33. Harmony
Harmony
There’s no clock down here.
No light through the cracks. No shift in shadow. Just stone walls, stale air, and silence so thick it coats my throat like honey.
Time doesn’t pass. It decays. Rots.
I sit with my knees pulled to my chest, hands trembling where they rest against bare skin. The cell smells like rust and bleach. Like ghosts. Like old screams sealed into the concrete.
I try not to blink too long. Every time I do, I see her.
Brooke.
The way her eyes widened when Lucien stepped forward.
The way Damien didn’t notice.
But I did.
Lucien bought her. With a fake name. A fake history. A real goal.
And now she’s gone.
Please let her be safe.
But what does safe even mean anymore?
I press my forehead to my knees and breathe through the panic. One. Two. Three.
It doesn’t help.
Th e walls feel closer today. Like they’re moving in, inch by inch, waiting for me to scream. But I won’t. He wants that.
I can still feel his hands on me.
The way he yanked me down here like I was nothing. The way he said I didn’t deserve the house. The way he locked the door like it was a mercy.
It’s not.
This is punishment.
This is a coffin with air.
And worst of all?
I don’t even disagree.
I should have known. I should’ve tried to figure out who it was. But I didn’t. I’m not loyal.
Now I’m here.
Again.
Back in the place where names are erased and value is measured in silence. My identity fading behind the bars Damien crafted from obsession and grief.
I trace a crack in the floor with my finger. It looks like a vein. Like something pulsing under the stone. Like the building is alive and hungry.
I whisper, “Are you okay, Brooke?”
My voice doesn’t echo.
The silence swallows it whole.
If Damien finds her—and he will —she’ll never make it out alive. Not unless Lucien can out think him.
Not unless I do something.
But I’m caged. Bare. Unarmed.
Just the clothes on my back.
And my mind?
It’s the only thing I have left.
So I turn it against him.
I start cataloging his routines. His weaknesses. The cracks in his kingdom he never saw coming.
Because maybe this time, the monster gets out of the cage.
And maybe this time… she burns it all down.
* * *
I hear the lock before the door groans open.
That sound—click, grind, creak—has become its own language. Each time it echoes through the walls, I hold my breath, bracing for fists, commands, lies.
This time, it’s different.
The footsteps are quieter. More measured. Less like a storm, more like a reckoning.
It’s Reese.
He pauses just inside the threshold like he doesn’t belong here.
Like the air might burn him if he steps further.
His eyes adjust to the dim, flickering light, and when they find me—huddled in the corner, knees drawn to my chest, sleeves stained from where I wiped the tears I wasn’t supposed to cry—his jaw clenches.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
The silence isn’t comfortable. It’s never been. But between us, it’s always meant more than words.
Reese exhales slowly, then slides down to sit against the far wall, just outside the marked perimeter that Damien marked with tape in the cells. No one’s allowed inside it. Not even Reese. It’s a stupid rule, but one that keeps me safe in ways I don’t fully understand.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he says finally.
“Then why did you?”
Hi s gaze flicks to mine. “Because I couldn’t not.”
The tension is a wire between us, strung tight, humming with everything we’ve never said. I study him—dark circles under his eyes, a bruise blooming at the edge of his jaw, like Damien’s paranoia is catching up to everyone.
“You’re not safe here,” I whisper.
Reese’s smile is humorless. “Neither are you.”
“I haven’t been safe in years.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice low, like he’s afraid the walls might be listening. “He knows about Brooke. About Lucien.”
I know. I watched his rage burn bright. I swallow hard.
“He’ll kill her.”
“No,” he says too quickly. Then softer: “Not yet. He’s unraveling, but he won’t risk the merchandise.”
“Merchandise,” I echo bitterly. “Is that what I am, too?”
His mouth opens. Closes. There’s something behind his eyes, something that looks like shame and longing twisted together. “No. You’re the reason I haven’t lost my soul entirely.”
That breaks something inside me.
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. “He’s going to put me in the auction.”
“I know.”
“He told me. After he—” I stop. My throat closes. “I can’t do it, Reese.”
His fists tighten, knuckles white. He looks like he wants to shatter something. His voice comes out broken. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“But I will.” My voice cracks on the last word. “Because I always do. Because I always survive the things I said I couldn’t. But this time… it feels different. Like the part of me that fights is gone.”
He flinches. And then—for a second—he starts to move. Like he mig ht cross the line. Like he might take me in his arms, say something that matters.
But he doesn’t.
He sits back against the wall, fisting the fabric of his jeans like if he doesn’t anchor himself, he’ll unravel.
“I want to hate you,” I whisper. “Sometimes I do.”
“I know.”
“But you’re the only person who’s ever looked at me like I was real. Like I wasn’t just some broken doll in Damien’s kingdom.”
He looks up, eyes raw, voice fraying. “You are real to me.”
I want him to say more.
I want him to say we’ll run. That there’s a world outside these walls where I get to exist without bleeding.
Instead, he reaches into his boot and pulls out a small card. Not a key—just a swipe pass. It could be for anything. Or nothing at all.
He slides it across the cold floor toward me. It stops a few inches from my foot.
“What is that?”
“A chance.”
I stare at him. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” His eyes lock on mine, holding me in place. “When it’s time to go, you’ll know.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’re already dead.”
The words linger in the air, heavier than any lock on the door.
He stands, slow, careful not to make noise. Not to break the spell between us.
At the threshold, he turns back.
“You asked why I came,” he says. “It wasn’t to save you. I know I can’t.”
My heart stutters.
“I came because if you break,” he says, voice quiet, “then I won’t survive either.”
Then he’s gone.
And I’m left with silence.
And a card that just might be a key.
Or a trap.
But still… It’s more than I had before.
* * *
The lights are dim.
The silence hums louder than any scream could.
I lie back on the cot, the thin mattress barely separating me from the cold steel beneath. My fingers curl around the card Reese left me, edges worn already from where I’ve traced it over and over. It’s for a hotel. I think he has a place for me to stay when I make it out.
What would freedom even feel like?
What would it taste like to want someone without fear?
Without chains?
I close my eyes and let my mind drift—to him. Reese. The way his voice dips when he says my name. The way his hands tremble like he’s fighting himself. Like he wants more but knows what that would cost.
My fingers skim over my hip, slow and tentative, like I’m scared to remember what it feels like to touch myself and not be punished for it.
For a moment, it’s not bars I see.
It’s sunlight.
A small, dusty apartment. Reese is beside me. The sound of coffee brewing in the next room and laughter echoing off the walls. His hand on the small of my back. My lips on his throat.
My breath catches. I circle over my clit in slow, sensual circles.
The ache inside me spreads like warmth instead of shame.
Just for a second—I let myself pretend.
That I’m his.
That I’m free.
That I’m allowed to feel good without it being stolen.
I imagine what it would be like to hear the words, “You’re mine,” spoken from Reese’s full lips.
I shatter, shuddering beneath my fingers, allowing the wave of heat and temptation to swirl through me. I want to be his… One day…
And when it’s over, I curl onto my side, one hand on my chest, the other still holding that goddamn card like it’s the only thing keeping me from fading.
Because maybe it is.