CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CALL THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING
The night air is heavy, thick with things unsaid.
I stand on the penthouse balcony, my arms crossed over my chest, wind brushing through my hair. Below me, the city pulses like a living thing, neon lights flickering, shadows dancing. But up here? It's silent. Isolated.
I glance behind me. The glass doors are closed. Aiden is probably inside pacing and distracted by business.
Now or never.
My fingers tremble as I pull the sleek burner phone from my pocket. It has been tucked in the folds of my coat after my first terrifying night. I dared touch it, until now.
I dial.
A click. A breath. Then a voice on the other end. "Serina?"
"I don't have long," I whisper. "He probably thinks I'm asleep."
"You're still with him?" the voice asks sharply.
"Yes. He's dangerous."
"But you're okay?"
"I don't know," I say in denial, voice cracking. "He… he's not what I expected."
"You have to get out."
"I can't. Not yet." I hesitate. "There are things here. Things I need to understand."
Suddenly…
The balcony door slides open.
I spin around
Aiden stands in the doorway. Silent. Still. Staring.
My blood runs cold.
The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the ground.
—
Aiden's gaze drops to the phone on the floor, then lifts slowly back at me.
His expression is unreadable. But his silence? It's deafening.
"I can explain," I blurt, voice raw.
He doesn't move. "Then explain."
My throat tightens. "It wasn't what it sounded like."
"You said I'm dangerous."
"Because you are," I snap before I can stop myself. "But not in the way they think."
He finally steps forward, slow, deliberate. "Who were you talking to?"
I don't reply.
His jaw tenses. "You went behind my back. After everything."
"I didn't plan to—"
"But you did."
My back hits the glass railing. He doesn't touch me, but his presence surrounds me like a storm. "You think you can lie to me and walk away untouched?"
My voice shakes. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"No," he says coldly. "Hurting you would mean you don't matter. And you do, Serina. That's the problem."
The words hit harder than a slap.
"I didn't call them to betray you," I whisper. "I called them because I'm scared. I'm alone. I don't know who to trust."
He leans in, face inches from mine. "Then let me make it simple. You trust me. Or you don't breathe next week."
Tears threaten, but I blink them away. "You can't scare me into loyalty."
"Who said anything about scaring you?" he murmurs, voice low, dark. "I'm not trying to control you anymore."
My breath catches.
He steps closer still, and suddenly he kisses me.
But it's not soft. It's not sweet.
It's fierce. Angry. Desperate.
His hands don't touch my skin, but every inch of the kiss says what he won't. "You betrayed me, and I still want you." he nibbles on my bottom lip and licks the little blood he has drawn.
I push him back, breathless. "You don't get to confuse me."
"You were already confused," he growls. "You think you're not part of this now? That phone call just made you a liability."
I swallow. "Then what happens next?"
Aiden looks at me like I'm both a weakness and an addiction. "Now? You prove I can still trust you."
"And if I can't?"
His voice drops to a whisper. "Then I break the part of me that wants to."
---
I can't seem to sleep
Not because of fear. Not entirely.
The next morning, I woke to silence. No knock. No breakfast. Just a single note slipped under her door:
"We're done playing pretend."
I stare at it for too long. The handwriting was sharp, slanted like him.
I open the door, and I actually expected a guard, a threat, anything. But the hallway is empty.
Still, something feels off.
I walk toward the kitchen. It was immaculate. Too clean. Too quiet.
And then notice it.
My phone. Gone.
My fake ID badge. Gone.
Even the burner I had hidden under the loose floorboard? Gone.
He'd searched my room?
He'd stripped me of every option.
My privacy.
My chest tightened.
I wasn't just being watched now. I'm being controlled.
By lunchtime, I try speaking to one of the house staff, a silent man in all black. He doesn't respond. Just looked at me once, then returned to folding linens.
By evening, I just knew.
I am no longer a guest. I am a liability on lockdown.
The television is gone. My internet access is blocked. My wardrobe was suddenly replaced, new clothes, tighter, more polished. All her size.
He is reshaping me. Silently. Ruthlessly.
And still he didn't come.
Not until nightfall.
He is in the study. Leaning against the desk, whiskey in hand. Shirt sleeves rolled, tie loose. That same unreadable calm.
"You finally came," I say quietly.
He doesn't look at me.
"Why do I feel like a prisoner?"
"You're not."
I raise a brow. "Then what am I?"
His eyes flicker up, unreadable. "A lesson. One I can't afford to fail."
My chest ached. "You don't trust me."
"No. And now, neither will anyone else. Which means you're mine more than ever."
I hate how my skin responded to that. To him. To this version of myself, I don't recognize myself anymore.
"I only made one call," I whisper.
"And now, you'll spend the rest of this chapter of your life learning how many lives one call can cost."
I don't reply.
He stepped forward, pausing just in front of me. "You want your life back?"
My eyes lift to his.
"Earn it," he said.
Then he walks past me.
No kiss. No touch.
Just the weight of everything we aren't saying.
And the terrifying truth is that a part of me doesn't want my life back.