Chapter 34 Mikayla
Mikayla
The door clicked shut behind Archie. I waited until his footsteps faded before I moved.
Then I breathed—something close to relief, but not quite.
I went to the window first. It was locked, fastened with a heavy latch. I tested it again, harder, but it didn’t give. Then I found the sensor in the frame without trying. Of course he’d put one there too see if I breached the window and tried to escape him again.
The bathroom was next, but that wasn’t much help either.
I had the distinct feeling that Archie had put a lot of thought into the room he would give me.
Because the window in the bathroom was more a skylight in the ceiling, one that I couldn’t reach unless I grew a few feet over night. Not bloody likely.
Everything in my room was sealed.
He’d done it properly this time.
The old Mikayla would’ve folded. Would’ve curled up and waited to be erased, then promptly forgotten. That girl died somewhere between a vineyard at sunset and Gianni’s hands at my waist, pressed against glass.
Gianni.
The name felt like a bruise on my heart. I gripped the sink and looked at myself. My eyes were puffy, my mouth a flat line. All I saw was a woman who gave someone her softest parts and got cut open for it.
I hated that I still missed him.
I took my time searching the room again. I wanted to know if there were any cameras, any hidden devices. There were no visible cameras—but Archie didn’t like being obvious. He liked you relaxing into the lie.
My bag sat where I dropped it. One sad little backpack. My whole life zipped shut in a duffel.
I let out a slow breath and dropped back onto the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired to keep standing. My thoughts tangled in on themselves, loud and relentless, until at some point they blurred into nothing. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, there was a knock at the door.
Before I could even push myself up, the handle turned.
The door swung open and Archie walked in.
“How are we settling in?”
“Don’t act like that interests you even one bit, Archie. My comfort is not your priority.”
“Still sulking, I see,” he said, a faint edge of irritation slipping through his usual calm.
“Kill me.”
“Later.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
He checked the window latch like he was proud of himself. “It’s a modern day fortress. I upgraded.”
“You can’t keep me here indefinitely, Archie.”
He smiled like I’d said something cute.
“I can make you do a lot of things,” he replied mildly. “I just prefer it when you’re in an agreeable mood.”
I stayed still.
He studied me, dissecting the lines on my face. “You look different.”
“I was well looked after where I was,” I said.
No, said the quiet, traitorous voice in my head. You were thoroughly fucked.
Archie’s mouth curved. “No. It’s more than that. What did Gianni Cavalho give you that I didn’t, Mikayla?”
“He let me go.”
That gave him pause, though only for a fraction of a second. Then he laughed, soft and amused.
“Of course he did,” Archie said. “Saint Gianni always has his own agenda, and you walked straight into the middle of it.”
I opened my eyes and turned my head just enough to look at him.
There was no fire left in me. No fight. Just exhaustion so deep it felt carved into my bones.
“What did it feel like,” I asked quietly, my voice curling into something sharp despite myself, “when you killed my father?”
Something flickered across his face.
“Ah,” he said, almost pleased. “So that’s what has you so sulky.”
I pushed myself up a fraction, nails digging into the mattress. “What did it make you feel,” I pressed, each word deliberate, “when you were hacking him to pieces?”
I hadn’t meant to picture it—but Gianni had told me. About the arm and the way it flew through the window as a warning. And the probability that Archie had done worse to the rest of the body.
Archie tilted his head. “First,” he said mildly, “your stepfather.” He enunciated it carefully, as if biology were a technicality that erased blood and years and love. “George was a real piece of work, Mikayla. I did you a favor.”
My jaw tightened.
“The man practically sold you to me,” he went on, unbothered. “What kind of man with a spine does that?”
The room went very still.
Something inside my chest folded in on itself—not grief this time, not even rage. Just a cold, hollow understanding.
This wasn’t a confession. It was a justification. And worse—he truly believed it.
“Did you at least bury him?” I asked.
The words came out calm. It felt like I was asking about the weather instead of the man who’d raised me.
Archie blinked, then smiled—soft, almost offended.
“Of course I did, Mikayla,” he said. “Did you really think me heartless?”
I scoffed, a short, broken sound that scraped my throat. Heartless didn’t even begin to cover it. He wasn’t without a heart—he simply enjoyed knowing exactly how and when to use it.
“Well,” I said lightly, because if I didn’t coat it in sarcasm I’d choke on it, “I suppose a thank you is in order.” I met his eyes. Held them. “At least now you already have somewhere to bury me. Nice and tidy. Family plot and all.”
That got his attention.
He straightened, taking a step back—putting space between us.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “for someone who caused his death, you’re remarkably upset about the outcome.”
My fingers dug into the sheets beneath me.
“Even knowing I would have killed him if you ran,” he continued, voice smooth, conversational, “you still did it. You still chose to leave.” His head tilted, eyes sharpening. “Tell me, Mikayla, does defiance only matter to you when you’re the one dishing it out?”
Something hot and ugly tore through me, finally cracking the numb shell I’d wrapped myself in.
“You’re a fucking parasite, Archie,” I hissed.
I knew what that word could cost me. I knew how thin the line was between tolerance and punishment with men like him. I said it anyway. Because some lines were worth bleeding for.
For a long moment, he just watched me.
As though I was a puzzle piece that had shifted shape when he wasn’t looking. He didn’t look angry or offended at my words.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“You loved him,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
The room went silent.
I didn’t answer. My throat had closed around the truth, and my eyes burned in a way that had nothing to do with tears.
He exhaled softly, like he’d arrived at an interesting conclusion.
“How inconvenient,” he murmured.
He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame, then turned back to look at me, as though weighing his words. Then he dealt his final hand.
“You really think Cavalho is some kind of saint,” Archie went on, his tone almost gentle. “So tell me—why did he let you walk? Why didn’t he stop you, knowing you’d end up under my roof?”
I stayed quiet.
“You think it was coincidence he ‘rescued’ you on our wedding day?” he pressed. “That he took you, kept you… and then just handed you back to the world when you were inconvenient?”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Satisfaction. Calculation. He’d hit the right spot, and he knew it.
“Wake up, Mikayla,” he said softly. “You were a bargaining chip. To him just as much as to me.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
I lay there, heart slamming against my ribs.
His words dug in, cruel and precise, scraping at every old doubt and every insecurity I’d ever carried. Had Gianni really let me go because he cared what I wanted… or because he knew exactly where I’d land?
With this monster.
“Rest,” he said over his shoulder. “Grief makes people careless. And I need you alive long enough to stop hating me.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet final click.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, my chest tight and hollow all at once.
George’s face flickered through my mind—not the end of him, not blood or violence, but the small things.
The way he used to hum while making coffee.
The way he’d looked at me like I mattered, even when I didn’t believe it myself.
The man had his faults, but there had been good bits, too.
I pressed my hand flat over my ribs and breathed through the ache.
Archie thought love was a weakness.
He was wrong.
Love was the only reason I was still alive.
And one day, if I survived long enough, it would be the reason he wasn’t.