I shut the diary before it swallows me whole and force myself into another lap around the suite—the only cardio I’m getting while being kidnapped—when the door opens.
Adrien stands there, grinning like he owns the world. Heat coils under my ribs.
I hate that. I hate that he can do this to me.
He’s in his usual combats and oversized black sweatshirt, tattoos crawling up his neck and hands, curls messy like he rolled out of someone’s bed.
Dear universe, if this is Stockholm syndrome, make it stop. I refuse to be a cliché.
I stare at him, trying to decode that stupid little grin, and he steps aside from the door like some gentleman, arm out, shoulder offered.
“What? I can go?” I light up and almost smile.
He just nods and smiles wider. I push his hand away, give him the middle finger instead, and step out of the door when he suddenly jumps in front of me like an overexcited golden retriever.
“Rules first.” He lifts one finger in front of my face. “One—you never leave the suite without me, Kas, or one of the guards.”
He adds a second finger.
“Two—when we send you back, you stay there until we say otherwise.”
Third finger.
“And Troubles, this one’s gonna hurt you.” He tilts his head, smirking. “You don’t talk to anyone except me or Kas.”
I roll my eyes so hard I see my own brain and slap his fingers away.
“If you break anything I just said, you’re back under lock. Got it?”
“Is it a problem if the other guards see me?” I ask him as I glance into the lobby. Yeah, there’s a little army down there.
“No. They’re loyal. Don’t worry.”
His voice softens like we’re sharing a secret.
My dynamic with Adrien is still quite messy. A mix of comfort and caution wrapped in sarcasm and trauma.
But the truth is—Idofeel safer with him than I should.
He keeps me sane. His warmth, his stupid jokes, the way he looks at me like I’m not just a bargaining chip in a gothic murder palace.
But I can’t forget the other part of him.
Four days ago, he shot a man in front of me without blinking.
Empty expression. No hesitation. No soul behind his eyes.
With Kasien, it’s different.
The void, the emptiness—it has always been there. He is the void most of the time. At first, I thought it came from growing up in a family where he never fit.
But then he told me his last memory of his mother.
So later I realized it was something deeper. Something he carried long before me. Something he could never say out loud.
And six years ago, the last time I saw him, I understood how bad it really was.
But I also remember the moments when he let it all fall away. The way he loved—deep, obsessive, fierce, almost terrifying, but it was love.
