Laila's pov
The storm outside had eased into a dull, persistent drizzle when I finally forced myself to stand. Every muscle ached from the tension and fear, but my mind was sharp — razor sharp.
Dante's words echoed in my ears, but I refused to let them dictate my fate.
I took a slow, steadying breath and met his gaze head-on.
"This ends now," I said, voice firm and unwavering.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Oh? And how do you intend to do that?"
I stepped forward, reclaiming the space between us. "By remembering I'm not just a victim in this game. I'm a player. And I'm done being controlled."
For the first time, a flicker of respect — or maybe curiosity — softened his expression.
The office, once a cage, now felt like the battlefield where I'd fight back.
"Tell me what you want," I demanded. "And maybe we can find a way through this. But on my terms."
Dante smiled — a dangerous, calculating smile. "I like your spirit, Laila. The question is whether it will save you."
Before I could respond, a sharp noise came from the door. Both of us turned.
Rafe stepped into the room, eyes blazing.
"This isn't over," he said. "Not by a long shot."
I looked from Rafe to Dante, heart pounding. Allies and enemies blurred.
One thing was clear: the real fight had only just begun.