The door slammed shut with a metallic finality, and the echo of Kairo's departing footsteps reverberated long after he was gone. Evelina sat frozen where he had left her, her mouth still carrying the bitter aftertaste of food forced between her lips, her skin tingling with the ghost of his touch. She wanted to scrub it all away—his kiss, his words, his shadow that seemed to cling to the very air of the room.
Her hands trembled in her lap, but she clenched them together, trying to still their violent shaking. It was useless. Her body betrayed her fear.
The silence pressed in around her, thick and suffocating, until she thought it might crush her. Only the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the occasional sob breaking from her chest reminded her she was alive. She had thought crying would bring relief, but the tears only made her feel emptier, weaker, like she was bleeding herself dry from the inside out.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was less. Or more. Time had no meaning here—no windows, no clocks, nothing but the relentless sameness of four walls and the weight of despair. She lay curled on the cold floor, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly as if that small motion might soothe the chaos inside her.
But then something shifted.
Her tears slowed, drying against her skin until her face felt raw, her eyelids heavy from the effort. She lifted her head slightly, scanning the room as if seeing it for the first time. The walls stared back at her, blank and unyielding—or so she had thought.
But there, near the far corner where the light from the ceiling bulb dimmed into shadow, she noticed faint lines.
At first, she dismissed them as cracks, perhaps imperfections in the paint. But something about the unevenness drew her closer. She crawled across the floor on shaky limbs, her breath catching in her throat.
When she pressed her fingers to the wall, she felt it—rough grooves etched into the surface. Her nails scraped against them, fitting into the depressions as if retracing the path of desperate hands.
They weren't cracks.
They were scratches.
Long, uneven marks gouged into the plaster, layered upon each other, some shallow, some deep, the kind that only came from fingernails dragged in frantic struggle.
Her chest tightened, a sob clawing up her throat. She leaned closer, tracing the patterns. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, overlapping and chaotic, like the silent screams of those who had come before her.
Someone else had been here.
No—many others.
The thought slammed into her like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She imagined them: faceless captives pressed against the same walls, their nails tearing until they broke, scratching until blood smeared the plaster. She could almost hear their cries, muffled by the soundproof walls, swallowed whole by the silence that had already tried to devour her.
Her stomach lurched.
What had become of them?
Were they freed? Or were they buried somewhere, their bodies hidden under the empire of Kairo Volkov, their final moments immortalized only in these marks?
She pressed her forehead against the cold wall, trying to steady her breathing, but every shudder that left her body made the scratches seem louder, as if the walls themselves whispered of past suffering.
"No… no…" she muttered, shaking her head violently. "I can't… I can't…"
The idea that she wasn't the first, that this room had seen others suffer, broke something fragile inside her. She wasn't special. She wasn't chosen. She was just another name on a contract, another debt collected, another body left to rot in this cage.
A violent shiver ran through her, from her scalp to her toes. She stumbled back from the wall, collapsing against the floor, clutching her arms around herself as if she could hold her body together before it shattered completely.
Her breathing grew ragged. Her vision blurred. The air felt too heavy, pressing against her chest until she couldn't draw breath. She clawed at her throat as panic swallowed her whole.
The scratches danced in her vision, multiplying, surrounding her from every direction, mocking her with the evidence of what fate awaited. She couldn't escape. She couldn't fight. The walls had devoured others before her, and now it was her turn.
Her body gave in to exhaustion, trembling violently one last time before everything went dark.
She fainted on the cold floor, the room's silence swallowing her whole once again.
---
Expansion – Evelina's Spiral
Time in unconsciousness was a blur, but her mind didn't rest. Dreams came—fragmented, oppressive. She saw shadows dragging their nails down endless walls, faceless figures screaming silently, their mouths wide but producing no sound. She ran, always toward a door, but the handle slipped from her grip, vanishing before her eyes. And always, always, there were the scratches, spreading like veins, climbing her arms, etching themselves into her skin until she was nothing but a canvas of desperate lines.
When she jolted awake, her body was drenched in cold sweat. Her throat burned from silent screams she didn't remember making. The bulb overhead hummed softly, an indifferent observer to her collapse.
She lay there for a long time, unable to move, staring blankly at the ceiling as the edges of her nightmare lingered like smoke.
Her wrists ached where the ropes had once bound her, phantom bruises pulsing with each beat of her heart. She flexed her fingers slowly, staring at her nails. They were cracked, jagged from her own earlier struggles, from clawing at doors that would never open.
Would her scratches join the others on the wall someday?
Would someone else, months or years later, run their fingers over them and feel the same terror she did now?
The thought was unbearable.
She pressed her palms flat against the floor, forcing herself upright. Her muscles screamed in protest, weak from hunger, exhaustion, and despair. But she couldn't keep lying there. If she did, she might never rise again.
She stumbled toward the wall once more, compelled by a horrible fascination. The scratches were still there, mocking her with their permanence. She leaned close, her breath fogging slightly against the cold paint, and whispered:
"Who were you?"
Her voice cracked, hoarse from crying and silence. "Did you… did you ever escape?"
Of course, there was no answer.
The walls did not speak.
And yet, in her bones, she knew.
They hadn't escaped.
They had been erased.
Her tears fell again, streaking down to the marks, as though adding her sorrow to theirs. She pressed her forehead against the wall until it hurt, whispering broken prayers she wasn't sure anyone could hear.
---
Closing
Her strength faltered once more. Her knees buckled, and she sank back to the floor. Darkness hovered at the edge of her vision, a black tide ready to pull her under again.
She clutched her arms tightly around herself, rocking slightly, her last conscious thought a desperate plea to a God who seemed far away:
"Please… not me too…"
And then the exhaustion claimed her, pulling her down into merciful unconsciousness, leaving the scratches to watch in silence as another captive joined their unending legacy.
But Evelina wasn't alone.
Hidden cameras watched her every move, every breakdown, every sob carved into the silence. On one of the many screens in a different part of the estate, Kairo sat reclined in his chair, eyes fixed on her fragile form lying crumpled on the floor.
He saw the way she had crawled to the wall. The way she traced the scratches, clung to them, whispered as if begging the ghosts of the past to save her. He had seen captives break before, but there was something raw in her collapse that intrigued him.
His jaw tightened when her body finally stilled, unconscious.
"Pathetic," he muttered, but his eyes didn't leave the screen.
A snap of his fingers summoned one of his men. "Move her," Kairo ordered coldly.
"Where, sir?"
"To the other room." A pause, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "The one I prepared."
The guard bowed and left without another word.
Moments later, heavy boots echoed in Evelina's prison. Two men entered, lifting her limp form with surprising care. Her head lolled against one man's shoulder, her dark hair spilling over her pale face.
She didn't stir—not even when the cold walls of her cell disappeared behind them.
The men carried her down winding halls until they reached another door. This one opened not into a cage of bare walls, but into a chamber draped in shadows and luxury. Velvet curtains framed tall windows, a chandelier glimmered faintly overhead, and the bed at the center looked soft enough to swallow a body whole.
They laid Evelina gently onto the mattress, her small form disappearing into the expanse of silk sheets.
One man adjusted her so she wouldn't wake with pain in her neck. The other pulled the blanket over her trembling frame. Without a word, they left, closing the heavy door behind them.
The room returned to silence, broken only by Evelina's shallow breathing.
She would wake in a cage still, yes. But this cage was gilded.
And Kairo, watching from his screen, allowed the faintest trace of a smile to curve his lips.
"You'll learn," he murmured to himself. "Whether in chains or silk—you'll learn you belong to me."
To be continued…