My hands shake as I scramble off the desk, bare feet hitting the cold floor with a shock that jolts through my system. I can feel him watching me, can sense his confusion through the bondthat still thrums between us like a live wire, but I can't—I can't look at him right now.
"Heidi—"
His voice is rough, still thick with satisfaction, and the sound makes something inside me recoil. I grab my dress from where it pooled on the floor, the black fabric wrinkled and torn from his urgency. My fingers fumble with the material, shaking too hard to get it over my head properly.
"Heidi, what's wrong?"
The concern in his tone makes it worse somehow. Like he actually cares about more than just what I can give him with my body. Like what we just shared meant something beyond the magical compulsion that brought us together in the first place.
But that's the trap, isn't it? That's how they get you to let your guard down. They make you feel special, wanted, cherished—and then they own you completely.
Madam Cordelia used to tell the new girls that the kind clients were the most dangerous ones. The ones who brought gifts and spoke sweetly and made you believe you were more than just a commodity to be used and discarded. Because those were the ones who made you forget what you really were. Made you think you had value beyond what lay between your legs.
I finally get the dress over my head, not bothering with the laces at the back. The fabric hangs loose and disheveled, but it covers me, and that's all that matters right now. I need to get out of here. Need space to think, to breathe, to figure out what the hell I've just done.
"I have to go." The words come out cracked and broken, barely audible even to my own ears.
I turn toward the door, and my legs nearly give out beneath me. My body still feels liquid and boneless from what he did to me, from the way he played me like an instrument he'd been practicing on for years. The memory of his fingers dancingacross my skin with controlled flame makes my stomach clench with want and terror in equal measure.
No. No, I can't want this. Can't want him.
I force myself to move, one unsteady step after another. Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric as he moves, probably putting himself back together, making himself presentable. The mundane sound of it makes everything feel even more surreal.
"Heidi, wait?—"
But I'm already at the door, hand fumbling for the handle. My fingers slip once, twice, before I manage to get it open. The hallway beyond is mercifully empty, though I can hear the distant sounds of the household settling in for the night. Thera's voice carries from the kitchen, probably scolding one of the guards about something. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
I step into the hallway, and then I'm running.
My bare feet slap against the stairs as I rush down the back hidden hallways. Around me, everyone is celebrating and indulging, not paying me any mind.
I don't stop. Can't stop.
The back door looms ahead, and the guard there stares at me in confusion. But when I tell him I have to go, he pulls the door open, clearly not given any instructions to keep me in. The cold night air hits my overheated skin like a slap, making me gasp. The winter wind cuts right through the thin fabric of my dress, but I welcome the bite of it. Welcome anything that might clear the fog of want and confusion from my head.
I pause on the threshold, half-expecting to hear his footsteps behind me. To feel his hands on my shoulders, spinning me around, demanding explanations I don't have. Demanding I come back inside where it's warm and safe and I belong to him completely.
But there's nothing. Just silence.
The realization hits me like another blow. He's not coming after me. He's letting me go.
I don't know what to make of that. Don't know if it's relief or disappointment that crashes through my chest at the thought. Every other man who's ever touched me has seen it as ownership, as a claim that gave him the right to decide where I went and what I did. But Mihalis...
Mihalis is letting me choose.
He always said he’d give me space. And he is nothing if not a man of his words.
The thought makes my eyes burn, and I blink furiously against the sting of tears I refuse to shed. This is what I wanted, isn't it? Freedom. The ability to walk away when things get too complicated, too dangerous for my carefully guarded heart.
So why does it feel like dying?
I force myself to step outside, letting the door swing shut behind me with a soft click that sounds like finality. The streets of New Solas stretch out before me, still in full swing with the festival. Their laughter echoes off the buildings, bright and carefree and so far removed from the storm raging inside me that they might as well be from another world entirely.
I pull the dress tighter around myself and start walking, though I'm not sure where I'm going. My feet seem to know the way even when my mind doesn't, carrying me through the winding streets toward the part of the city where the buildings lean closer together and the shadows run deeper.
Toward home. My real home, not the gilded cage I've been living in for weeks. I’m not sure if it’s been ransacked or taken over, but I had paid a few months rent before everything happened with Mihalis.
The apartment building looks smaller than I remember, shabbier. The once-familiar sight of peeling paint and cracked windows makes something twist in my chest. Has it alwayslooked this run-down, or have I just gotten used to marble floors and silk curtains?
