23. Harmony
Harmony
The SUV ride is silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
The kind that hums in your bones and makes every breath feel too loud.
Reese is behind the wheel, jaw clenched so tight I can hear it click every time we hit a bump in the road.
Brooke sits beside me in the back seat, her hands folded perfectly in her lap like a little doll placed too carefully in the wrong house.
She hasn’t spoken since we left the compound.
She hasn’t even blinked much.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
Her eyes slide to mine. Slow. Deliberate.
“I’m with Damien,” she says like it’s supposed to be reassuring.
It’s not.
Reese glances at us in the rearview mirror but says nothing. I can feel his thoughts chewing at the silence. I want to ask him what he saw on the drive. If anything went wrong. If anyone followed us.
If he thinks Damien is losing it.
But I don’t.
Be cause the last time I asked Reese a question, he told me it was safer if I stopped needing answers.
The gate to the main house groans as it opens. Reese pulls in and kills the engine. The gravel crunches under our boots as we get out. Brooke doesn’t hesitate—she walks straight to the porch, like she’s memorized the map of this place already. Like she belongs here.
Reese unlocks the front door and steps aside. “East wing. Two rooms. Separate. You both stay put unless I say otherwise.”
His voice is clipped, robotic. He’s trying not to feel anything.
Brooke pauses in the entryway. “Which room is mine?”
“The one without bars,” Reese mutters, brushing past her.
I follow them inside, heart thudding as I pass the cold fireplace and the boarded-up windows. Everything smells like bleach and pine cleaner, like Damien was trying to erase the ghosts before we arrived.
Brooke’s room is on the right. Mine is across the hall.
Reese tosses her a folded blanket and steps back. “There are clothes in the dresser. Use them.”
She catches it, hugs it to her chest like a gift, and smiles. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t smile back.
I step into my room slowly. Same layout as before. One bed. One bolted dresser. No door lock from the inside.
Reese leans in the doorway behind me. “Lights out in twenty.”
“Will there be food?”
“You’ll eat when Damien says.”
My jaw clenches. I nod once.
He starts to walk away but pauses, glancing toward Brooke’s door.
“You watch her,” he says under his breath. “If she snaps… you’ll be the first one she takes with her.”
Then he leaves.
And I stand in the center of my room, staring at the blank wall, heart hollow.
Because I don’t know what’s more terrifying—
That Reese is right.
Or that a part of me… isn’t afraid of Brooke at all. It feels sorry for her.
* * *
The tray slides across the floor with a soft scrape.
Reese doesn’t knock. Just sets the food down outside my door like I’m a fucking pet. Stew. Bread. A bottle of water.
I open it slowly and find him standing in the hall, arms folded, expression unreadable.
“She still hasn’t made a sound,” he says, nodding toward Brooke’s room.
“She won’t,” I whisper.
“She freak you out yet?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is—yes. But not in the way he thinks. Not in the obvious way.
Brooke doesn’t feel wrong .
She feels like a reflection I don’t want to look at. Like a version of me that gave up faster.
“Damien said he’s staying at the Golden Hollows overnight,” Reese mutters.
I nod. “Of course, he is.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I step back into my room. “Nothing.”
But he follows me.
Closes the door behind us.
Not slamming.
No t loud.
Just a soft click , like sealing something inside.
“Stop it,” he says.
“Stop what?”
“Acting like you’re not breaking.”
I freeze.
He’s too close now. His breath is warm against my cheek. His jaw is tight. And I can feel that pull again—the one I’ve been fighting since the first time he cornered me in the pantry.
“You think I’m breaking?” I whisper.
“I know you are.”
He cups my face.
And I should pull away.
But I don’t.
Because the truth is—this place has drained me. The silence. The fear. The constant calculation. And Reese? He feels alive . Like friction. Like heat. Like choice .
His lips brush mine before I even register the movement.
I kiss him back.
Desperate. Shaky. Bruised.
He tastes of redemption laced with lust. I feel the electricity pulsing through my veins.
Foreign heat floods my core. But it doesn’t last.
Because when his hand slides beneath my shirt, when his thumb brushes a scar near my ribs— his scar—my body stiffens.
He feels it.
And everything changes.
“You still want him,” he says quietly.
I blink. “No.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice is a whisper now. Taut. Dangerous. “You flinch when I touch you because I’m not him.”
I shove him back. “Don’t flatter yourself. I flinch because I don’t trust anyone.”
“But you let me in.”
“Only because I have no one else.”
That lands harder than I meant it to.
His eyes narrow. “Right. Just a placeholder. Good to know.”
“Reese—”
“No.” He steps back, voice still low. “You made your choice.”
“It’s not a choice!” I hiss. “It’s survival.”
He nods once. Cold and mechanical. “Then survive. But don’t come crawling to me when he’s finished breaking you.”
I open my mouth to argue. But the door across the hall creaks.
We both freeze.
Soft footsteps. Brooke. Awake. Listening.
Reese backs away, hand on the knob. “Lights out. Just like he said.”
And then he’s gone.
Leaving me standing in the dark.
Alone.
Again.
* * *
The silence is worse after a fight.
It sinks into the walls, into my skin, into my teeth.
I press my back to the door, sliding down until my knees hit the floor. My breath catches halfway up my throat and stays there, trembling.
I didn’t mean to hurt him.
I just didn’t know how to let him in without Damien noticing.
And Damien always notices.
My fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard, like pain will anchor me. Like maybe I’ll tear out the panic by the roots. But all it does is make me fee l real again. Present.
I’m so tired of hiding.
Of wanting.
Of him .
Reese.
He kissed me like I still had worth. Like I wasn’t broken, or used, or too far gone. Like he knew exactly how much I wanted to be seen, and still didn’t turn away.
But I did.
Because if Damien finds out…
He’d kill Reese. Or worse.
I bury my face in my knees.
I want to scream. I want to tear the sheets from the bed and shred them with my teeth. I want to smash the window even though I know there are bars behind it. I want out .
Not just from this room.
From all of it.
I stare at the tray of untouched food on the floor.
Bread.
Stew.
Water.
It tastes like control. Like survival on a leash. I shove it away.
The clatter echoes too loudly in the small space, and I freeze, heart pounding.
What if Brooke heard?
What if he hears?
What if I finally pushed too far?
I press my palm over my mouth and drag in a slow, trembling breath.
I can’t run.
I can’t love.
I can’t even fucking cry too loud.
Be cause everything here has consequences.
And still—I want Reese.
His hands.
His heart.
His reckless, dangerous softness.
I curl into the mattress, fists balled beneath my chin, and whisper the truth into the dark.
“I’m scared.”
Scared of Damien.
Scared of loving someone else.
Scared of how much I’ve lost… and how much more I might lose.
But mostly?
I’m scared that there is no way out.
That this is it.
That no matter how many times I dream of escape, I’ll always wake up in a locked room, with a collar made of secrets.
That I’ll always belong to him.
And no one else.