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15

He Sees Me

Hypothetical Question: If you could replace your fingers with one household item, what would you choose?

Nate

"That idiot better pray I don't see him anytime soon." My voice is low, a growl edged with frustration. "What the hell was he even thinking? Oh, right—he doesn't think. Arrogant prick. Honestly, I could throttle him right now."

I mutter Kai's name like a curse, the sound barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath our feet.

Carina walks beside me, silent. Too silent. She's got that distant look in her eyes—the one that makes me think she's either solving the mysteries of the universe or mentally stabbing someone. Either way, my ranting barely seems to register.

I glance over, curiosity creeping in. "You okay?"

She blinks, snapping out of her trance. "Yeah, just… thinking."

"About?"

She hesitates, then exhales slowly. "What I'm supposed to do with my life once I've dealt with the last names on my list. There's only three left. After that… then what?"

I pause mid-step.

Not because I don't know what to say. But because I didn't expect her to be thinking that far ahead.

"Well, they're not the only monsters out there, you know," I say after a moment.

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"You could join me. Keep fighting. Only this time, it wouldn't just be about revenge—it'd be about helping people who actually need it. Giving victims a second chance."

She blinks, thrown off. Like the thought had never once occurred to her.

"Huh. I guess I never thought about that." She runs a hand through her hair, her fingers lingering at the ends as if grounding herself. "I've been so focused on revenge, I never stopped to think about what I'd do after it's all over."

I tilt my head, studying her. Trying to read the expression behind her words. "What did you want to do? Before… everything?"

She lets out a laugh, bitter and hollow. The kind that carries too much history.

"I wanted to be a doctor. Save lives." A humourless smile tugs at her lips. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"I mean… only if you think irony is admirable," I reply, deadpan. "Which, by the way, it is."

She shakes her head, staring at the ground as we reach the car. "It's a pipe dream now. I don't even have GCSEs. No school would take me, no job would hire me."

"We'll see about that," I mutter, sliding into the passenger seat. "If Kai can pull off a career without a brain, you've got a shot."

Her lips twitch—almost a smile.

Almost.

I settle behind the wheel after opening her door for her. The engine hums to life.

For a moment, the car is filled with nothing but quiet possibilities.

I glance at her, catching a flicker of something in her expression. Hope? Doubt? A dangerous mix of both?

Either way, I'm going to make damn sure she knows she's capable of more than she thinks.

My phone vibrates, and the message from Carina makes me grin before I can stop myself.

Queen Carina: Despite all the old, stuffy men, I had a nice evening.

I can picture her now— kicking off her heels, stretching out on her bed, her expression soft despite the night's exhaustion. I wanted to take her home with me, but I could see the weight of the evening pressing down on her. So, I did the next best thing. I made sure she got home safely.

And now I'm here.

The apartment is silent, cavernous in its emptiness. The polished marble lobby, the private elevator, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames—all designed to impress and intimidate. The kind of place that screams money.

But to me?

It's a fucking prison.

Everything inside is cold and calculated, a museum of wealth curated by my father's meticulous hand. The furniture is sleek but impersonal, and the art expensive but meaningless. Even the pristine, white walls feel like they belong to a stranger.

The only thing in this place that's mine is my bedroom—tucked away, removed from the suffocating perfection outside.

I sink onto my bed, stretching out against the cool sheets, the phone still in hand.

Daddy Death: Glad you enjoyed it.

Daddy Death: What are you doing now?

I wait, tapping my fingers against my thigh, but before she answers, I flick over to my conversation with Kai.

Nate: You good?

I know that tonight was a lot, even I wasn’t sure I could handle seeing Carina shred through a man's dick like it was nothing.

Fuck I love watching her work, though—the satisfaction that buzzes around her like a living entity—it’s the sexiest thing.

Kai: Yeah…

Nate: You’ve been more involved recently. You don’t have to be. If it’s a problem.

Kai: It’s okay. I want to help.

That’s all I’m going to get out of him.

Nate: Did you send the tip-off?

Simon's dead. But the girls trapped in that hellhole? They don't have to be. Kai's handling it—an anonymous tip to the cops should be enough to get them out.

My phone buzzes almost instantly.

Kai: Obviously. Is this my first rodeo?

I smirk. Most people find Kai a little… difficult. Moody? Unapproachable? But I've known him since before he built his walls, before life hardened him into the grumpy bastard he can be now. Underneath the attitude, there's a core of something solid. Loyal.

Nate: I didn't realise you were a cowboy.

Kai: Yeehaw!

Before I can respond, another message pops up—Carina's custom alert.

Queen Carina: Lying in bed, trying to sleep.

Something in me settles. Without thinking, I hit the call button.

She answers after a single ring, her face lighting up my screen.

"Hey," she murmurs, her voice soft and edged with sleep.

"Hi, Princess." The warmth in my voice surprises even me.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice."

A soft laugh. "You saw me, what? An hour ago?"

"Too long."

She laughs again, light and melodic, and it cuts through me like a damn blade. Not because it hurts. Because it owns me.

I close my eyes, letting the sound of her fill the cold space around me.

Carina

"Tell me something I don't already know about you," Nate says.

His voice is low, steady—like he's asking for something simple. But nothing about me is simple.

"Like what?" I ask, even though I already know where this is going.

"Whatever you're comfortable sharing."

His words soften something inside me. I know he’s tried to search me online, digging for clues to figure me out, but he won’t find anything there. My past isn’t something you can Google.

I hesitate, fingers tightening around my phone. The silence stretches, and I almost let it swallow me. But then, the words push past my lips before I can stop them.

"From the time my father sold me at thirteen… up until I escaped at twenty… I didn't exist."

The sharp inhale on the other end is quiet, but I hear it. He doesn't say anything, doesn't interrupt. He listens.

"I was too scared to re-enter the country for almost eight years after I got out," I admit, my voice quieter now, like the confession might break if I say it too loud.

"Why?" His voice is careful. Measured. Like he knows how fragile this moment is.

"Because it's hard not to be scared, Nate." I take a slow breath, pushing through the tightness in my throat. "I'd been passed around like some kind of possession. Five different men claimed me as theirs, controlling every second of my life. I didn't even know how to think for myself. Every decision, every action… it all belonged to someone else."

The weight of memory presses down on me, thick and suffocating. I close my eyes, but the past doesn't disappear—it lingers, a ghost I can't quite shake.

"And then suddenly, I was free. Alone. Terrified. I had to figure out how to live in a world that felt completely alien to me." My nails dig into my palm, grounding me. "It took years to rebuild myself—to stop being that scared little girl."

"You don't seem scared anymore." His voice is tight and controlled, but there's something raw underneath. "At least, not most of the time."

I huff out a laugh, hollow and bitter. "You should've seen me when I first got out. I was a mess. Alone in Italy, barely any money, no skills, jumping at every shadow. I trusted no one. Not even myself."

"How did you get through it?"

His question isn't detached—it's real. Genuine. He isn't just making conversation. He cares.

"I refused to let them win." The words come out steadier now. "Therapy helped. Learning to survive helped. But the thing that really saved me?" My lips curl slightly. "Anger. One day, I stopped being scared and started being pissed off. That anger gave me purpose. It gave me the drive to plan my revenge.

"And now,” I shrug as though it’s nothing, “here I am."

I can hear the curiosity in his tone. "Why is there nothing about you online?"

Of course, he’d ask.

"The only records of my existence during that time were from human sales," I say simply, "And I had them erased. I had everything erased."

My lips tug up as I think about Enzo, and what he did to change my identity. He’d like Nate, I think.

“And… the name Simon called you?”

“That’s not my name anymore.”

Nate nods slowly. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push any further. I can see the fire in his eyes—the anger, the unspoken vow. He doesn’t pity me. He sees me.