CHAPTER 23
MIA
Zane has probably already left to play the part of the loyal servant to my father, but honestly, I have no idea how he managed to keep up the act for a whole month.
Maybe it’s because Nico’s so consumed with the Yakuza right now, barely even in the States. It’s like he’s blind to the cracks, the loopholes Zane’s been slipping through.
And as much as I hate to admit it, Zane’s good. Damn good. The Society has resources, and they know how to use them.
“Olga?” I call through the house, then decide to go upstairs to look for her around the mansion. It’s been a while since we spent time together. I search every room, checking every corner, but there’s no sign of her. She’s not here.
I walk downstairs with my coffee in hand, still feeling a strange emptiness in my chest from Olga’s absence.
Which is kind of ridiculous considering she spent half the time fighting with me and the other half huffing in exasperation.
But without her, the house feels... strangely empty. So, instead of wallowing in that feeling (because who has time for complicated emotions before 9 a.m.?), I plop down in the chair across from Tristan, my personal security guard and former circus performer.
I mean, he doesn’t have much of a job keeping an eye on me. According to Zane, he’s basically here to make sure no one tries to put me in a cage or do anything to me, and also that I don’t kill anyone. It’s cute.
He’s a nice person. And I imagine he must miss the circus. Yes, circus.
"Good morning, retired clown!" I smile, putting my feet up on the chair next to him. He doesn’t even look up from whatever he was doing.
"I was not a clown."
"And that’s your problem!" I lean my elbow on the table, looking at him expectantly. "You can juggle, right?"
He lets out a sigh that seems to come straight from his soul. "Mia..."
"Tristan," I mimic his tone, smiling. "Teach me? I’m bored today and you won’t like me bored."
"You just want to throw things in the air and pretend you have coordination."
"Exactly." I look at him like it’s obvious. "And my coordination is perfect, look."
I toss the apple in my hand into the air and throw my knife into the center, giving him a smile.
"Now that we’ve got that out of the way, teach me?"
He stares at me for a moment, probably assessing whether he has the energy to deal with me today. Finally, he picks up another apple and begins to twirl it casually in his fingers.
"Your jealous husband will kill me for being too close to you."
I laugh, stealing the apple from his hand. "He’s going to have to deal with it because I’m around whoever I want."
"Hm. Brave." Tristan raises an eyebrow, picking up another apple.
"Zane will get over this!"
"I disagree."
"Oh, shut up and teach me already!"
He sighs but stands up and begins to demonstrate the movement. The apples spin in the air with absurd fluidity, as if he was born doing it. I watch, fascinated.
"If I learn this, can I join your secret society?"
“You’re already part of it, have you forgotten?”
“But I don’t want the boring part, I like the circus.”
"You’d make a good knife juggler," he muses.
"I agree!"
It’s a shame I could never join that life. Not that I want to stay in the circus.
At this point, I don’t really know what I would be if I were free. Maybe I’d travel the world with Zane again; it was so much fun. Maybe we would explore more places. Maybe I would do that if I were free.
But I’m not.
It’s not something I can allow myself to dream too much about.
He throws an apple at me. I try to catch it and miss badly, nearly spilling my coffee in the process. Tristan shakes his head, laughing.
"This is going to be a disaster."
"A glorious disaster, Tristan."
For a while, I just have fun trying—and failing miserably—to do the moves Tristan shows me. He throws the apples in the air with such ease that it makes me want to punch him, but deep down, I’m loving it.
It’s nice to have a moment like that, something silly, without having to think too much.
But then, in the midst of a particularly catastrophic juggling attempt, I remember Olga.
“Where the hell did she go?”
The question bothers me more than it should. Olga is always around, complaining about something, grumbling that I’m too noisy, too chaotic, too lively. And now, out of nowhere, she’s disappeared.
"Why has no one mentioned this before?"
My chest tightens.
I turn to Tristan. "By the way, have you seen Olga today?"
He blinks, confused. "Who?"
“Olga.” My tone comes out more impatient than I intended. “The woman who works here.”
Tristan frowns. "Mia, there’s no one by that name here."
My body goes cold.
"What?" I laugh, a little nervous. "Tristan, stop teasing."
But he’s not kidding.
He looks at me with the same seriousness as always. "There is no Olga in the mansion. There never was."
The sound of my heart beating starts to get too loud. Loud enough to swallow the world around me.
My throat dries. I try to laugh again, but the sound comes out forced, strange.
"Don’t joke like that, seriously."
He doesn’t answer.
My stomach churns. I look around, as if hoping to see some trace of her, some clue that confirms that "I’m not wrong."
But there is nothing. No sign that Olga “was ever here.”
My chest tightens so much that it hurts.
“That can’t be true.”
I close my eyes, trying to remember. I can see her face, I can remember her voice, the way she huffed every time I messed up.
But… the more I try to focus on the details, the more they start to slip through my fingers. Like ink dissolving in water.
My breath becomes short.
The hands shake a little.
My head feels heavy, like it’s falling apart from the inside out.
“No. No. This can’t be happening.”
“She was here. I talked to her. I remember. I remember. I—“
I feel Tristan move, but my vision is already blurry, distant. Like the world around me is melting away, and I’m falling into myself.
What’s happening to me?
My mind feels like a mess of noises, distant voices, and a frightening silence all at the same time.
I bite my lip hard, trying to hold on to anything that feels real.
But all that remains is an emptiness that grows inside me, consuming the certainties I had.
And for the first time in a long time, I can’t tell what’s true and what’s just my mind playing tricks on me.
I try to hold on to something, anything.
But it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers.
My heart beats too hard, too fast. My breath comes in short, shaky gasps. The walls around me seem to distort, as if reality is wavering, pulsing, about to crumble.
There is no Olga in the mansion. There never was one.
Tristan’s words echo in my head, mixed with the noise of something much worse: a low, almost imperceptible buzzing, growing in my mind.
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to push away the dizzy feeling, trying to believe what he’s saying.
But if it never existed…
If I invented it…
My lips part, but my voice is slow to come out. When it does, it sounds small.
"Tristan?"
He looks at me, his face serious, but his eyes a little more attentive now.
"Yes?"
I grip the arm of the chair, trying to steady myself, trying to pretend that I still have some control over myself.
"Are you real?" My voice cracks at the end.
Tristan’s chest rises and falls slowly. He doesn’t answer me right away.
Because maybe he doesn’t exist either.
Maybe nothing exists.
The thought hits me so hard that my head spins. My skin tingles as if something is crawling underneath it.
"Mia."
He says my name, as if it can anchor me. As if it can pull my mind back before it falls apart.
But the voices have already started.
"Why worry about what’s real?"
"We will always be with you."
"We never leave."
They whisper, soft and familiar, like old friends who have never left me alone.
Because they never left me.
My muscles lock. My stomach churns. I cover my ears, but it’s no use.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the faces that shouldn’t be there.
The sound of the basement door.
The chains.
The feeling of always being watched, always one wrong step away from punishment.
"Mia." Tristan tries to get my attention again, but my mind is breaking into a thousand pieces.
I see One’s disapproving look.
The smell of dust, of damp, of dried blood.
The taste of fear, the deafening silence of absolute solitude.
I spent years in a world no one had ever seen.
What if I never left it?
Did I just imagine all this?
My throat tightens. The coffee in my hand slips and falls to the floor, spreading a bitter smell through the air.
I stand up suddenly, my heart hammering in my ribs.
"I… I don't feel well." My voice sounds distant, like I'm speaking underwater.
Tristan moves, maybe to hold me, maybe to say something, but I pull away. I can't stand the touch right now. I don't want the touch.
I want to… disappear.
The problem is me.
And maybe I never really got out of my captivity.
I feel dirty.
"I… I just need a shower." My voice is shaky, but it’s the only thing I can say before I turn on my heel and head upstairs.
My body moves on its own, as if it knows the way, as if it’s in a hurry. I just want to get in the shower, feel the warm water on my skin, wash all this away.
But deep down, I know.
None of this is going away.
I close the bathroom door behind me, lock it without thinking, rip off my clothes without caring where they fall. My fingers tremble as I turn the shower knob, and the water starts to fall.
I step under the hot jet.
And I collapse.
The sob bursts from my throat before I can hold it back—an ugly, hacking sound, filled with something I can’t name.
My legs give out, and I slide to the floor, hugging my knees, letting the water run down my face as if I could drown there, as if it would be easier that way.
And then come the flashes.
The dry snap of leather against skin.
The smell of metal and pain.
The dim light of the single bulb on the basement ceiling.
The cold.
The void.
One's voice, calm and precise. "You only have us."
Loneliness. Hunger. Fear.
The sound of chains, reminding me that I was never going to get out of there.
My chest hurts so much it feels like it's going to rip in half. My heart beats wildly, trying to remind me that I’m alive, but all I feel is despair—a suffocating panic that doesn't let me breathe.
"Mia, darling…"
The voices. They’re there, they always are.
"You don’t have to feel all this alone."
"Let us help you."
"You know you can trust us."
No. No, no, no!
I cover my ears, but it's no use.
"Enough!" My voice comes out loud, a scream drowned out by the water and the crying. "Stop! Stop talking to me!"
But they continue.
Because they never go away.
I press my forehead against my knees and tremble. My whole body shakes. I wish I could turn my mind off like a switch. I wish this crushing weight would disappear.
But it never goes away.
And for the first time, I don't know how to get up from the floor.
So I stay here.
I don’t realize I’ve slept.
I only notice when I feel something warm and solid against my skin, something that isn't the cold water still running down my body.
And then I hear the voice.
"Mia."
It’s a low, hoarse sound, laden with worry.
My eyes open slowly, heavy. The bathroom light is dim, and everything seems a blur of steam and shadows. But I see him.
Zane.
He's kneeling in front of me, his clothes wet, his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes slide over my face, over the drops running down my chin, over the dark circles under my eyes.
And then he touches me.
His warm fingers cup my face with a care that destroys any barrier I might still have.
I sob. A small, shattered sound that seems to crack the air between us.
And then I cling to him.
My hands slide down his wet shirt, gripping tightly, searching for something solid, something real.
My fingers find his warm skin beneath the fabric, and I nestle against him as if my life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
Because reality still seems to be slipping through my fingers, and if I don’t grab hold of it now, I could lose myself forever.
Zane reacts instantly, his arms wrapping around me without hesitation.
He holds me tight, his hands sliding down my bare back, his breathing heavy against my hair.
"I’m here." His voice is low, but firm. Warm. Real.
My fingers dig into his skin. I feel his chest rising and falling against mine, the heat of his body chasing away the chill I hadn’t even realized I was feeling.
"I… I didn’t even know if you existed." My voice comes out cracked and fragile, like something inside me already broke. "I didn’t know if any of this was real. I need you to be real, Zane. Because if you’re not—if you’re just some fragment in my mind—then everything we had wasn’t real either. And I can’t live with that. I can’t live without you."
Zane’s arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. He lets out a slow, heavy sigh—thick with something I can’t name but feel deep in my bones.
"I’m real, Mia."
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His green eyes are fierce and grounding, like a forest after a storm—untamed, steady, and sheltering.
And I don’t feel afraid anymore.
Because when he looks at me like that, I know I’m here.
I know I’m still me.
My breath hitches, but not from fear. From something deeper. A kind of aching need to finally be seen.
"I didn’t do it," I whisper. My hands tremble as I touch his chest. "Zane, I didn’t kill Carter." The words tumble out, raw and breathless. "I—I only said that to protect you. I thought if I made you hate me, if I pushed you hard enough, you’d walk away and save yourself."
My throat tightens, the memory of that day in the rain slicing through me like a blade.
"But that day... standing there soaked and shaking, watching you still choose me—I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep deciding for you. Couldn’t keep pretending I was doing the noble thing when all I was doing was breaking us apart."
I press my hand to his chest, over his heart, grounding myself. "I can’t afford to be without you. Not really. Not anymore."
His brow furrows, confusion tightening his jaw, but I push through before I lose my nerve.
"I can’t lose you. Not all of you. Not half of you. I know you cared about him, even if you won’t admit it. And I swear—I would never hurt someone you loved. Not ever. No matter what Carter did to me, I wouldn't do that to you."
My voice breaks again. "Sometimes I don’t even feel real, but this—I know this part is real. I know I didn’t do it."
Zane just stares at me, his expression unreadable—but his eyes burn like wildfire, and I feel it again: that quiet, shaking promise between us.
He brushes a damp white strand of hair from my cheek, his touch slow, reverent. His palm finds the side of my neck, thumb stroking along my skin like he’s grounding himself, like I’m his reality too.
"You’re with me," he breathes, so close I feel the words against my lips. "And I’m with you. Wherever you go, I’ll go. No more half-measures. No more silence. I’m yours, Mia—until the fucking end."
The weight of the world is still on me. My chest still hurts, my mind still whispers things I don’t want to hear.
But here, in his arms, I can breathe.
So I do the only thing I can.
I press myself even tighter against him, my nose brushing against his jaw, my mouth touching his warm, damp skin.
"Stay with me." My voice is a plea, raw with desperation.
Zane doesn't respond with words.
He responds with touch.
With the way his arms close around me, as if he could shield me from the world.
Or from myself.
Zane’s arms tighten around me, firm and warm, as he lifts me off the ground.
My cold skin brushes against his, and a shiver runs through me, but I don’t know if it’s from the contrast in temperature or from the way he’s holding me—like I’m something precious and fragile at the same time.
I bury my face against his neck, breathing deeply, trying to take in everything about him: his scent, his warmth, the strong, steady beat of his heart. I cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s falling apart around me.
His footsteps are silent as he carries me across the dark room, and the bed gives way beneath the weight of my body as he lays me down. But he doesn't move away.
I see his eyes in the dim light, shining with something indecipherable. There’s tension in the way he’s breathing, in the way his muscles seem ready to contract. He’s watching me, studying me, as if he wants to understand every broken fragment inside me before he decides what to do.
My fingers close around his arm.
"Zane." My voice cracks, hoarse. "I need you."
He doesn't answer right away. His eyes roam over my face, taking in every detail, every shadow, every trace of whatever is imprinted on me at that moment.
Then, without looking away, he begins to take off his wet clothes.
My heart races.
The damp fabric slides across his skin, revealing hard muscles, tattoos that shift with each breath he takes. My chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm as I watch, as the silence between us turns to something electric.
He hesitates for a second before joining me on the bed, the warmth of his body enveloping me.
The first thing he does is slide his hand down to my waist, a touch so light it almost doesn’t seem real.
But I feel it.
God, how I feel it.
My body responds before I can think. My fingers travel up his arm, over his shoulder, tracing every familiar line, every detail of something I've always known, always wanted.
But this time, it's different.
This time, I’m desperate.
"I need to feel you," I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. "To know you're real."
Zane's breathing falters.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not a hurried or hungry touch, but something more intense, more loaded with meaning. His mouth explores mine with a patience that dismantles me, as if he were holding me there, anchoring me to this moment.
And I let him.
I let him pull me back, let his warmth envelop me, let his body make me forget.
Because tonight, there is no past, there are no voices, there is no fear.
Just the two of us.
“More, I need to feel more of you,” I whisper between hurried kisses, and his fingers dig into my waist.
I climb into his lap, my body warm against his, skin to skin. I memorize every detail, from the mole on his left arm to the dimples in his mouth when he gives a genuine smile.
I memorize it like my life depends on it.
I feel his hard cock against my flesh, the tip sliding out of his underwear with the friction of my movements, and I feel the head of his cock touching deliciously against my folds, causing a desperate moan to escape my mouth.
“Does it feel real, Mia?” Zane whispers against my neck, sliding his hand down my spine, making every nerve in my body light up at his touch. His touch.
Only he can calm the storm inside me.
He is real.
"More."
His hands find my chin, and he pulls me toward him. “Do whatever you want with me. I will always be what you need, above all else. Every part of me will always be solely loyal to you. I'm here, baby. I'll always be here.”
His words make my legs feel weaker, liquid between them as I release his cock and guide him with my trembling hands to my entrance, letting him sink into me.
His mouth drops open at the contact of skin on skin, and I try to control the roll of my eyes as hot pleasure fills me with every movement I make against him.
His hands slide over my body, reminding me of his touch, keeping me grounded, and I desperately kiss him as I chase every drop of my orgasm.
I get lost in him; maybe reality doesn’t really matter, as long as he's with me in the end.
He kisses me hard as I ride him, erasing any doubt or insecurity in my chest.
“Real. Mine.”
“Yours. Always yours. Just as you are mine, my life, my woman, my wife.”
His words take me to my limit, and I feel that he does too, because he dumps his orgasm inside me at the same moment that pleasure invades me.
I sigh, but don’t move. I just lie there, letting him stroke my hair.
“You know, I can’t have a baby,” I whisper after a while. “I know you never asked, but I can’t be a mother. And we never really talked about this, and it probably seems random to blurt it out after everything that just happened, but seeing my sister, her family… is that what family is supposed to mean? I don’t think every family has to look like that, but I guess I just need to know—no matter what, will you want to be my family? Will you choose me, even when things get messy?”
Zane looks into my eyes as if he can find the answer there. “Is a kid something you want?”
I shake my head.
“Great. Then we’ll be cat parents forever. I choose you. Always.”
I smile.
“I think I’m obsessed with you, Zane Hill.”
He smiles and then turns my face to his, his eyes full of emotion. "Well, Mia Hill, I’m definitely obsessed with you."