Chapter 9 – Calista
It’s nearly dawn, but sleep isn’t even a remote possibility. My head’s still foggy from the wine, and my mouth is dry as hell. I roll over in bed for the hundredth time, groaning into the pillow.
And then his face flashes in my mind.
That stupid kiss. That stupid look in his eyes. That stupid way my knees actually went a little weak.
"Stop thinking about that asshole," I mutter, pushing the sheets off and sitting up. My head still feels heavy, like I’ve been sleepwalking through a dream I didn’t ask to be part of. Ugh.
I slip out of bed and shuffle toward the door, barefoot and still wearing the satin slip I passed out in. The hallway is quiet—eerily quiet. No guards, no footsteps, no voices. Just the soft tick of some expensive clock somewhere and the city’s hustle and bustle trying to sneak in through thick glass windows.
I take the stairs instead of using the elevator. I want to avoid the chance of bumping into Lazaro. God forbid I see him again tonight. Last thing I need is another brooding stare or some smug remark that makes me want to punch him.
The downstairs kitchen is tucked away, more modest than the sleek, over-polished one upstairs. It smells faintly of spices and metal. I open a cabinet, find a glass, and pour myself some water from the pitcher in the fridge.
Cool relief hits my throat. I close my eyes and lean against the counter, letting silence settle around me. This place is always too quiet, too clean. It feels like a museum where violence once happened—but the staff wiped the blood off the floor before anyone could notice.
I open a drawer, digging for something snack-worthy. Crackers. Great. That’s fine. I nibble on one, chewing slowly as I stare out the window into the black stretch of skyline beyond the glass.
That kiss wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t in the plan. It wasn’t supposed to feel like—
No. Stop. I shake my head, annoyed at myself. I’m not some lovestruck fool. He’s still the bastard who locked me in this penthouse like some kind of pretty little hostage. No amount of passionate lip-locking is going to make that go away.
Still… the way his hand gripped my face, the way his fingers slid around my waist—
"Ugh!" I growl under my breath and toss the cracker back into the box.
I should go back to bed. But I feel a prickle along the back of my neck. I glance toward the hallway that leads to the utility stairs—usually kept shut, but tonight it’s cracked open.
Odd.
I step closer, heartbeat picking up. The staircase leads to the lower-level security floor, one I’ve never been allowed access to. No guards are supposed to be off-duty, but this door being open? That’s a red flag. Or maybe paranoia. But I’ve learned to trust my instincts.
I inch forward with light steps. Something’s off. I just can’t quite put my finger on it yet.
As I near the corner, I hear it—a voice. Low, sharp, urgent.
Riven.
I freeze, heart slamming against my ribs. Lazaro’s right-hand man. The guy who rarely speaks unless he’s issuing orders or threats. And right now, he’s talking to someone—on the phone.
"No—she’s getting too close," he says, his voice cutting through the quiet. "If this falls apart now, it’s on you. I told you this was a risk from the beginning."
I press myself against the wall, barely daring to breathe.
Another voice responds, too low for me to recognize. Whoever it is, it isn’t Lazaro.
"I’ve done what you asked. The routes, the files—all of it," Riven continues. "I even went to the estate today and wiped the digital backups. Lazaro won’t be able to access the confidential documents now. If they start digging deeper, I’ll be exposed. And I’m not going down alone. You better make sure your end of the deal holds, or we’re both dead."
The phone call ends. I hear the soft click as Riven pockets the device.
My pulse spikes. What the hell is he talking about?
Routes. Files. Exposure.
He’s leaking intel.
He’s betraying Lazaro.
I bite down on a gasp and take a careful step back, then another. My mind’s racing, thoughts colliding at a thousand miles an hour. Riven. Of all people. He’s supposed to be loyal. He’s supposed to be unshakable.
But he’s not. He’s a traitor.
Before I can move further, Riven’s head suddenly lifts. He goes still.
Shit.
I duck behind the doorframe just in time, breath frozen in my throat. My heart pounds like a drum, and my fingers grip the edge of the wall to keep from swaying.
Footsteps echo down the corridor—heavy, measured.
One of Lazaro’s guards rounds the corner, probably doing a routine check, completely unaware of what he's just walked into. I want to warn him, tell him about what I just heard but before I can do anything,Riven turns, slow and lethal, eyes narrowing into blades.
Riven approaches slowly but I can’t see his face clearly from here. The young guard, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface, offers a nod and a friendly grin. "Can’t sleep again, sir?" he asks, his voice light, casual, as if this were just another quiet patrol shift.
Riven takes another step forward—just one. But it’s enough.
Before the guard even sees it coming, Riven lunges.
A sickening crack echoes through the corridor like a gunshot as Riven’s hands twist the guard’s neck in a brutal motion. The spine snaps with a grotesque, wet crunch—bone grinding against bone—followed by a hollow pop that signals the end. The guard’s body seizes for a second, limbs twitching violently before going slack. His mouth parts in a silent gasp, eyes still wide, frozen in a final expression of confusion and horror. The sound of his lifeless body collapsing to the floor is a dull, fleshy thud that reverberates against the marble, followed by the faint rattle of his belt buckle scraping the tile.
Riven grabs the limp body by the collar, jerking it with inhuman strength toward the darkened hallway. The sound of the guard’s boots scraping against the marble is loud, jarring—like a final scream etched in leather and steel. His arms dangle awkwardly, fingers brushing along the tile in a grotesque trail. Riven disappears into the corridor’s shadows, dragging the body with a merciless, mechanical rhythm. The faint thud of the corpse hitting a storage room door echoes faintly, followed by the dull creak of it being opened—then everything falls quiet like nothing happened.
I cover my mouth with trembling hands, trying not to cry out, trying not to move. My whole body is stiff, coiled tight with terror.
I wait for what feels like hours, crouched behind the doorframe, muscles locked in place, heart still hammering. Every shadow in the corridor looks like him. Every creak, every groan of the floorboards feels like a trap about to spring. I want to run, but I stay frozen. If Riven’s still lurking in the corners, one wrong move could be my last.
Only when I can’t hear anything but my own uneven breathing, and even the distant sound of his footsteps fades, do I let myself breathe. I wait a little longer, just to be sure.
When I dare to peek again, he’s gone. Just vanished into the dark corridor like he was never there at all.
But I know what I just witnessed wasn’t a dream.
It was a warning.
I slip back to my room, body shaking. I shut the door quietly behind me and press my back against it, sliding down to the floor. My legs feel like jelly. My fingers tremble uncontrollably. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding. I’ve seen things before—hell, I was raised in this world—but I ran from it when I was just a kid. I buried the memories, the blood, the screams. But tonight reminded me just how brutal this world really is. It’s not just stories whispered in dim rooms—it’s real, and it’s ugly. And now I’m knee-deep in it again, whether I like it or not.
Riven is the mole. And now I know it. But who is he working with? And what comes next?
I should tell someone. Probably Lazaro.
But for now, I’m going to keep it to myself.
Because even in my terror, even in this swirling chaos of fear and adrenaline… I realize that I have leverage.
And leverage means power.
It’s selfish. It’s dangerous. But I was raised in this world too, and I know how it works. Information is currency. Secrets are weapons. And right now, I’m holding one of the deadliest ones this empire’s seen in years.
I pace the room, barefoot, trying to stop shaking. My mind races, assessing, weighing risks. Use it. Be smart. Own this moment—not as a victim, but as a queen.
I know I can’t keep this to myself forever. But timing… timing is everything.
And this secret could change everything.
I move to the window, watching the sky shift from black to smoky gray. Dawn creeping in, gradual and soft. Somewhere below, guards are switching shifts, birds are stirring in the trees lining the estate’s courtyard. And war is brewing.
But I’m not just a pawn anymore.
I’m a player now.
And I’ve made my first move.