The first thing Evelina noticed was the softness beneath her.
Her body sank into it as though it meant to cradle her, and for a fleeting second she thought she had woken at home. That maybe the nightmare had ended, that maybe the rain-soaked night, the black car, the injection, Kairo Volkov—all of it—had only been a horrible dream.
But then her eyes opened.
The room around her was too grand, too foreign. Velvet curtains framed tall windows that didn't open. A chandelier dangled above her head, dripping crystal droplets that caught the dim light. The sheets were silk, smooth beneath her fingers, the kind of fabric she had only ever seen in shop windows she couldn't afford to step into.
Her heart clenched. This wasn't her home.
It was another prison. A gilded one.
She sat up slowly, her muscles sore, her head heavy. Her wrists still ached where rope had once dug into her skin, the faint red marks reminding her it hadn't been that long ago. She rubbed them absentmindedly, trying to push away the numbness creeping into her bones.
She remembered the scratches. The wall scarred by desperate nails. The silence that devoured every scream.
A shiver ran through her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the heavy blankets.
The betrayal weighed on her more than the ropes ever had. Her parents. Her own family. She still wanted to deny it, even after seeing the documents Kairo had shoved before her. Debt. Contracts. Her name written like she was property.
Her mind whispered cruelly: They sold you. They gave you away.
Evelina pressed her hands against her ears, shaking her head. "No, no, no…"
And yet, she couldn't erase the ink she had seen.
Even so, her heart betrayed her mind. A small, foolish part of her still wanted to believe they would come for her. That there had been some mistake, some misunderstanding. That her parents loved her too much to cast her into the hands of a monster.
She clung to that fragile hope as if it were air.
That was when she saw the small desk at the far end of the room.
It was elegant, dark mahogany polished until it gleamed. A quill and paper rested neatly on its surface, as though waiting for her. She hesitated at first, staring, her pulse quickening. Was it a trick? Or was this chance real?
She stood, legs unsteady, and walked to the desk. Her hand trembled as she touched the quill, the feather tickling her skin. The inkpot was full. The paper crisp and white.
She lowered herself into the chair and just sat for a long moment, staring at the blank sheet. Tears blurred her vision before she even wrote a word.
Finally, she began.
Mama, Papa… please. I don't know what you've done. I don't know why you gave me away. But I can't stay here. Please, find me. Save me. I'm scared. I'm so scared. Please don't leave me here.
The ink smudged where her tears fell, staining the paper with grief. Her handwriting grew messy, desperate, the letters twisting into near-unreadable shapes.
When she finished, her chest was heaving as though she had run miles. She folded the note with shaking hands and looked around the room. Where could she hide it? Where could she place it so that someone—anyone—might find it?
Her eyes landed on the tray by the door where food had once been placed. A servant might come again. Maybe if she tucked it under the plate, or slipped it into the folds of a napkin, they would see it. Maybe they'd take pity on her.
It was a fragile plan. Ridiculous, even. But it was all she had.
She tucked the folded paper beneath the edge of the plate, adjusting it carefully so it wouldn't slip out too soon. Then she stepped back, pressing her hands against her lips as if sealing a prayer with her own breath.
Please, she begged silently. Please, let this work.
---
Kairo had been watching from the very beginning.
The CCTV feed showed everything: her waking in the bed, her confusion, her trembling hands on the quill, the way her body shook as she wrote. He saw her fold the note and hide it.
He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting against his jaw, and let out a low laugh.
"Still clinging," he murmured. "Still begging for the same people who threw her to the wolves."
For a moment, he considered letting her keep the illusion. But no—illusions made captives reckless. Evelina had to understand. She had to break.
When the servant entered the room to collect the tray later, Kairo stopped them at the door. He took the folded note from beneath the plate himself, weighing it in his hand.
The ink had bled slightly from her tears. The desperation was almost palpable.
He didn't open it. He didn't need to. He already knew what her words would be.
He entered the room without warning.
Evelina startled, spinning around, her eyes wide when she saw him holding the folded paper. Her face went pale.
"No—" she whispered, stepping forward, her voice shaking. "Please… don't—"
Kairo's gaze was unreadable as he struck a match against the desk. The flame flared, small but fierce, dancing in the dim light. Without hesitation, he held the note to it.
Evelina's breath caught.
The paper curled almost instantly, black edges folding inward, fire eating through every desperate line she had written. The ink, the words, the pleas—reduced to ash in moments.
She screamed. Not the scream of anger, but of grief, of something breaking so deep inside it might never mend. She lunged toward him, but Kairo stepped back calmly, dropping the last ember onto a silver tray where it burned out to nothing.
"Why?" Evelina choked, tears streaming down her face. "Why would you do that? It was just a letter! It was—"
"Because," Kairo interrupted, his voice calm, almost gentle, though his eyes were cold steel, "there is no one to send it to."
Her body went rigid, her sobs catching in her throat.
"Your family will not come for you," he continued. "They won't even open their door if you return. They've erased you already. You're nothing to them. But to me…" He paused, letting the silence weigh heavy before finishing. "To me, you're mine."
Evelina shook her head violently, stumbling backward until her knees hit the bed. "No… no… I'm not—"
"Yes," Kairo said, stepping forward, towering over her until his shadow swallowed her whole. "You belong here. You belong to me. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
The ashes on the tray cooled, a silent grave for her last hope.
Evelina's body collapsed onto the bed, wracked with sobs, her fists pounding weakly against the sheets.
Kairo turned without another word, leaving her with the lingering scent of smoke and the echo of her broken cries.
The door closed with a quiet click.
She was alone again.
Alone with the silence, the ash, and the horrifying truth: there was no one left to save her.
To be continued…