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She looks at me like the world just collapsed.

Like everything she’s ever believed in—every thread of safety, loyalty, kindness—has turned to ash in her hands. It’s in her eyes: wide, wild, shimmering with tears she doesn’t want me to see. Her entire body has gone rigid in the doorway, half frozen in place, and I can hear the way her breath hitches in her throat.

Betrayal clings to her like blood.

Good.

I lean back in the chair, slow and deliberate, and rest one ankle over my knee. My arms fold over the backrest like I’ve got all the time in the world. Because I do. I’ve already won.

“Na?ve,” I say, voice low and sharp as glass. “You always were.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

William stands in the hallway behind her, silent now. He doesn’t need to explain himself. He’s done his job. The truth is already leaking into her like poison.

“You still don’t get it,” I murmur, tilting my head. “You think the world plays by the rules you grew up with. That loyalty is simple. That good men don’t lie. That charities save people.”

Her shoulders flinch.

“Let me make it clearer,” I say, standing slowly. “The Ember Trust?” I chuckle under my breath. “That little sanctuary you think saved you? It’s ours. Funded by the Bratva. Used to clean money, grease hands, keep us looking clean in the public eye.”

She stares at me like I’ve just slit open her skin.

“William’s worked for us since the beginning,” I continue, walking toward her in measured steps. “He made sure the ‘right’ children got opportunities. Quiet ones. Isolated ones. Ones with no family. No one to notice if they disappeared.”

Her chest rises sharply.

My gaze holds hers, unrelenting. “You.”

She shakes her head. “No….”

“Yes,” I snap. “You were handpicked. When you became useful, he recommended you. You’ve been under our thumb your entire life, and you never even noticed.”

She backs away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Her hand brushes the wall, like touching something solid might keep her upright.

The sob that escapes her chest is broken, wet. She turns from me, shoulders curling inward. Her knees give. She slides down to the floor, arms around herself as if she can still hold on to some sliver of control.

“You’re lying,” she whispers. “You’re just trying to break me.”

I crouch beside her, close enough that my breath stirs her hair.

“I don’t have to lie, Elise,” I say, softer now, dragging my knuckles gently down her jaw. “That’s the worst part. You always belonged to us. You just didn’t know it.”

She turns her head away, but I grab her chin, making her look at me.

Her tears spill fast, quiet, no longer hidden behind that wall of fire she always kept so carefully intact.

I brush one away with my thumb. Her skin is cold. Her pulse beats fast and frantic beneath her jaw. I rest my hand there; just enough to feel it, enough to let her know who holds it now.

Her whole body trembles.

“You belong to me,” I say, voice low but firm. “Now. Always.”

Her breath catches.

“You don’t get to run. You don’t get to hide behind the past. You’re mine.”

She tries to shake her head, but my grip tightens—still not choking, but enough to still her, to remind her I could.

“You killed him,” she whispers. “You killed Yuri. You’d kill me too.”

I lean in, my lips near her ear. “I didn’t kill you.”

“Not yet, but how do I know you won’t?”

I smile against her cheek. “You’re not disposable. Not to me.”

She closes her eyes. I feel the tension in her jaw, the way her hands curl into fists in her lap. She’s terrified. Not just of me. Of herself . Of what part of her doesn’t pull away.

“I hate you,” she breathes.

“You’ll learn to thank me,” I reply.

The thing is—I almost believe it.

She doesn’t speak. Not a word, not a breath. Her mouth stays parted like there’s something caught between her teeth—something she wants to say, but won’t. Her eyes shimmer, wide and glassy, and for a long moment I think she’ll scream. Fight. Spit something vicious at me the way she always does.

Something about that silence unnerves me more than anything else she could’ve done.

My fingers are still around her throat—not tight, not painful, just there. Just enough for her to feel the weight of them, the threat beneath the surface. Her skin is ice. Her pulse flutters like a bird trapped under glass.

Then her knees buckle.

“Elise—” I catch her before she hits the floor.

Her body folds into mine without resistance, all tense limbs and frayed nerves gone slack in an instant. Her head lolls forward against my chest, her breath shallow and thin. I drop to one knee, holding her upright. My other hand finds the back of her head instinctively, cradling it as if she might shatter if I let her fall.

She’s fainted. Fucking hell.

I pull her closer without thinking. Her hair brushes my chin. Her cheek presses into the front of my coat. Her tears—fresh ones—are still wet against her skin. And for a moment, all the noise in my head dies.

She’s too small like this. Too light in my arms. Too quiet.

I look down at her face, slack now in unconsciousness. Her lashes are still damp. Her lips parted slightly, like maybe—just maybe—she was about to say something before the darkness took her.

I hate the way it makes my chest feel. This should mean nothing. She’s just a body I need to keep breathing. Just a means to an end.

So why the fuck can’t I look away?

Her heartbeat is steady against my wrist. Fast, but steady. She’s alive. Alive because I let her be. I’ve stitched her back together and dragged her out of snowbanks and kept her from breaking apart entirely. Not because I had to—but because I wanted to.

I lift her in my arms and rise. Her weight is nothing. The hallway outside is still, silent as a grave. William stands just outside the door, watching with something unreadable in his eyes.

“She’s exhausted,” I say, like that explains everything. It doesn’t. Not even close.

William nods, stepping aside without a word.

I carry her down the hall, her head resting against my collarbone, and I don’t miss the way my hand shifts slightly at her back—like I’m protecting her from something no one else can see.

The room we prepared earlier is still made up—warm blankets, low light. I lay her down gently, brushing the hair from her face as she exhales a fragile breath and curls slightly on her side.

She doesn’t wake.

I stay there, crouched beside the bed, watching her like I’m trying to decode something I’ll never understand.

***

Elise

It’s not the pain that wakes me.

It’s the quiet.

Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels wrong. Staged. Like something waiting to fall apart.

I open my eyes in slow degrees, blinking against the low light filtering through drawn curtains. My body feels heavier than before, dull aches deep in the muscle. I’m tucked into a warm bed, layers of blankets pressed to my chest, but the comfort is laced with dread. My boots are gone. My coat’s been taken. Even the gauze at my side has been changed.

Someone’s been taking care of me, someone I don’t want touching me.

My breath catches as memory crashes back in: the truck, William’s house, him. That room. His voice. The grip on my neck.

You belong to me.

I sit up too fast. My vision swims, a sharp spike of nausea curling at the edges, but I force it down. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wince as my bare feet meet the cold floor. My ribs throb, but the stitches have held.

There’s a window across the room. Locked, of course. A small chair near the door. No one’s watching—yet. My clothes sit folded on a dresser, clean. Another trick, maybe.

Still, I move.

I dress in silence, every movement stiff, careful. My hands shake as I pull the shirt over my head, but I bite it back. My eyes lock on the door. If I can just get out of the room, maybe I can—

The handle turns.

I freeze.

The door opens slowly, and Kolya steps inside.

I don’t think. I lunge for the window, bare hands clawing at the latch even as I hear his steps behind me.

“Elise,” he growls, too calm. Too cold.

I get the lock halfway undone before his hand clamps around my wrist, spinning me around. I fight—slap, kick, push—but I’m not strong enough. Not now.

“Stop it,” he snaps, grabbing both arms now, pinning them against my sides. His face is close, too close, and I can’t breathe.

“Let me go,” I whisper, voice raw.

“I warned you once,” he says. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Why?” My voice breaks. “So you can kill me like Yuri?”

His jaw clenches. “You’re not Yuri.”

“That’s not a comfort.”

“Kolya,” a voice says behind him.

We both turn. William stands in the doorway, his expression carved from guilt.

“Let her go,” he says quietly.

Kolya’s grip loosens, but not by much. I rip away from him anyway, backing into the corner like a wounded animal. My breath shudders in and out. My eyes snap to William.

“Why?” I ask, voice trembling now. “Why would you do this to me?”

His shoulders fall. “Because I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not in this world,” he says. “Not in ours. You think I wanted this? I raised you like my own, Elise. I protected you from things you couldn’t begin to imagine. When they came to collect, when Kolya asked for a doctor, I gave him the only person I trusted.”

“You sold me.”

“No.” His voice cracks. “I tried to save you. This is for your own good. For mine too.”

Kolya doesn’t speak. He just stands there, watching me like I’m a puzzle he still can’t solve.

I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just whisper, “You both deserve each other.” My voice shakes when I say it.

Then I look up and see William looming over me, and everything goes black.