Now? She was a solution.
The shift sat cold in my chest as I came to a stop in front of her room. I didn’t knock when I reached her door. I unlocked it and walked in.
Chiara was by the window, staring out into the city lights below her.
Of course she was. Like every trapped thing, she kept going back to the only place that looked like freedom. I mentally congratulated myself on making the windows impossible to open. She was safe, but not free.Neverfree.
Her back was to me, shoulders tight, one hand pressed against the glass like she could melt through it if she tried hard enough.
“Planning your escape?” I asked.
She flinched.
Then she turned, chin lifting like she hadn’t just been caught.
“I don’t need to plan it,” she said. “I’ll find a way regardless. You won’t be careful enough forever. And all it takes is a minute of you looking away.”
I shut the door behind me. Locked it. The click was deliberate. Her eyes flicked to the door handle, memorizing something.
“You won’t get far,” I said simply. “But I’ll enjoy dragging you back by your hair.”
Her mouth tightened. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.” I took a step closer. Then another. She didn’t move. Not this time. That was new.
“Did you come here to repeat the obvious,” she asked, voice sharp, “or do you actually have something to say?”
I stopped in front of her. Close enough to see the tension in her throat, the faint bruising still shadowing her skin. Close enough to remember exactly how pliable she felt under my hands.
“You have some will power,” I said. “I’ll give you that. Did you have fun plotting your escape while I was away?”
“No,” she hissed. “I never have fun. Not when you’re around.”
I ignored her, glancing at the vanity table. On it, the silver tray from earlier - now empty. I smirked. “Hungry, were you?”
“Go fuck yourself,” she said, flushing lightly. Nonetheless, I was pleased she’d eaten. I didn’t need her to starve. “Where were you? Making more horrible decisions? Ending more lives?”
“I had a meeting,” I said. “And yes. Some people died tonight. Since you care about it so much, would you like to hear all the gory details?”
“Idon’tcare,” she said defensively.
“I didn’t ask you to,” I reminded her. Her lips pressed together.
“Then why are you telling me?” she snapped. “What do I care about your meetings? They all end the same way. Either with a literal death, or a metaphorical one.”
I chuckled. “You thinkthisis death?”
“It’s nolife,” she spat out. “Locked up in your tower, nowhere to go. I’m a prisoner. But that doesn’t mean I have to listen to your scary stories.”
“They’re not stories,” I said. “There’s truth hidden in every rumor, Chiara.”
“Oh, like the one where you supposedly took my virginity?” she hissed.
“Exactly,” I smirked. “It may not have happened yet, but it will. We both know it, don’t we?”
She remained defiantly silent. I walked over to the vanity table and patted the chair in front of it. “Come here and sit down for me.”
She hesitated, but ended up doing it anyway. I didn’t fool myself into thinking it was because she craved me yet. No, she was simply too afraid. And as I looked down at my hands and realized I was still wearing the now blood-stained white cotton gloves, I quickly realized why.
