CHAPTER 24
Riven
Unethical - Faouzia
Istare up at the ceiling of my loft, lost in thought. Trying to come up with the perfect plan.
One that won't get me caught by any of his dogs—or by him.
Maybe I should pretend to be his girlfriend.
Or a consultant hired by his gang so I can get close enough to steal his merchandise.
Either way, I'll need to be convincing. Convincing enough to make him believe I don't hate his guts.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cuts through the apartment, followed by a blaring alarm.
Fire detected. Walk slowly to your nearest exit. The Fire Enforcers have been notified. Please remain calm.
I whip my head toward the stove.
My fucking pan is on fire.
“No! Fuck!”
I bolt off the couch, grab a cushion, and sprint to the kitchen.
Without thinking, I slam it down over the flames, trying to smother them.
The fire sputters.
I grab the handle of the pan.
Instant regret.
“Shit!” Pain shoots through my hand.
I drop the pan, and it clatters onto the floor.
“God damn it!”
I glare at the burning pan like I could personally murder it.
And honestly, I'm tempted.
Grabbing the cushion again, I practically launched myself at the thing.
Please do not attempt to extinguish the fire alone. The Fire Enforcers are en route. Please proceed calmly to the nearest exit—
“Shut up!” I snap at the apartment AI. “I know!”
Every apartment in Kairo-9 comes with one.
Fire detection, carbon monitoring, emergency response—the whole package.
The flames finally die beneath the cushion.
I point accusingly at the blackened pan.
“Cancel the Fire Enforcers.” I order. “The fire is out.”
The AI voice came through one last time. Fire Enforcers cancelled.
I sigh and examine my hand.
It's probably a minor second-degree burn.
The skin is already reddening, and it'll likely blister later.
I brush my fingers against it and immediately wince.
Of fucking course, I had to burn myself.
I survived an illegal race, and whatever the hell Evren Calder's problem is, only to get taken out by a frying pan.
Muttering under my breath, I head to the freezer and start rummaging through it, looking for burn medication.
Nothing.
Great.
I grab a bag of ice and press it against my palm.
A sharp cry tears out of me as pain shoots through my hand.
I'm so fucking stupid.
Within a month, my life has become a complete disaster.
One bad decision.
One stupid, impulsive decision.
And now here I am, plotting against a gang leader after getting stuck through a window and made me come on his face because, once again, my body had priorities that my mind wanted nothing to do with.
I slide down against the kitchen counter until I'm sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest, my face buried between them.
I just sit there, thinking about everything.
I should be working.
I shouldn't be here plotting revenge, putting out kitchen fires, and losing control of the life I worked so hard to build.
The life I fought to make stable. The life that was finally safe.
Now it feels like it's all slipping through my fingers.
“I don't know what to do, Kyle,” I whisper, curling further into myself.
My uninjured hand drifts to the tattoo between my breasts—a gothic sigil cross I got for him.
“Send me a sign. Anything.” My throat tightens. “I'm so fucking overwhelmed...”
I let out a long, shaky breath.
Everything that's happened over the last month, everything that's changed, everything that's spiraling further and further out of my control.
I don't understand what's happening to me.
To my body.
To my mind.
I know I should let this go, walk away, focus on my work, and pretend none of it ever happened.
But I can't and that's what scares me.
It's like there's something dark inside me, pushing and urging me toward destruction, toward revenge.
Toward chaos.
Like some part of me wants to become a fucking cataclysm and drag everything down with it.
Just like before.
I lift my head and rest it against the kitchen counter.
After Kyle's death, I spent years spiraling.
Chasing revenge, punishing myself, believing my parents when they blamed me for what happened.
All because of a fucking broken glass.
I stayed on that dark path for so long that it started to feel normal.
Every setback became someone else's fault. Every wound needed someone to pay for it.
And now that I have found fucking peace, a life that is stable.
Safe.
I followed Elyas into the Lower Layers, and I had to meet him.
I don’t know how much time I spent sitting there like some broken doll.
I hate moping.
I had a terrible life, so what? A lot of people have a terrible life.
I need to get over it and come up with a realistic plan to end this once and for all and get back to my safe life.
That is what I need, what I want.
I stand up and start cleaning up the mess from the fire, careful not to aggravate my injured hand.
Then a sharp crash of breaking glass echoes through the loft. The sound seems to come from the bathroom.
I startle and stumble back, my head snapping toward the sound.