Page 22
Midnight Nightmare
D arkness envelops me as I drift in and out of consciousness. Sleep has been elusive since I hacked my father's emails, but exhaustion finally pulled me under around 2 a.m. One of the USB drives is hidden safely in a small pocket I'd sewn into my pillowcase—a precaution I'd taken after returning from that horrific party at my parents' house. Professor Austin should already be halfway to Boston by now, carrying another copy to DA David Stone. Our plan is in motion. In three days, when David reviews the evidence, he’ll send people for us, helping us escape Shark Bay and my parents' reach forever.
A noise pulls me from the edge of sleep—subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft click of my door unlocking. I freeze, instantly alert despite my fatigue. Belle has her own key, but she's been sleeping at Jessica's more or less since I came here. Campus security always knocks. No one else should have access to my room, especially in the middle of the night.
I remain perfectly still, controlling my breathing to maintain the illusion of sleep. Through barely-open eyes, I see three shadows slip into my room—two large men and a third figure. I instantly recognize from his distinctive silhouette and the scent of expensive cologne that reaches me even across the room.
Dominic Griffiths—the man who cleans up my father’s dirt.
Terror seizes my chest, but I force it down. This can't be happening. Not now. Not when we're so close to freedom.
"She's asleep," one of the men whispers, his voice military precise and cold.
"Good," Griffiths replies, his familiar drawl sending ice through my veins. "Makes our job easier. Sebastian wants her at the house before dawn."
My father. He knows. Somehow, he's discovered our plan. Or worse—he's accelerated his timeline for whatever he has planned for me and Erik.
The men approach my bed, movements coordinated with professional efficiency. I consider my options in the split second I have left. Fight? I'm outnumbered and outmatched. Scream? No one would reach me in time, and they undoubtedly have ways to silence me. Run? There's nowhere to go.
I decide to maintain the pretense of sleep. Maybe I can learn something useful and find an opportunity to escape later. The moment one of them reaches for me, I let out a soft murmur and shift position, as if disturbed by a dream but not awakening.
"Careful," Griffiths warns. "If she wakes up, this gets complicated. Sebastian was very specific about bringing her quietly."
"What about the sedative?" the second man asks.
"Only if necessary," Griffiths responds. "He wants her coherent for the gathering, just… compliant."
My pulse quickens. They’re talking about the worst of all the parties, where the elite indulge their darkest desires under the guise of networking. Where I've been paraded and passed around like a prize for as long as I can remember.
One of the men pulls back my covers in a single smooth motion. Before I can react, strong arms wrap around me, pinning my own arms to my sides. I abandon the pretense of sleep, thrashing and kicking as panic overtakes calculation.
"Let me go!" I snarl, my elbow connecting with solid muscle to no effect.
"Now, now, Luna," Griffiths says, stepping into the dim light from my window. His face is shadowed, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Is that any way to greet an old friend? Your parents are expecting you."
"Fuck you," I hiss, still struggling against the iron grip holding me. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Griffiths sighs dramatically. "I was afraid you'd say that." He nods to the second man, who produces a syringe from his jacket pocket. "Just a little something to make the journey more pleasant."
Terror floods me—not of the drug itself, but of what awaits me once I'm unconscious and at their mercy. I redouble my efforts, managing to land a solid kick to the knee of the man holding me. He grunts but doesn't loosen his grip.
"Hold her still," Griffiths orders as the second man approaches with the syringe.
"No!" I scream, hoping against hope that someone will hear. "Help! Someone hel?—"
A large hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my cries. I bite down hard, tasting blood, but the grip only tightens painfully.
"Enough games," Griffiths snaps, all pretense of civility gone. "Do it now."
The needle plunges into my neck, a sharp sting followed by spreading warmth. Almost immediately, my limbs begin to feel heavy, my thoughts sluggish. I continue to struggle, but my movements become uncoordinated, ineffective.
"There we go," Griffiths says, his voice seeming to come from far away. "That's better. Much more manageable."
As darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision, one terrible thought cuts through the drug-induced haze: Erik. If they're taking me, they're taking him too. We're both walking into the trap we've spent days trying to avoid.
"Erik…" I manage to slur, fighting to stay conscious. "Leave him…"
"Don't worry about Mr. Stone," Griffiths says, his face swimming in and out of focus above me. "He's receiving the same special invitation. You'll see him at the party."
The last thing I see before consciousness slips away is Griffiths’ cold smile, a predator savoring his successful hunt. The last coherent thought that flickers through my fading mind is of Erik and the hope that somehow, Professor Austin has already reached his brother. That somewhere beyond this darkness, help is coming.
I just have to survive until it arrives.
* * *
I drift back to consciousness slowly, awareness returning in disjointed fragments. The vibration of an engine beneath me. The smell of leather and expensive cologne. The sensation of movement. I'm in a car—one of my father's luxury SUVs, judging by the butter-soft leather seats and the faint scent of the sandalwood air freshener he prefers.
My wrists are secured in front of me with zip ties, the plastic biting into my skin when I instinctively test their strength. My mouth is dry, and my head is pounding from the aftereffects of whatever drug they injected me with. I keep my eyes closed, feigning continued unconsciousness while I assess my situation.
"—should be waking up soon," Griffiths’ voice cuts through the fog in my brain. "Sebastian says the dosage was calculated precisely."
"And the boy?" another voice asks—unfamiliar, but clearly one of my father's men.
"Palmer's team has him. They'll meet us at the house." Griffiths sounds pleased with himself. "Quite a coup, really. Sebastian was worried they might run before everything was in place."
My blood turns to ice. Erik. They have Erik too. Our careful planning, our staged arguments to throw them off our trail—none of it worked. Somehow, they knew. Somehow, they were always a step ahead.
"She's awake," a third voice announces—closer, probably sitting beside me. "Her breathing changed."
No point in pretending anymore. I open my eyes, blinking against the soft interior lights of the SUV. Griffiths sits across from me, impeccably dressed in a dark suit despite the hour, which I'm guessing is somewhere around 4 a.m. based on the darkness outside the tinted windows. Two men flank him—one older with military-short gray hair, the other younger but with the same watchful alertness of a trained operative.
"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Griffiths says, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Comfortable?"
"Where are you taking me?" My voice comes out raspier than I'd like, betraying my fear.
"Home, of course." Griffiths adjusts his gold cuff links—a gift from my father, I recall with revulsion. "Your parents are hosting a special gathering tonight. Very exclusive. Very important guests."
"I wasn't invited," I say flatly, though we both know that's irrelevant.
"Oh, but you were. In fact, you're the guest of honor." He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Your father has something quite exceptional planned. A proper introduction to society, you might say."
Nausea rises in my throat as I grasp his meaning. Not just another party—something more. Something worse. Maybe he actually found a match for me to marry. This isn’t just about controlling me. This is about making an example of me—and Erik.
"Where is he?" I demand, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. "What have you done with Erik?"
Griffiths’ smile widens, satisfied that he's found leverage. "Mr. Stone is en route to the same destination. I've been told he put up quite the fight—admirable, really, but ultimately futile."
"If you've hurt him?—"
"Now, now," Griffiths interrupts, his tone mockingly soothing. "No one wants to damage such valuable merchandise. After all, his father sits on a committee vital to your father's interests. We need both of you… intact."
The implication turns my stomach. We're not people to them—we're commodities. Assets to be used for maximum gain.
"Why now?" I ask, trying to keep him talking while I scan the car for anything I could use as a weapon. "Why move up the timeline?"
Griffiths studies me, clearly weighing how much to reveal. "Let's just say your father received some concerning intelligence. Something about his encrypted emails being hacked." His eyes gleam with cruel amusement. "Did you really think you could outsmart Sebastian Queen? He's been ten steps ahead of you since before you were born."
My heart skips a beat. They have no idea about Professor Austin. Maybe he’ll be able to get to David before they find out. There’s still a chance!
"It doesn't matter," I say, with more confidence than I feel. "People know what my father does. What happens at his parties. It's only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down."
"Perhaps," Griffiths concedes, seemingly untroubled by the possibility. "But time is a luxury you no longer have, my dear. Tonight will determine your future—and Mr. Stone's. Your father has invested considerable resources in the Munich facility. I hear their success rates for behavioral modification are quite remarkable. Who knows, you might even spend your wedding night there."
The car slows, turning onto what feels like a private drive. Through the tinted windows, I glimpse manicured grounds illuminated by security lights, leading to a sprawling mansion that rises from the darkness like a nightmare made real. It's not my parents' main residence—this is one of their "special" properties, used exclusively for their most private events.
My throat constricts with dread. I know what happens in this house.
"We've arrived," Griffiths announces unnecessarily as the car comes to a stop. "Remember your manners, Luna. Your father is already displeased with your recent… initiatives. Don't make things worse for yourself."
One of the men exits first, then reaches back to grip my arm, hauling me out of the vehicle. The predawn air is cool against my skin, carrying the scent of expensive landscaping and approaching rain. I'm painfully aware of my appearance—tank top and sleep shorts, hardly appropriate for whatever twisted gathering my father has planned.
Another black SUV pulls up behind ours, and my pulse quickens as the door opens. Erik is dragged out, his hands bound like mine. Even in the dim light, I can see the bruise blooming along his jaw and the disheveled state of his clothing. He fought them hard.
Our eyes meet across the drive, and the mixture of rage and concern in his gaze breaks something inside me. This is my fault. I brought this down on him by involving him in my mess.
"Erik!" I call out, starting toward him, but the man gripping my arm holds me back.
"Luna!" Erik struggles against his captor. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
Before I can answer, Griffiths steps between us, blocking my view. "Touching reunion, but let's move this along, shall we? Your hosts are waiting."
We're marched up the grand staircase to the mansion's entrance, where our butler—Stevens—opens the door as if this is all perfectly normal. The foyer beyond is cavernous, all marble and crystal and old-money opulence. Staff in formal attire stand at attention, their expressions carefully blank. They've seen this before. They know better than to react.
"Take Miss Queen to the blue suite," Griffiths instructs one of the maids. "Mr. Stone to the East Wing. They both need to be… prepared for the evening."
"No," Erik says immediately, his voice hard with determination. "We stay together."
Griffiths chuckles, genuinely amused. "I'm afraid that's not how things work here, Mr. Stone. You'll see Luna again at the gathering. In the meantime, you both need to be dressed appropriately."
"It's okay, Erik," I say, trying to convey confidence I don't feel. I meet his eyes, willing him to understand what I can't say aloud: Don't fight them. Not yet. We need to play along until we find an opening. "I'll see you soon."
Reluctantly, Erik allows himself to be led away, though his eyes never leave mine until he disappears up the grand staircase. I'm guided in the opposite direction, through ornate hallways lined with artwork that costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
The blue suite lives up to its name—a palatial bedroom decorated in varying shades of sapphire and navy, dominated by a four-poster bed draped in silk. Laid out on the duvet is a dress I've never seen before—black as midnight, with a neckline that plunges dangerously low and a slit that rises indecently high. Beside it are shoes that could double as weapons, all stiletto heel and minimal support.
"Your mother selected this for you," the maid explains, her voice carefully neutral as she cuts the zip ties around my wrists. She’s nothing like Gloria, who, despite being unable to help me, always treated me with genuine kindness. "The bathroom is through there if you'd like to shower before dressing."
I rub my chafed wrists, calculating. They've left me unbound, which means either they don't consider me a threat, or…
"The house is fully secured," the maid adds, as if reading my thoughts. "All exits require key card access, and the grounds are patrolled. Mr. Queen thought you should know."
Of course. They know me well enough to anticipate escape attempts. There's no point in restraining me when the entire property is a gilded cage.
"How thoughtful of him," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "How long until this 'gathering' begins?"
"Guests will arrive at seven this evening." She nods toward an elegant clock on the mantle. It's just past 5 a.m. "You have time to rest if you wish. I'll return in a few hours to help you prepare."
She slips out, the soft click of the door followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock engaging. I'm trapped—at least for now.
I scan the room, looking for surveillance devices. My parents are nothing if not thorough in their monitoring. Sure enough, I spot a tiny camera disguised as part of the ornate crown molding, another hidden in the decorative sconce by the bathroom. They're watching. They're always watching.
The bathroom offers slightly more privacy—no visible cameras, though I'm sure there are listening devices. I turn on the shower, letting the steam fill the room as I search for anything I could use as a weapon. The toiletries are all in plastic containers—nothing glass that could be broken into a sharp edge. The towel bars are firmly attached to the wall. They've thought of everything.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me as I try to clear my head. The drug is finally wearing off, leaving behind a clarity tinged with desperation. I need to find Erik, to make sure he's okay. I need to determine if Professor Austin made it to David. I need a plan.
By the time I emerge, wrapped in a plush towel, my resolve has hardened. I will play my parents' game—for now. I'll wear their dress, smile at their guests, and be the perfect daughter they want to showcase. And I'll watch, and wait, and look for any opportunity to escape. Because this time, I'm not just fighting for myself. I'm fighting for Erik, too.
I examine the dress more closely. It's designer, of course—probably custom-made. The fabric feels like a liquid shadow against my skin as I slip it on. The mirror reflects a stranger—a polished, perfect version of myself transformed into exactly what my parents want me to be. The vulnerability of sleep shorts and tangled hair is gone, replaced by dangerous curves and calculated seduction.
A perfect weapon, crafted for my father's use.
The door unlocks around noon, and a different maid enters with a tray of food. "Your mother thought you might be hungry," she explains, setting it down on a small table by the window.
I eye the carefully arranged fruit, cheese, and bread with suspicion. "Is it drugged?"
The maid's eyes widen slightly—the first genuine reaction I've seen from any of the staff. "No, miss. Just food."
I'm not convinced, but hunger eventually overcomes caution. I pick at the safest items, watching the shadows lengthen outside the window as afternoon stretches toward evening. With each passing hour, dread builds in my chest. What is happening to Erik? Is he locked in a room like this, waiting and wondering, too?
At precisely 5:30 p.m., my mother breezes in, already dressed for the evening in a gown the color of champagne. Her hair is perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, her smile as sharp and empty as a knife's edge.
"Luna, darling," she says, air-kissing my cheeks as if this is a normal family gathering. "You look lovely. Though your hair could use some attention."
She snaps her fingers, and a stylist appears with a case of supplies. For the next hour, I'm transformed further—hair arranged in elegant waves, makeup applied with surgical precision, jewelry selected to complement rather than overshadow. My mother supervises every detail, occasionally adjusting an earring or suggesting a different shade of lipstick.
"There," she says finally, satisfaction evident in her voice. "Perfect. Your father will be pleased."
"Is that all that matters?" I ask quietly. "His pleasure?"
She meets my eyes in the mirror, something like pity flashing across her features before disappearing behind her mask. "Tonight matters, Luna. More than you know. People are coming from very far away to meet you. Important people. Powerful people."
"People who want to use me," I translate. "Like you and Father have always used me."
Her hand connects with my cheek before I see it coming—not hard enough to mark, but sharp enough to sting. "Enough. You will behave tonight. You will be charming and gracious and everything we've raised you to be." She leans closer, her voice dropping. "Because if you don't, it won't be you who suffers the consequences. It will be the Stone boy."
Fear grips my heart. "You can't hurt him. His father?—"
"His father is a politician who can be replaced," she cuts me off. "Don't test us on this, Luna. You know what happens to people who interfere with our plans."
She straightens, adjusting her designer wrap. "The gathering begins in thirty minutes. Griffiths will escort you downstairs." With that, she glides out, leaving me alone with the threat still hanging in the air.
True to her word, Griffiths appears exactly half an hour later, resplendent in a tuxedo that probably costs more than most cars. His smile is all predatory anticipation as he offers his arm.
"Shall we? Your father is quite eager for the evening to begin."
I take his arm, having no real choice. As we descend the grand staircase, I scan the foyer below for any sign of Erik. The first guests have already arrived—men and women in evening wear, their wealth evident in every detail from their jewelry to their posture.
"Where is Erik?" I ask Griffiths as we reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Patience." His hand slides to the small of my back, the touch making my skin crawl. "He'll join the party when it's time. Your father has a specific schedule for tonight's entertainment."
The word 'entertainment' sends ice through my veins. I know exactly what that means in these circles.
My father materializes from the crowd, impeccable in his bespoke suit. His smile doesn't reach his eyes as he kisses my cheek. "Luna. You look beautiful. Just like your mother at your age."
The comparison, meant as a compliment, makes me want to vomit. "Where is Erik?" I ask again, not bothering with pleasantries.
"All in good time." He takes my elbow, steering me toward a group of distinguished-looking men. "First, there are some people I'd like you to meet. Very important business associates who have traveled a long way to be here tonight."
As he guides me through the growing crowd, I search for any sign of Erik, any potential allies, or escape routes. The main doors are guarded by men whose bulging jackets poorly disguise their weapons. Every window I pass is secured with state-of-the-art locks. The staff all wear the same blank expressions, their eyes carefully averted from whatever horrors they witness in this house.
We're trapped.
By seven thirty, the mansion is filled with the elite—politicians, financiers, judges, celebrities. People with power, influence, and appetites that can only be satisfied in places like this are far from public scrutiny. I play my part, smiling and nodding at appropriate intervals, letting my father parade me like a prize racehorse.
And then I see him—Erik, standing by the grand fireplace with my mother and a man I don't recognize. They've dressed him in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, as if it was made specifically for this occasion. He looks handsome and dangerous, his eyes scanning the room until they lock with mine.
I start toward him immediately, only to be held back by my father's grip on my arm. "Not yet, Luna. Tonight is choreographed very precisely. You'll have your reunion with Mr. Stone at the appropriate moment."
"What are you planning?" I demand, keeping my voice low despite my rising panic. "What is all this for?"
My father's smile is empty of everything but calculation. "This, my dear, is your future. Tonight, you take your rightful place in our organization." He gestures expansively to the gathered elite. "These people represent power—real power. The kind that shapes nations. And you, Luna, are about to become a very important asset in our collective portfolio."
Understanding dawns with sickening clarity. This isn't just another party. This is an auction. And I’m not the only merchandise. They’ve added Erik to the list.
As if confirming my realization, a soft chime sounds, and the crowd begins to move toward the grand salon at the back of the house. My father's grip on my arm tightens as he guides me forward. Across the room, I see my mother doing the same with Erik, whose face has gone pale with understanding.
Our eyes meet once more across the sea of wealth and privilege. In his gaze, I see the same determination that burns in my chest. But how long until they extinguish the fire, I can’t say. All I know is that dread fills every fiber of my being when Griffiths brings in the tray of my usual party dose of pills.