Elara's POV
The car door is right there. Three feet away. Freedom.
I reach for the handle.
Pain explodes in my chest like someone detonated a bomb inside my ribs. I scream. The sound tears from my throat, raw and animal. Through my blurring vision, I see Caspian doubled over in the seat beside me, screaming too.
Forty-eight feet. That's how far the driver moved the car from the penthouse entrance.
Two feet too far.
Stop! Adrian yanks the car door open and practically throws me toward the building. The second I'm closer to Caspian, the pain vanishes like it was never there.
I'm gasping. Crying. I don't cry haven't cried since the funeral but this is too much.
Caspian's hand finds mine. I should pull away. Should spit in his face. But the touch makes the lingering ache disappear completely, so I hold on like he's the only solid thing in a world that's tilting sideways.
Inside, he says roughly. Now.
We stumble into his building together. The lobby is all glass and metal and cold perfection. A doorman stares at us like we're ghosts. We probably look like ghosts pale, shaking, holding onto each other for dear life.
The elevator ride is silent except for our synchronized breathing.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
I can't escape that sound. That shared heartbeat mocking me with every pulse.
When the elevator doors open, Caspian leads me into his penthouse. I barely notice what it looks like. Don't care. All I know is that I'm trapped in the home of my worst enemy, bound to him by magic I don't understand, and there's no way out.
Guest room is down that hall, Caspian says, finally releasing my hand. Bathroom's attached. There should be clothes in the closet my sister stays here sometimes.
I stare at him. That's it? That's all you're going to say?
What do you want me to say? His voice is flat. Empty. That I'm sorry? That this is all a mistake? We're stuck together for sixty days, Elara. Talking won't change that.
Your family killed mine!
So you've said. He loosens his tie with sharp, angry movements. And you tried to kill me. So I guess we're even.
We are not even. I'm shaking with rage now. You get to live in your tower. You get to keep your company, your money, your perfect life. What do I have? Nothing. You took everything from me!
I didn't take anything. He turns those storm-gray eyes on me, and for the first time, I see real anger there. I was twenty-five years old, studying to save lives, when my uncle decided to play god. You think I wanted this? You think I'm happy about what happened?
You never tried to fix it!
How could I fix it when I didn't even know the full truth?
We're standing too close now, both breathing hard, both furious. And through the bond, I feel it his genuine confusion, his guilt, his desperate need to understand what really happened nine years ago.
He's telling the truth. He really didn't know.
The realization hits me like ice water.
You didn't order it, I whisper.
No. His jaw tightens. But that doesn't make me innocent. I benefited from it. I took over the company my uncle built on your family's ashes. So maybe you should hate me.
I do hate you.
Good. He steps back. Then we understand each other. Stay in your room. Stay out of my way. In sixty days, we'll find someone who can break this bond, and you'll never have to see me again.
He walks away, heading toward what I assume is his bedroom. But he only makes it twenty feet before he stops, wincing.
I feel it too that warning twinge. The bond doesn't like us being in separate rooms.
You've got to be kidding me, I mutter.
Caspian turns around slowly. We need to test the limits. Figure out exactly how far apart we can be.
So we do. We spend the next hour like idiots, walking in opposite directions until the pain starts, then marking the spot. Forty-eight feet. That's our prison radius.
The penthouse is big, but not big enough. We can't be in separate bedrooms. Can barely manage separate rooms.
This is insane, I say, slumping against the wall. It's almost 2 AM now. My feet hurt. My head hurts. Everything hurts.
Agreed. Caspian runs a hand through his hair, messing up that perfect style. He looks tired. Human. There are two couches in the living room. We'll sleep there. Far apart as possible but close enough to avoid the pain.
It's a terrible plan. But it's the only plan we have.
I change into borrowed clothes soft pajamas that smell like expensive detergent. When I come back out, Caspian's already claimed one couch. He's changed too, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that makes him look younger. Less like a CEO. More like a person.
I curl up on the other couch, pulling a blanket over myself.
Lights off? he asks.
Please.
Darkness falls. The city lights filter through the windows, casting everything in shadow.
I close my eyes and will myself to sleep. To forget, even for a few hours, that my life has become a nightmare.
But sleep brings something worse.
Dreams.
Except they're not my dreams.
I'm twelve years old, hiding under a desk while gunfire echoes through a house. I hear my mother screaming. My father shouting. Then silence. Horrible silence.
A man appears tall, cruel eyes. Come out, Caspian. It's time to learn what power really means.
Uncle Viktor? My voice is high. Young. Terrified.
But it's not my voice. It's Caspian's.
I'm in Caspian's memory.
I try to pull away, but the dream holds me tight. I watch through his eyes as Viktor teaches him that mercy is weakness. That family is just a word. That the only thing that matters is power.
I feel Caspian's fear. His desperate need to be strong enough so Viktor won't hurt him again.
The memory shifts. I'm older now nineteen, maybe twenty. Viktor is showing me newspaper articles about a fire. The Thorne family massacre.
They attacked our shipment, Viktor says calmly. So I eliminated the threat. That's what leaders do, nephew. Remember that.
Young Caspian stares at the articles, at the photos of my parents, and feels... nothing. He's been trained not to feel. Trained to accept that this is just business.
But underneath that numbness, there's a seed of doubt. A tiny voice asking: What if Uncle Viktor is lying?
I wake up gasping.
Caspian is sitting up on his couch, staring at me with wide eyes.
You saw it, he says. Not a question.
Your memory. Your uncle. My voice shakes. The bond is sharing memories now?
Apparently. He looks shaken. Vulnerable. What did you see?
I tell him. Watch his face go pale.
I didn't know, he whispers. I swear, I didn't know he was lying. I was so young and so His voice breaks. God, I'm so sorry.
The apology cracks something inside me. Because I felt his memory. Felt his fear of Viktor, his desperation to survive, his slow realization that he'd been manipulated his whole life.
He's a victim too. Different from me, but still a victim.
What did you see? I ask quietly. You saw my memory too, didn't you?
He nods. The fire. You coming home from college. Finding everything destroyed. Your aunt Vivienne telling you there was nothing left. He meets my eyes. I'm sorry. For all of it.
We sit in the darkness, two broken people connected by a magical bond and now by shared trauma.
We need to find out the truth, I say. About what really happened that night? About who else was involved.
Agreed. Caspian's jaw sets. My uncle is dead. But someone helped him. Someone gave him the information about your family's security. Someone who's still out there.
Who?
I don't know. But we're going to find out.
An alliance forms in that moment. Fragile. Uncertain. But real.
Until my phone buzzes.
I grab it from the coffee table. Unknown number. A text message appears:
So you failed to kill him. Disappointing. But perhaps we can still use this. Meet me tomorrow. Alone. Or I'll make sure you lose what little family you have left. V
My blood turns to ice.
V. Vivienne. My aunt.
But the text says what little family you have left.
Marcus. My brother Marcus who disappeared the night of the fire.
Caspian is watching me. What is it?
I show him the message with shaking hands.
His face goes hard. It's a trap.
I don't care. I'm already standing. If there's even a chance Marcus is alive
You can't go alone. We're bonded, remember? Where you go, I go.
I want to argue. Want to scream that this is my family, my business.
But he's right. We're trapped together.
Fine, I say. We go together.
Tomorrow. He stands too. And Elara? If your aunt has your brother, she's not working alone. Someone with serious power is behind this.
Through the bond, I feel his certainty. His fear.
And his determination to protect me, even though I tried to kill him.
Get some sleep, he says quietly. We're going to need it.
But as I lie back down, one thought circles my mind:
If Marcus is alive, who's been holding him prisoner for nine years?
And what do they want with me?