Page 36

Chapter 35

Seanna

Consciousness creeps in slowly, gentle and deceptive, easing me back into reality like it’s afraid to jolt me awake too quickly. A quiet groan slips past my lips, body sluggish, heavy like I'm swimming through molasses. Whatever sedative Rule used still lingers, dulling my edges, but not enough to mask the ache echoing deep within my bones. I stretch instinctively, only to feel familiar resistance—the cool leather cuffs wrapped around my wrists.

My eyes flutter open, vision blurred at first, but slowly sharpening, taking in my newest prison from where I’m secured to yet another new bed.

Another cage. Another goddamn room.

Except this room… this room isn’t just a cage.

It’s a goddamn temple built to worship everything they seem to think I embody.

And fuck if it doesn’t scream their particular brand of obsession louder than ever.

If the other room felt tailored to me, this one fits like a goddamn glove.

It’s beautiful in a way that makes my stomach twist. Dark and seductive—an offering, a shrine built from sin. The bed beneath me is massive, its headboard a luxurious slab of plush black velvet that begs to be touched. The silk sheets tangled around my body are burgundy, rich and bold, sliding over my skin like warm whispers. If decadence had a bedroom, this would be it.

There’s a faint scent in the air—something dark and expensive. Leather and something spiced. Maybe sandalwood. Or clove. Whatever it is, it smells like them. Like power dressed in sin. The lighting is low. Soft golden pools of light warming only the edges of the room, casting long shadows that seem to move if I stare too long.

And it pisses me off because they know me so fucking well.

Testing the cuffs gently, I find I’ve got just enough slack to shift and sit up slightly, propping myself against the velvet headboard. The softness teases my skin, and I push down the absurd urge to rub my face against it like a fucking cat. It feels far too comfortable for a cage.

I shift again, slower this time, letting my bare feet brush against the sheets. The silk slips between my toes like it’s trying to seduce me. My stomach turns. I fucking hate how good it feels. Every inch of this room is a trap—soft and scented and beautiful, designed to lull me, to convince me this is where I belong. Like if they make it tempting enough, I’ll stop fighting. Like comfort can undo the fury.

My gaze sweeps across the room, sharp and assessing. Gray walls, dark enough to be soothing yet oppressive, adorned with minimalist art that feels too carefully chosen—black and white scenes hinting at stormy skies and shadowed forests. Dark, sleek furniture in shades of gray and black sits polished and impeccable, every angle deliberate, every surface spotless.

My heart stutters when I see the black velvet armchair tucked in the corner. Empty for now, but I know better. He’ll be sitting there soon enough, watching.

Every detail of this room screams control, possession, and intimate knowledge of exactly who I am beneath all my armor. It’s meticulous. Crafted. Designed to pull at threads I didn’t even know were unraveling until now.

I shove away the discomfort that coils through my chest, refusing to acknowledge the creeping heat beneath the anger. Their twisted truths and hidden identities still linger in my thoughts, taunting me. They’ve stolen more than my freedom; they’ve seeped into my blood, rewired my fucking soul, and left me craving things I despise myself for.

And then my eyes catch on the nightstand beside me.

On the vase filled with black roses.

My jaw tightens, eyes narrowing dangerously. The flowers are stunning—flawless ebony blooms spilling artfully over the rim.

Lucky for those masked bastards they’re not here, because the heavy crystal vase holding those roses would look perfect shattered against their skulls.

The door is closed, and I assume locked. I’m alone, but I’m not stupid enough to believe they aren’t watching.

They’re always watching.

Time passes.

Slow. Uneventful. Suffocating.

Eventually, the tension threading my spine loosens. The rage doesn't leave, not fully, but it simmers low and quiet, like embers waiting for dry kindling. My head lolls back against the velvet headboard, and I let my eyes close, just for a second. Just to rest. Just to breathe.

Sleep drags me back under like a riptide.

I don’t dream.

Or maybe I do—dark things that curl like smoke, soft touches and sharp edges, masked shadows whispering things I’m too afraid to want.

But when I jolt awake, there’s no more pretending.

They’re here.

One of them sits in the black velvet armchair, legs spread, gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin like he’s been there all along, watching me sleep like I’m some fascinating, dangerous thing under glass.

The other leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, posture loose but unreadable. His mask gleams faintly in the low light, his silhouette cut from shadow. Casual. Lethal.

My body stiffens instantly.

I blink hard, heart thundering once before slamming itself into a wall of rage. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I snap, voice hoarse. “You ever consider knocking before you decide to creep-watch me like a pair of serial killers?"

Neither of them moves.

I scan them both, my pulse pounding behind my eyes. Rule is the same—cool, steady—but Ruin? There’s a stillness to him that unnerves me more than anything. He doesn’t even twitch. Like he’s carved out of something colder than bone. And yet... I swear I can feel the heat of his attention pinning me to the mattress.

Ruin is the one who speaks. Calm. Measured. Like I didn’t just accuse him of being a psychopath with a voyeurism kink. Which, let's face it, I’m pretty certain he is at this point.

“That was very stupid of you.”

I glare at him. “You’ll have to be more specific. I do a lot of stupid shit these days. Mostly because of you two .”

“You shouldn’t have told Hydessa,” he clarifies. His tone isn’t angry. It’s colder than that—flat, controlled, and edged with something dangerous beneath the surface.

I scoff, yanking against the cuffs even though I know it’s pointless. “Yeah? Well, it was stupid of you to take me in the first place.”

He doesn’t show any reaction. Just sits there in that throne-like chair like judgment incarnate. Watching. Measuring.

“I should be out there,” I growl, heat bubbling under my skin. “Hunting Javier. Stopping him from hurting anyone else. Instead, I’m stuck here like some twisted fucking pet while people die.”

And I can’t even say his last name anymore—not now. Not after learning Rule carries it too. Reyes. That word used to burn like gasoline on my tongue, used to ignite me with purpose. But now I can’t force it past my lips anymore, not when it tastes like betrayal. Now it feels like a noose I didn’t see tightening.

It belongs to both the monster I have been hunting and the man who held me like he could rewrite my bones. They share the same blood, the same name, and suddenly, everything I thought was black and white starts bleeding into shades I hate myself for seeing.

Rule pushes off the wall, arms dropping to his sides. “You need to trust us.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I snarl. “Trust you?”

He steps closer, tone deceptively calm. “Sometimes you don’t have to do everything yourself, Seanna. We already have a plan for Javier.”

That stops me. Not because I believe him—but because the audacity is fucking unreal.

But then the fire roars back, hotter than ever. “It’s too late now. You’ve wasted time I didn’t have. Max will find me. He’s the best hacker we’ve got. He’ll burn this whole place down to bring me back.”

Ruin laughs.

Not amused. Not gentle.

Dark. Low. Almost pitying.

“Max is good,” he says. “I’ll give him that.”

I roll my eyes, scoffing loud enough to echo. “I’ve known Max my whole life. The man’s a fucking legend in cyber intelligence. You’re just a psycho in a mask.”

I lift my chin. “He’s more than good. He’s the best. You seriously think he won’t find me?”

Ruin chuckles low in his throat, the sound scraping against something inside me. “He’s not better than me.”

My eyes narrow. “You wish.”

“I don’t have to wish.” His voice is calm, but his eyes behind the mask feel too focused. Too precise. “I know .”

I scoff again. “Please.”

Ruin leans forward in the chair slightly, like he’s about to tell me a secret I won’t survive. “Because Max taught me everything I know.”

That hits like a gut punch.

I stare at him, lips parting—but nothing comes out. I blink, heart stalling in my chest.

“What?”

His voice is quieter now. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just final.

“My name is Huxley Vaughn,” he says.

My stomach drops.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

“Vaughn?” I whisper, the name tasting foreign in my mouth despite how many times I’ve said it in passing. Max’s full name—Max Vaughn. My parents’ best friend.

My fucking godfather.

Ruin—Huxley—nods once. Just once. Like he knows what that name means to me. Like he’s been waiting for the moment it would detonate inside me.

“No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “No fucking way.”

Rule says nothing. Just watches me like he’s waiting to see which direction the shrapnel flies first.

“You’re lying,” I hiss. “You’re just saying that to fuck with me.”

“I’m not,” Huxley says calmly. “Max Vaughn is my father.”