Chapter 26 The Cage Rebuilt
Lila
The knock is soft at first, almost too soft to drag me from Bastian's bed. I roll over, groggy and disoriented in the unfamiliar darkness of his room, pulling sheets closer, breathing in the faint scent of him, before the sound comes again, firmer this time.
Knock. Knock.
I blink, trying to focus, my heart kicking up a notch. No one would knock on Bastian's door in the middle of the night. Not unless—
"Lila," a voice calls quietly from the other side. "It’s Luke. Open up."
Luke? My fingers clench around the expensive, high-thread-count sheets. He's one of Grim's guys—quiet, steady Luke. Someone Grim trusts, which has usually been enough for me to lower my walls, just a little.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pad to the door, unlocking the deadbolt with hesitant fingers. The second it cracks open, Luke slips inside, shutting it quickly behind him.
"What—?"
"Shh," he whispers, eyes darting toward the door as if someone might be listening. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, the edges soft, worn thin.
A letter.
"Who is that from? Where did you get it?" My voice is barely a breath.
"It’s from Theo."
A cold shock slams through me. Theo.
My hand shoots out, snatching the letter before thought catches up. My hands shake as I stare down at it, fingers tracing the frayed edges. It looks real. It feels real. But my brain screams that it can’t be. Theo is dead. The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Lila, GO! I’ll hold them off.' And I had gone. I had run, leaving him behind, knowing there was no way he could have survived.
If Kolya’s men didn’t kill him outright… the alternative makes bile rise in my throat. Torture. Breaking him down piece by piece. I’ve spent months forcing down the images, clinging to the certainty he was gone, because imagining him suffering under Kolya? That’s a horror worse than death.
"I don’t understand," I whisper. "How do you have this? How do you even know who Theo is?"
Luke hesitates just long enough for doubt to slither in, but then he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I... I worked with Theo, years ago, before he got mixed up with Kolya. I have my ways, Lila. Someone slipped this to me. Said it was meant for you from Theo."
Something cold coils in my gut, a warning I shove down, hard. It's Theo's handwriting—I'd know that sharp, familiar scrawl anywhere. Images flash—notebooks filled with it, forgotten grocery lists, stupid little notes he used to leave on the counter near the shared coffee pot at the diner he worked at nights.
I swallow hard and unfold the paper, forcing myself to breathe as I read.
Doll,
I don’t know if this will reach you, but I have to try. I’ve wanted to write to you a hundred times, but I didn’t know what to say to you or how to get it to you 'til now. I never wanted you to think I was gone, but I had no choice. They were watching me. I had to disappear until I knew I wouldn’t lead them back to you.
I heard about what happened with Kolya. I can’t begin to tell you what it did to me knowing he found you. But you fought, didn’t you? You always were the stubborn one. Remember when we got caught sneaking into that old drive-in, and you tried to convince the owner you were his long-lost niece? You were so damn confident, I almost believed it myself. You always had a way of talking yourself out of trouble. But this… this isn’t trouble you can charm your way out of.
I made it out that night too, Lila. You were like a sister to me by the end, the only real family I had left. They caught me, but I escaped before they could do much worse. I’ve been hiding ever since, moving, watching, waiting for the right time. I wanted to come back for you, but I couldn’t risk them finding you again. But now, I don’t have a choice, I need to see you. Just once. Just to know you’re okay before I disappear forever.
If you trust me, meet me outside the back of the flower shop. The one you work at. Midnight. I’ll be waiting.
Please, Doll. Come find me.
- Theo
My vision blurs. I clutch the letter so tightly the paper crinkles between my fingers.
Unease tightens my chest. It is his handwriting, his words. The nickname he used for me. The mention of the drive-in, a specific, shared memory only he would know. But… isn’t that exactly what I’d want to believe? What if it is just a cruel trick? What if I am walking into something worse?
"Lila?" Luke’s voice is low, careful. "I know it’s a lot, but... it’s real. He’s real."
I shake my head, the war in my chest threatening to break me open. "But why now? After all this time?"
"I don’t know," he admits. "But I do know that if it were me, if I had to fake my death to protect someone I loved, I’d find a way back to them when I could."
My breath hitches. It makes sense. It makes too much sense.
I force myself to read the letter again, eyes lingering on my name, on the way he had called me Doll. No one else ever called me that. His teasing grin, the way the name could soften even our stupidest arguments…
It has to be him.
"I need to tell Grim," I say firmly. "He'll take me. He'll know what to do. I should go tell the guys—"
"Grim can’t know," Luke interrupts, his voice tight. "You know they won't let you walk out alone right now, Lila. Not after the scare with Kolya. They mean well, but they'll keep you here. I can get you there and back. Quick. No one needs to know."
Every rational thought screams trap. I am safe here, hidden. Waking in Ethan’s arms, the steady thrum of Bastian’s heart against my back when he holds me, Ryker’s laughter echoing in the kitchen, this is a warmth so profound, a sanctuary so real, and the thought of risking it, of shattering this fragile peace, is terrifying. But I’ve spent so long wondering, aching, mourning, what if I have been wrong? What if Theo has been out there, searching for me all this time?
"You’ll bring me right back?" My voice is barely a whisper.
Luke nods. "Before anyone even knows you’re gone."
Ignoring the dread coiling in my belly, I make the choice.
"Okay."
Luke moves quickly, his steps sure and steady, but a subtle tension in the way he holds himself makes my spine prickle. Still, I follow. The thought of Theo, alive , pulls me forward, silencing the tiny voice insisting this is wrong.
The house is quiet. The guys are in the war room, voices low but tense, deep in whatever plans they are making. My pulse pounds in my ears as we slip through the hall, careful to avoid their sight. It's reckless, stupid. Part of me expects a hand to clamp on my shoulder any second. But I don't stop or turn back.
Luke holds the door open, glancing around before ushering me out. The cold night air wraps around me, and for a second, doubt claws at my throat. God, am I really doing this? Leaving without a word?
Luke leads me to his motorbike, parked down the street, smart, far enough to avoid immediate notice, close enough for easy access. The sleek black body glints under the dim streetlight. He hands me a helmet, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Safety first." His words and expression, jar against the supposed secrecy.
I stare at it for a second before taking it. That small, normal gesture makes my stomach clench. I shouldn’t be doing this. But the thought of Theo waiting, needing me, overpowers the gnawing doubt. It will be quick , I tell myself. I can't not go, not after he got me out.
Luke helps me secure the helmet, his fingers quick but gentle against my chin strap. "Alright, hop on."
I climb onto the bike behind him, gripping the sides of the seat, trying not to hold onto him more than necessary. The engine rumbles beneath us, and then we are off, slipping through the night like ghosts.
The ride is fast, smooth. My heart pounds in time with the bike's steady roar. The city blurs past, streetlights casting long shadows as we weave through quiet streets. The wind stings my cheeks, but I can’t shake the prickle of unease.
I feel the tension radiating from Luke's shoulders, see the way his eyes dart to the mirror again and again. He's just being cautious , I tell myself. Watching out for me. But the knot in my stomach tightens anyway. We soon pull up outside the flower shop— my flower shop.
Luke cuts the engine and turns back to me. "We’re here."
I pull off my helmet, my fingers stiff from the cold. Luke does the same, shaking out his hair before giving me a smile and a nod. "Come on."
We walk around the building, my boots crunching against the gravel in the back alley. I swallow hard, my throat tight. This is where Theo is supposed to be.
But an unnatural stillness hangs in the air, a charged quiet that feels wrong. A fresh wave of nausea washes over me.
Luke steps ahead, glancing back, gesturing me forward with his chin. "He’s waiting right through here."
As we creep through the narrow passageway behind the flower shop, a memory flickers— early mornings unlocking the shop’s front doors, the scent of fresh blooms filling the air. It had been a place of routine, of comfort. Now, it is just another meeting point in a life filled with uncertainty.
Luke’s shoulders are ramrod straight, his gaze sweeping the alley again, fingers twitching at his side. My stomach coils tighter, but I force the feeling down. He’s a guard. This is what they do.
“You okay?” I whisper, my breath visible in the cold air.
“Yeah.” A beat too long passes before he answers. “Just making sure we weren’t followed.”
I nod, even though the words don’t settle right.
We reach the alley’s end. A black SUV waits, its windows tinted so dark they reflect the streetlights like voids.
Luke turns to me, his expression unreadable. "I assume Theo is waiting for you in the car. Do you want me to check?"
I shake my head quickly. "No. No one else knows I'm here. It should be fine."
Some of the tension bleeds from Luke's shoulders when I say that. "Alright."
My chest tightens. This is it. The moment I've ached for, hoped for. My fingers tremble, but I ignore the sensation, taking a slow step forward.
Luke reaches for the door handle and pulls it open. “Go on.”
I hesitate.
This doesn't feel right.
But I'm here now. I have to see.
Luke steadies me with a hand on my arm as I climb into the car, his grip firm.
I step inside.
The moment I slide into the seat, ice prickles down my spine—a cold, physical warning. The air is thick with sandalwood and smoked vetiver. The scent slams into me, clawing up old memories, making bile rise in my throat.
Kolya’s cologne.
Deep, primal panic explodes in my chest, constricting my ribs. My breath hitches, fingers tightening around Theo’s letter like it could protect me, as if holding it could dissolve this nightmare. My heartbeat thunders against my ribs, erratic, each pulse a denial against the rising certainty.
No. No, this isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
Before I can react, before I can think of escape, the door behind me slams shut with brutal finality. The sound sends a jolt through my spine, my body going rigid. My hand shoots for the handle, but the locks click into place with a soft, precise sound.
Click-click.
A sound so quiet, yet it crashes through the car's interior, sealing me in.
I'm trapped.
My pulse pounds a frantic rhythm in my skull, splintering thought. I jerk back, slamming myself against the opposite door, fingers scrambling for the other handle. Locked. My breath comes fast, short, uneven gasps as panic swells, stealing the air from my lungs, crushing my chest.
No, no, no—
Then I hear it.
That voice. Smooth, controlled, each syllable dripping satisfaction.
"Welcome home, my Pet."
Ice water floods my veins, a paralyzing current locking my limbs. My body freezes, every muscle locked ramrod tight. My vision swims, thoughts shattering like glass. I can't move. Pure terror pins me in place.
Kolya is here.
Scream. Thrash. Fight. Do something. The commands ricochet in my skull, but my limbs are stiff and unmoving.
He sits across from me in the dim interior, one leg casually crossed over the other, his dark eyes gleaming with cold possession.
Madness glints in his eyes, a sick, unwavering certainty. He lifts his hand, slow, deliberate.
His fingers graze my jaw, featherlight but feeling like a brand. My skin crawls, vile heat twisting low in my belly. I force myself to stay still, not flinch, not give him the satisfaction. There is nowhere to go but I press back against the door, wishing I could melt through it and vanish. The knot of dread coils deeper inside.
His palm settles over my stomach.
Air whooshes from my lungs as my body instinctively recoils.
“Did you really think you could keep this from me?” Kolya murmurs, his voice almost tender—a mockery of comfort. “That I wouldn’t know?”
A violent shudder racks my frame. My throat closes, strangling the words. But I have to say it. Make him understand.
"It’s not yours."
Silence.
Terrifying, suffocating silence.
Then—something shifts in him. The smooth mask of patience cracks, splintering like glass. Raw, unfiltered rage bleeds into his eyes. He is suddenly monstrous.
His fingers curl against my stomach, the grip tightening, possessive, digging in until it bruises.
"Lies," he snarls, the word slashing through the silence like a blade.
I suck in a harsh breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My muscles tense, escape plans flashing—none viable. Nowhere to run.
He truly believes the baby is his. No matter what I say, he will never accept the truth.
Panic squeezes my throat, cutting off my air.
I swallow hard, voice barely a whisper. "You won’t win."
Kolya tilts his head, considering me, lips curling into something not quite a smile. He leans closer, his breath warm and sickeningly intimate against my skin, lips brushing my ear.
“Oh, my Pet, I already have.”
The car starts moving, pulling away from the alley. My world narrows to the heavy weight of Kolya's hand on my stomach and one sickening thought: No one knows I'm gone."
I don't ask where we're going. The dread settling in my bones tells me everything.
Kolya is taking me home .
And this time, he'll make sure I can never leave.
The car slows as we approach the massive estate; bile rises in my throat, hot and acidic. The wrought-iron gates loom ahead, intricate swirls and spikes catching the dim light. As they creak open, a sound like a coffin lid sealing shut, dread seeps through me, cold and suffocating.
My prison.
I had spent years trapped inside these walls, suffocated by the illusion of luxury. Now, as the SUV rolls up the long, winding driveway, it feels even more sinister.
The mansion rises against the evening sky, an oppressive block of black marble that seems to swallow the light. Sharp-edged and imposing, its polished surface reflects no warmth. Tall, narrow windows barred with ornate wrought iron give it the look of a luxurious prison, while imposing columns cast long shadows over the manicured lawn. A stark, chilling contrast to the sprawling, comfortable house I just left, where sunlight streamed through open windows and the air, even in tense times, hummed with the undercurrent of shared life, of their protective warmth.
It feels dead inside; a mausoleum built to showcase power, devoid of life. The moment the car stops, the door swings open. Kolya steps out first, adjusting his suit as if this is merely another evening. I hesitate, fingers trembling as I clutch my dress fabric. I don’t want to step out.
But I have no choice.
Kolya’s grip on my arm is firm, deceptively gentle as he helps me out. His touch makes my skin crawl.
"Welcome home, my wife," he murmurs, his voice a caress that makes my skin crawl.
Home.
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
The grand foyer is vast, chilling, just as I remembered. Vaulted ceilings disappear into shadow, swallowing sound and making the opulent space feel empty. The marble floor reflects the harsh light from an enormous crystal chandelier overhead, all glitter with no warmth. Every surface is cold, hard, and echoes. A mausoleum of silence compared to the lived-in comfort of the Sanctuary, where laughter, arguments, and even Ryker’s terrible singing sometimes filled the air.
The air is heavy and still, smelling faintly of stale cigars and cleaning products. My footsteps echo too loudly on the marble floors, each click emphatic in the oppressive, tomb-like silence. My body tenses instantly. This place. Not a home, a vault. And I'm his most prized possession, about to be locked away again.
Then, I see him.
A hulking brute of a man stands near the sweeping staircase, stance stiff, gaze assessing. Scars crisscross his face, thick and jagged, as if carved with a dull blade. His arms are thick with muscle, suit stretching over his massive frame. He looks like he could break someone in half easily. His eyes are flat, empty, following my every move. There’s none of Grim’s grudging respect or even his infuriating teasing; Dimitri is simply a wall, a jailer.
Kolya gestures toward him with a satisfied smirk.
"Lila, you remember Dimitri," he says. "He'll be keeping an eye on you. And don’t get any ideas, this guard won’t be as friendly as the last one. He won’t let you go if you smile prettily at him. He is completely loyal to me. So, don’t even bother trying it."
Dimitri doesn’t speak, doesn’t react beyond the tightening of his jaw. He simply inclines his massive head slightly, his flat, empty gaze sweeping over me, assessing and dismissing me like an insect under glass.
He subtly shifts his weight, planting himself more firmly, blocking the path to the main entrance. His message is clear without a word. He isn't just a guard; he is a warden for this gilded prison.
I swallow hard, pulse hammering in my throat.
Kolya's fingers brush my wrist as he pulls something from his pocket. A slim, black ankle monitor. Bile rises in my throat.
"I can’t have you running off again," he muses, crouching and snapping it into place around my ankle before I can react. The metallic click echoes in the silence, sealing my fate. "This is non-negotiable, my Pet. It stays on unless I remove it. And only I have the key."
The device's weight is unbearable, a cold, hard band of steel against my skin. Every step presses it against me, a constant, unrelenting reminder of my captivity. A shackle. So different from the comforting weight of Ethan’s hand on my arm, or Bastian’s grounding presence. The tiny key around his neck taunts me.
I had been caged before.
Now, I am shackled. He might as well have chained me to the walls.
I clench my jaw, staring straight ahead, giving him nothing.
"Good girl," he murmurs, stroking my cheek before straightening. The words, meant to soothe, scrape like razors against my ears. Bastian says that, his voice warm and low, full of genuine care. Hearing it from Kolya now feels like a desecration, a twisting of something precious. My jaw clenches, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch visibly, even as revulsion churns inside me. "Now, let’s get you settled."
I have to get out. I did it once, I can do it again. Because I will not survive being his prisoner again.
Kolya leads me upstairs to his bedroom— our bedroom, as he calls it, though it had never truly been mine. The massive four-poster bed looms, draped in dark silk sheets that look suffocating. The door clicks shut behind us with a heavy, definitive sound, and I hear the distinct turn of a key in the lock from the outside. Sealed in.
"You’ll sleep here, with me," Kolya announces smoothly, his eyes tracking my every flicker of reaction.
I stiffen. "No."
His expression darkens. "That wasn’t a request."
I swallow, forcing steel into my voice. "I won’t."
A humorless smile curves Kolya’s lips. "This is your place, my wife ," he states, his tone laced with condescending patience, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "You belong here, in this room. In my bed. Where else would you be?"
His casual assertion of ownership sends a fresh wave of revulsion through me, worse than the command itself.
Kolya's smirk widens, dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as I remain frozen. "Then let me remind you what’s at stake." He steps closer, crowding me, his presence an oppressive weight. "Your men."
My chest tightens.
"They’re looking for you, I’m sure," he continues, almost bored. "And if they find you, what happens next? Do you think they’ll get out alive? That I’ll let them take you from me?" He leans in, brushing his lips over my ear. "Do you really want to gamble their lives on your stubbornness, Pet?"
A lump forms in my throat.
I hate him.
But I hate myself more for the way fear makes me obey.
Without a word, I step toward the bed and slide under the covers, keeping as much distance between us as possible.
I hesitate, and Kolya's smirk widens further; he's savoring this. He reaches out, brushing stray hair behind my ear; the touch makes my stomach churn. "Good girl," he murmurs. "You’re learning." I force myself to stay still, body rigid with tension. He is enjoying this, my forced submission, my quiet defeat. For now, I add silently.
That night, I toss and turn, sleep evading me. Every time I close my eyes, I feel him beside me—his presence a heavy violation, making every nerve ending scream. The sheets smell like him, the room a prison disguised as a sanctuary. Every breath, every second is a reminder I am trapped. The silence here is different from the quiet of the Sanctuary; there, it was peaceful, here it is dead, broken only by the distant, chilling click of Dimitri’s boots as he patrols the hall outside the locked door.
Sometime in the dead of night, just as exhaustion threatens to claim me, he moves. Kolya rolls towards me, his arm snaking around my waist, pulling me tight against his body. My muscles lock, every nerve screaming. He shifts, settling his large hand possessively over my slightly rounded stomach, claiming ownership even in sleep. The heat of his palm feels like a brand against my skin, against the fragile life I carry.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and silent, tracing paths down my temples into my hair. I stare into the suffocating darkness, trapped by his weight, his scent, his possessive hold. Revulsion and a bone-deep fear war within me, but I don’t move, don’t make a sound, praying he won't wake, praying this violation ends with his unconscious touch.
When the sun finally rises, exhaustion clings to my bones. Kolya is gone, thank God, but I am far from alone. The door is locked from the outside, the key in someone else’s possession. Hours pass in suffocating silence until a heavy knock rattles the door.
Dimitri.
The brute unlocks the door and steps inside, cold gaze assessing, massive frame filling the doorway. "Get ready," he grunts. "Dinner."
There's no room for refusal, no space for argument in Dimitri's flat gaze. Bide your time, I tell myself. Wait for an opening.
But dinner is worse.
I refuse to sit, refuse to play the part he wants. When he gestures toward the dining table, I stand still, glaring at him in open defiance.
His smile never wavers.
Then, without warning, he backhands me.
Pain explodes across my cheek, hot and blinding. My head snaps violently to the side, stars erupting behind my eyes, ears ringing. A harsh metallic tang fills my mouth. Instinctively, my free hand flies protectively to my stomach.
I stagger slightly, fighting to stay upright, keep my expression blank even as tears blur my vision and bile rises alongside the coppery taste of blood. The pain is nothing. The terror —that's consuming. A primal, visceral fear not for me, but for the tiny life curled unaware inside of me.
Kolya leans back slightly, watching me with detached interest, eyes cold, assessing my reaction. Waiting. He's enjoying this, watching defiance shatter against brute force.
"You will sit, and you will eat," Kolya says, his voice utterly calm, terrifyingly composed, as if he hadn’t just struck me. "You will behave." His gaze flickers pointedly towards where my hand shields my belly, then back to my face. When I remain frozen, trembling but defiant, his smile widens, slow and predatory.
"Don't mistake my concern for the child as weakness towards you , my Pet," he murmurs, stepping closer until he looms over me. "There are... many ways to ensure your submission. Ways that won't leave a mark on my heir. Ways you will find exceptionally... unpleasant." His eyes drop meaningfully, lingering, before rising back to mine, cold and hard. "Remember all those lovely private parties I had with my associates? The ones where you were the evening’s entertainment? You were always their favorite. So eager to please me by pleasing them . I can arrange that again. It would be so easy. Just a phone call. They’d be delighted to see you again, especially now, carrying my child. Imagine their excitement."
Before I can process the sickening implication—the memories flooding back, sharp and suffocating—his hand darts out, not towards my face, but lower. His fingers close roughly over my core, grabbing me intimately through the thin fabric of my dress. A sharp, violating pressure that steals my breath.
A choked gasp tears itself from my throat. Humiliation burns hotter than the pain on my cheek. My legs threaten to buckle, revulsion and terror warring within me. He holds me there, his touch a brutal assertion of power. The message is undeniable: he can hurt me, violate me, in ways that bypass my child entirely.
The unspoken threat crystallizes into visceral, immediate horror. The thought of strange hands on me again, on my pregnant body, the leering faces, their satisfaction mirrored in Kolya’s eyes… it’s a violation that would shatter me, and worse, endanger the baby through stress, through despair.
My breathing stutters, fear clawing up my throat, suffocating me. Not for myself. The thought is a desperate mantra. Protect the baby. Survive for the baby. His cruelty, I can endure. I have before. But risking the baby? Unthinkable. I have to endure this. This compliance isn't surrender; it's a shield. A temporary truce bought with gritted teeth and swallowed pride, a desperate measure to protect the only thing that matters more than my own broken pride.
Kolya releases me abruptly. A tremor runs through me, and I see the dark satisfaction in his eyes.
I force my shaking legs to move, lowering myself into the chair, pulse a frantic drumbeat.
Survive. Play along. Find a way to escape. The words become a mantra. Beneath the veneer of submission, a cold, hard resolve begins to solidify. He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s rebuilt his cage. He doesn’t know I’m already looking for the cracks.
Because if I don’t, I'll never see them again, and my baby will never be safe.
The thought of never seeing them again hits like a physical blow. Ethan’s steady kindness, Bastian’s unwavering control, Ryker’s reckless devotion… my chest aches with the sudden, visceral realization of how much I love them. And now? I might never see them again, never get to tell them.
Do they even want to see me? Are they furious that I left without telling them? Or have they already accepted I am gone?
Maybe they're moving on. I am nothing but dead weight, chaos they didn’t ask for.
I swallow hard, hands clenching into fists.
If I am out of the picture, they can be safe.
Maybe… maybe it is better this way. Maybe they think I betrayed them. Or they have realized that all I do is bring trouble, drag danger into their lives. Without me, they might finally be safe.