Evelina's eyes were swollen from tears. She had lost track of how many hours she had cried since waking in this gilded prison. The new room Kairo had shifted her into was beautiful—almost too beautiful. Velvet silk curtains, a chandelier glowing above her, a bed soft enough to swallow her whole. But none of it erased the truth. A cage wrapped in velvet was still a cage.
Her parents' betrayal stabbed deeper than any knife. She had gone through the papers again and again, hoping to find some lie, some loophole, something that could disprove the cruel reality. But every line on those documents screamed the truth: her family had sold her. For debt. For money.
When she first realized it, Evelina's chest felt like it had collapsed inward, suffocating her. That kind of wound doesn't bleed outwards, but inwards—clogging the soul, bruising it until nothing but hollow ache remains. She had written a desperate note to them, a plea for help, only to have Kairo burn it in front of her eyes as if it was ash meant for his amusement. He had smiled through the smoke. And she hated him for it.
She had cried herself into exhaustion after that. Yet something in her shifted when she woke again, face pressed into the pillow that smelled faintly of lavender and smoke. The tears had run dry. Beneath the sorrow, beneath the betrayal, another feeling was clawing up from her gut. Rage.
If her family abandoned her, then she had nothing left to lose.
That was when the plan began forming in her mind.
---
The tray of food sat at the edge of the table. She had refused it at first, but this time she forced herself to eat a little—not because she wanted it, but because she needed the fork. The silver utensil was small, unimpressive, but in her hand, it became a weapon. Evelina's fingers curled around it tightly.
She rehearsed it silently: He would come in. He always did, eventually. His presence was unavoidable—like thunder that split the night sky. When he got close, she would strike. Straight to the throat. Or the heart. She didn't know enough about killing to be precise, but if she stabbed hard enough, maybe… maybe she could end him.
She told herself not to tremble, but her body betrayed her. Every time she imagined the cold fork sinking into his flesh, her pulse jumped. Her hands sweated. Fear tried to tangle with her fury. But Evelina gritted her teeth and forced herself to lie down on the bed, pretending to sleep. Her breathing slowed, uneven at first, then steadier. She clutched the fork in her palm beneath the blanket, sharp edge pointing outward.
The room was silent, suffocating.
And then she heard it.
Footsteps. Slow, steady, deliberate. The kind of sound that didn't need to rush because it owned everything it touched. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Every step echoed louder inside her head.
The door clicked open.
His presence filled the air before he even spoke. Kairo Volkov. The man feared by the world, the man whose name she hadn't known until days ago—and yet now it was branded across her soul like a curse.
The sound of the door closing behind him sealed her fate.
---
"Still not asleep?" His voice was calm, smooth, almost amused.
Evelina forced herself to keep her eyelids lowered. The bed dipped slightly as he came closer. He never moved clumsily. Every gesture was precise, measured. She felt his shadow fall over her.
And then—now.
Her eyes flew open. With a scream ripped from her throat, Evelina lunged. The fork glinted in her hand as she thrust it forward with all the strength her body could gather. Straight at his chest. Straight at the monster.
But he caught her wrist mid-air. Effortlessly.
The fork trembled inches from his shirt. His grip was iron, unshakable. Evelina pushed, screamed, twisted her arm, but it didn't move. His hand was too strong. Too unyielding.
For a heartbeat, she stared at him, expecting anger, violence, death.
But Kairo only looked down at her, his lips curving into something coldly amused. A low laugh slipped past his mouth.
Not fury. Not punishment. Just laughter.
"You finally show teeth," he said.
His tone was infuriatingly calm, as though her attempt to stab him was nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum. The fork quivered in her trembling grip, still caught in his hand.
"Go on," he murmured. "Try again. See if your little toy can pierce me."
Her throat tightened. "I'll kill you—"
"Kill me?" His laugh deepened, rich and mocking. "You couldn't even scratch me."
He yanked the fork from her grip with such ease it might as well have been a twig. The utensil clattered to the floor. Evelina gasped, her body jerking back, but his other hand shot out, catching her chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Those eyes. Gray like storm clouds, unrelenting. The kind of eyes that looked through her, into her, stripping her bare of any courage she thought she had.
"You think courage is born from tears?" His voice was a low growl now. "You think rage makes you dangerous? No, little dove. Rage makes you weak. Predictable."
"Let me go," she whispered, though it came out cracked, broken.
He chuckled again, not letting go of her chin. "Why would I, when you entertain me so well? You should be proud. Few dare to raise a hand against me. And fewer still are alive to tell the tale."
Evelina's stomach twisted. "Then kill me."
The words spilled before she could stop them. Her heart pounded with the recklessness of them.
Kairo studied her in silence for a moment, thumb pressing lightly against her jaw. Then, as though she'd told him a clever joke, he laughed once more. A laugh that chilled her blood.
"Kill you?" His smile sharpened. "No, Evelina. Death is too merciful. You'll live. You'll stay. And you'll learn what it means to belong to me."
Her breath hitched. She shook her head violently, trying to pull back, but his grip only tightened briefly before he let go. Her body fell against the pillows, trembling, powerless.
Kairo bent down, picking the fork from the floor. He twirled it casually between his fingers, then set it back on the tray.
"You've got spirit," he said. "Good. I'd hate for you to break too soon."
With that, he turned, heading for the door. Evelina sat frozen on the bed, every muscle trembling, her lungs dragging in ragged breaths.
At the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder, his voice curling like smoke.
"Next time, use something sharper."
The door clicked shut, leaving Evelina clutching the blanket, heart racing in the silence.
Her plan had failed. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even hurt.
He had laughed.
And that was worse than any punishment she could have imagined.
To be continued…