She leaves before I can refuse.
I stare at the dress for a long time, anger building slowly. This is performance. Theater designed to demonstrate control through civility, to remind me that resistance accomplishes nothing except demonstrating how thoroughly he owns every aspect of my existence here.
The knife in the woods was honest. This is worse.
Refusing to appear means guards will escort me downstairs anyway, and I’d rather walk than be carried.
I shower properly this time, scrubbing dirt from beneath my nails and washing my hair until it no longer smells like fear and forest. The cuts on my arms sting under hot water. I don’t bandage them.
Let Felix see the evidence of what his lesson cost.
The dress fits perfectly, which somehow makes it worse. I pair it with the plainest shoes I can find and leave my hair loose rather than styling it the way the outfit probably demands.
At 11:58, I descend the main staircase and follow the sound of silverware being arranged into the formal dining room I’ve only glimpsed through doorways.
The space is elegant and intimidating—high ceilings, chandelier casting warm light across a table that could seat twenty but is set for two.
Felix sits at the head, reading something on his phone, dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt that somehow manages to look both casual and deliberately chosen.
He glances up when I enter. His gaze sweeps over the dress, the cuts on my arms, my expression that I’m trying to keep neutral despite the fury simmering beneath.
“Sit.” He gestures to the chair at his right. It’s close enough for conversation, far enough that I can’t reach him easily.
I take the seat slowly, hands folded in my lap to hide the trembling I can’t quite suppress. A server appears from somewhere and places lunch in front of me—something elaborate involving roasted vegetables and beef.
I don’t touch it.
Felix sets his phone aside and cuts into his own meal with precise movements. “You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.” His tone carries the same clinical assessment as when he was holding a knife to my throat. “Starving yourself accomplished nothing last time. It won’t accomplish anything now.”
“This whole performance—” I gesture around the room, at the formal place settings and expensive food and the dress I’m wearing “—is worse than the knife.”
His expression doesn’t shift. “How so?”
“At least in the woods you were honest about what this is.” My voice stays steady through effort alone. “You demonstrated what happens if I try to leave. Fine, but don’t dress it up in tailored clothing and formal dining rooms and pretend this is anything except captivity.”
Felix sets down his silverware, giving me his full attention. “The alternative to captivity is death. I’ve explained that repeatedly.”
“Then kill me and be done with it.” The words come out before I fully decide to say them. “I can’t live like this indefinitely. I can’t spend the rest of my life in this house, under surveillance, waiting for you to decide whether I’m more useful alive or dead.”
“You’re not useful either way.” He leans back slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “Your value has nothing to do with operational utility.”
The phrasing catches me off guard. “Then what does it have to do with?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Silence stretches long enough that I wonder if he’s going to deflect entirely.
“Eat your lunch, Diana.” His voice carries finality that suggests the conversation is over. “We’ll discuss your future after you’ve had time to recover from your lesson.”
I look down at the untouched plate, at food I have no appetite for but that refusing feels like giving him another victory.
In the end, I pick up the fork.
Chapter Thirteen - Felix
The call from Pavel comes at 7:00 a.m., earlier than protocol dictates for anything except emergencies. I answer on the second ring, already calculating what crisis requires bypassing standard communication channels.
