her ballet career and because deep down, she knew her father would never approve of a man like Erik.
Her voice came out a whisper. "What about him?" Celina flinched. Her stomach turned.
"You think I don't keep tabs on anyone who touches my daughter?" He smiled at her.
"He is just..." She stammers.
"He's a lackey for the Ching family," her father said bluntly.
She stared at him in shock. "No, he's not. He... he works in logistics. He..."
Her father shook his head. "Choose your people better, Celina. I didn't deal with him myself because I know what he meant to you. But that man is filth. Bought and owned by the Chings."
She opened her mouth but couldn't find words. The betrayal carved deeper than she expected.
"I can't do that," she whispered, her voice barely audible, knowing even as she said it that she might be bringing Erik to ruin.
Her father's smile turned cold, a cruel slice beneath his otherwise calm expression. "How did you meet him, Celina?" His voice held a quiet edge, the kind that said he already knew the answer. Her heart skipped. No one was supposed to know. Their time together had been hers—hers alone.
But now, doubt clawed up her throat. Had Erik approached her because of her family name? Was it all a lie from the start? She opened her mouth, stunned into silence, unsure whether to defend him or herself.
"Your first assignment," he repeated, gesturing to the corner of the room, where a sleek black cooler sat like a shadow.
Celina followed his gaze, dread coiling like smoke in her chest. Her breath caught.
"Open it," he instructed.
She didn't want to. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and run. But she moved anyway, slow and shaking, like she already knew what waited inside. Her fingers fumbled over the latch, the sound of the lid creaking was louder than thunder in the silence.
Inside, resting atop a bed of ice, was a severed finger.
Celina's scream never made it past her throat. Her legs gave out and she collapsed backward—but her father caught her, as if he'd expected it. His arms held her firmly upright.
She clung to him like a child. "Please," she sobbed. "Don't make me do this."
His voice remained calm, detached. "I'll have the cooler cleaned. We can't have fingerprints on it."
He let go of her then and walked toward the door.
"Deliver the message, Celina," he said before leaving. "This is your responsibility now."
And then he was gone.
Leaving her alone with the box. And the finger.