Less than twenty minutes pass before there’s another knock at the door, softer this time but no less unwelcome.
“Ready to go?” Silas’s voice is smooth, carrying through the heavy wood like he already knows the answer.
I pull the dress tighter around me, trying to adjust it so it feels less suffocating. It doesn’t work. It clings in all the wrong ways, exposing too much skin, but I force myself to stand and open the door. Silas is there, leaning casually against the frame, his grin firmly in place.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Good. Let’s move.”
I follow him, my steps hesitant at first, but his pace doesn’t slow. He leads me through corridor after corridor, each one looking identical to the last. The mansion feels endless, a maze of twisting hallways and heavy doors. The air grows colder the further we go, the polished floors gleaming under dim, sterile light.
We pass ornate staircases, winding down into darkness or climbing to unreachable heights. The deeper we go, the more the opulence of the upper floors fades. The carpets thin out, replaced by cold tile, and the scent of cigar smoke is overtaken by something metallic and faintly antiseptic.
It’s not just a mansion. It’s a labyrinth. A fortress.
A prison.
My breath catches as I realize how much of this place I haven’t seen, how easily they’ve hidden its true purpose from me. Up until now, I’d been confined to a room, fed crumbs of their world. But here, at its core, is where the real darkness resides.
The walls widen into a sprawling underground space that feels less like a home and more like a headquarters. Doors line the corridors, some shut tight, others slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of conference rooms, storage areas, even interrogation chambers.
I shudder, my mind racing with questions I’m not sure I want the answers to. Why didn’t they bring me here immediately? Why treat me like a guest–or at least pretend to–when they could’ve thrown me into one of these rooms?
A choice. A threat. A game.
They’re letting me play the role of something more than a prisoner, but it’s a façade, and I know it won’t last.
Finally, Silas stops in front of a wide, reinforced door. He pushes it open without hesitation, and I feel my stomach twist as I step inside.
The room is large and cold, a long conference table dominating the center. Tobias sits at the head, his fingers steepled under his chin, his sharp eyes watching as we enter. Around him are a few other men, advisors and enforcers, each one holding a drink or shuffling through papers.
And then there’s Jaxon.
He sits off to one side, his posture relaxed but alert. His dark clothes blend into the shadows, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t look at me as I enter, not even for a second.
My eyes flicker to the other side of the table–and stop cold.
Callan.
His presence is a punch to the gut, and I can’t stop my sharp intake of breath when I see him. A dark bruise blooks over his eye, swollen and ugly, a stark contrast to his usual smug expression. He’s seated stiffly, his face set in a grimace, and for the first time, he looks… subdued.
Shock ripples through me, but I quickly mask it. My eyes dart to Jaxon again, searching for any sign, any acknowledgment of what I’m seeing. But he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at Callan either. His gaze is locked forward, as cold and detached as ever.
Callan shifts in his seat, wincing slightly as he adjusts his posture, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
The silence between us feels louder than the murmured conversations in the room. It’s a silence filled with questions I don’t dare ask.
I force myself to look away, my heart pounding as I sit down at the farthest end of the table. The chair feels hard and unyielding, the air thick with tension. I can feel Tobias’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him. Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on the polished surface of the table, my reflection staring back at me, pale and trembling.
I don’t know what I’ve walked into, but I know one thing for certain.
This is only the beginning.
Tobias’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, sharp and commanding.
“Sit down, Paige.”
I freeze for a second, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. The weight of his stare feels suffocating, and the room’s quiet tension presses down on me. Slowly, I lower myself into the nearest chair, keeping my back straight and my gaze fixed on the table.
The polished surface reflects a warped version of my face–too pale, too bruised. I force myself not to look up, not to meet his gaze, but it doesn’t matter. Tobias commands attention,
even without eye contact.
1/2
Chapter 19: Paige
“You’ve been quiet since you got here,” he begins, his voice calm but edged with steel. “I’m sure you’re still… adjusting. But I think it’s time we get past the formalities, don’t you?”
I don’t answer. My hands grip the edges of the chair, my nails digging into the wood.
He leans forward slightly, the movement pulling my eyes toward him despite myself. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes gleam with something dangerous.
“You’re going to call your father.”
My head snaps up, the blood draining from my face. “What?”
“You heard me,” he says, his tone as sharp as a blade. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, black phone, setting it on the table in front of him. Its surface gleams under the harsh light, sleek and unfamiliar. A burner phone.
My stomach twists.
“You’re going to tell him that you’re being held hostage,” Tobias continues, his voice never wavering. “And that if he wants you to stay alive, he’ll agree to speak with me directly. No middlemen. No delays.”
I stare at the phone like it’s a coiled snake. My mouth is dry, my heartbeat loud in my ears. “And if I don’t?”
Tobias leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes locking onto mine. “If you don’t,” he says, his voice soft but deadly, “then you’re of no use to me. And if you’re of no use to
me…”
He lets the sentence hang, unfinished, but the implication is clear.
My hands tremble in my lap, but I clench them into fists, forcing myself to sit still. I glance around the room, searching for anything, anyone, that might offer some reprieve.
Silas is grinning faintly, like this is all a game to him, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes–pity, maybe. Or amusement.
Callan, with his swollen black eye, sits stiffly, his jaw tight. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak.
And Jaxon…
He’s still as stone, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere just beyond me. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t so much as glanced my way. His indifference is suffocating.
“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I can’t do that.”
Tobias’s smile is slow and dangerous. “You can. And you will.”
“I-” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, trying to steady it. “If I call him, he won’t just come for me. He’ll come for all of you.”
Tobias chuckles, low and dark. “That’s the idea. Your father has been dodging me for years. You’re leverage, Paige. A very useful little tool. And you’ll do as you’re told.”
My chest tightens, panic clawing at the edges of my mind. “And if he doesn’t agree to talk?”
Tobias leans back, his smile fading. “Then you’ve outlived your purpose.”
