CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Avery
A
s I finish my slow, calculated walk around the room—my morning routine to keep my limbs from stiffening too much—I stretch my arms overhead, rolling my shoulders. The chain rattles with each step, a cruel reminder that no matter how much I try to maintain my body, I’m still nothing more than a caged animal.
“Gotta keep moving,” I mutter to myself sarcastically, rubbing my belly. “Don’t want to waste away in this luxury resort.” My voice echoes off the walls, the only sound in this dark, suffocating prison. Talking to myself has become a habit—one of the few things keeping me sane. If I’m even still sane.
As I glance down, my breath catches.
The bump.
It’s as if it sprouted overnight.
For weeks—what I assume have been weeks—my body has been changing in small, almost imperceptible ways. But today, looking down at the swell of my belly, it’s undeniable. My baby is growing.
I run my hand over the curve, swallowing the emotion rising in my throat. My baby. Not Sarah’s. Not hers to steal, twist, or manipulate. Mine. And the guys’.
Sarah’s been feeding me more lately, making a big show of it, acting like some benevolent captor as if that negates the fact that she’s keeping me prisoner. The food has helped, though—my weight is slowly creeping back. My arms don’t feel as frail, my legs don’t shake quite as much when I stand.
“Gotta fatten my healthy baby up,” Sarah coos mockingly from the doorway, making my stomach churn for a different reason.
I stiffen, turning toward her with as much indifference as I can muster. “How generous of you.”
Her smile is plastic, stretched too wide, her eyes sparkling with something malicious. “Of course. Can’t have my baby—oh, excuse me, your baby—wasting away now, can we?”
I don’t respond. There’s no point.
She steps further into the room, inspecting me like I’m a damn science experiment. “You’re looking better,” she muses, tilting her head like a fascinated predator. “More color in your cheeks. A little less like a walking corpse.”
I glare.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t look so angry, Avery. I have good news.”
Oh, this should be good. I cross my arms over my stomach protectively. “What now?”
Sarah’s grin stretches wider, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “I might not be around as much moving forward.”
Hope flares in my chest, but I keep my face blank.
“See, the guys invited me to move in.” She waits, her gaze sharp, waiting for me to break. When I don’t, she sighs dramatically and continues, “And by the way, they now live in your house. So, I’ll be moving in as well.”
Every part of me freezes.
No.
She’s lying. She has to be.
But she looks too smug, too self-satisfied. And the worst part? It’s possible .
They were supposed to move in with me . That’s where we were headed before I was taken.
But now? After months of grieving, after months of searching and coming up with nothing, did they finally give up? Did they decide that I was really gone?
Would they really let her into our home?
She smirks, watching me like a cat watches a trapped mouse. “I figured you’d want to know. Thought it might make you feel better, you know, knowing I’ll be taking care of your house in your absence.” Her voice is honeyed, saccharine and cruel. The wicked tilt of Sarah’s lips widens, her voice dripping with condescension as she tilts her head, feigning innocence. “And of course, the guys and I will be getting closer. We already are.”
My blood turns to ice.
She steps closer, her eyes glinting with triumph as she drinks in my reaction—or lack thereof. I won’t let her see how her words cut, how they slice through me like jagged glass.
She hums, tapping a manicured nail against her chin like she’s reminiscing about something warm, something intimate. “Jaxton and I have had the most wonderful late-night talks. He’s so broken without you, but I’ve been helping him through it. Comforting him when the loneliness gets too heavy. Poor thing—he practically melts into my touch. And the other night? He called me beautiful. Can you believe that?”
I clench my jaw, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. Lies. All of it. It has to be.
She moves to lean against the wall, watching me carefully. “Liam, on the other hand, took a bit more time. He’s always been a stubborn one, but even he’s starting to crack. The tension between us? It’s delicious. He still glares at me like he hates me, but that’s just because he’s fighting it. He’s slipping, little by little, whether he realizes it or not.” She lets out a mock sigh. “Honestly, I think he likes the push and pull. He’s always been the serious one, hasn’t he?”
I grip my stomach instinctively, grounding myself. She’s lying. She has to be.
Sarah watches the movement with interest before continuing, her voice taking on a dreamy quality, as if she’s reliving something sacred. “Kamden’s the easiest, though. He’s practical. Logical. He knows they can’t wait forever, and guess what? He and I have actually been getting along quite well. He listens to me. He doesn’t snap at me the way he used to. Progress, wouldn’t you say?”
The room feels too small, the air thick and suffocating.
“And Lennox?” She lets out a breathy laugh, rolling her eyes. “Oh, Lennox. So angry, so full of grief. But even grief gets exhausting, doesn’t it? He wants to hate me, but the thing about hate? It’s passionate. And passion is so easy to twist into something else.”
She takes another step forward, tilting her head. “It’s happening, Avery. They’re moving forward. And where are you?” Her smile turns vicious. “Nowhere. Just… fading.”
A sharp pain pierces my chest, a wound so deep I’m sure it’s bleeding out right in front of her. She’s lying. She’s manipulating me.
I inhale slowly, forcing my lips to curve into the smallest of smirks. “Funny,” I rasp, keeping my voice steady. “For someone who’s supposedly getting so close to them, you sure spend a lot of time worrying about me .”
Her expression flickers—just for a second—but it’s enough.
She hates that I’m still fighting. That I haven’t shattered yet.
And I won’t.
I grip my stomach tighter, grounding myself in the truth—the undeniable, unshakable truth. The room tilts, my stomach rolling violently, but I grit my teeth and stay standing. I won’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Instead, I breathe deeply, focusing on the weight of my baby beneath my palm.
Sarah’s smirk twists into something sharp and brittle as she snaps, “You’ll see soon enough. Once the baby is born, it’ll seal the deal.”
With that, she spins on her heel and stomps up the stairs, leaving me seething in silence. The lock clicks, the heavy thud of her footsteps fading, but before I can exhale in relief, she’s back.
I tense, bracing for whatever fresh hell she’s about to unleash, but instead, she carries in a tray of food and a few bottles of water. She doesn’t say much, just sets everything down on the desk, then pivots and heads right back out, locking the door behind her.
And just like that, I’m alone again.
I stare at the tray, my stomach twisting with both hunger and reluctance. I hate that I have to accept anything from her. That every meal, every sip of water, is a necessity—not a choice. But I can’t afford to turn it down. If I don’t eat, she’ll make sure I get my “nutrients” another way—through an IV or, worse, the needle cocktail that turns my world inside out for days.
So, I eat.
Not because I want to, but because I have to.
Because my body isn’t just mine anymore. It’s my baby’s, too.
The food is bland, dry, but I force it down, chasing each bite with water until the bottle is empty.
Tonight, for the first time in a while, it seems like Sarah is leaving me alone. No mind games, no taunting, no bullshit stories about the guys. Just quiet.
It’s as close to normal as I’m going to get.
I move back to the bed, shifting slowly, hand settling over my belly. It’s grown so much. Every day, it feels more real—this life inside me.
My body is exhausted, the weight of pregnancy dragging me down in a way that has nothing to do with the drugs Sarah pumps into me. At least this time, sleepiness is natural. I let myself settle into the mattress, eyes closing, breathing deep.
It’s always in these moments—when the silence stretches too long, when the weight of exhaustion drags me under—that my strength wavers. That the shadows creep in, wrapping around my thoughts like a noose, whispering doubts I refuse to entertain in the daylight.
What if I never get out?
What if they stop looking?
What if this becomes my forever?
The fear is suffocating, pressing down like an iron cage around my ribs, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to believe in anything but this endless nightmare.
But then the night passes.
And when I wake, those thoughts are nothing but ghosts—remnants of a battle I refuse to lose.
Because every morning, without fail, I remind myself of one undeniable truth.
I will survive.
And more importantly…
I will make her pay.