Chapter 8 FightFlight
The house is dark. Just creaking wood, rotting carpet, the static buzz of a broken lamp.
The air is heavy, too thick to breathe. I know I’m dreaming, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting.
The floor groans outside the door. Then his voice. Low. Slurred. Too close.
“Think you’re better than us now, huh?”
The door flies open.
Daniel’s in the doorway, backlit by the flickering TV in the other room. The haunting laugh track echoes in my ears. Shirtless, eyes red-rimmed and wild. He moves fast, always faster than I think he should. The belt’s already in his hand.
I back away, hit the wall. My voice is gone. Legs locked. The dream never lets me scream.
He raises the belt. Crack. White-hot pain across my arm. Crack. The skin on my back burns.
The floor shifts beneath me. My knees buckle. I taste blood. I hear my own breath ragged and helpless.
He leans down, hatred burning in his eyes.
“Ain’t no one comin’ for you, little bitch.”
My heart is like a wild animal trapped in a cage. I’m drenched in sweat, lungs gasping for air. For a second, I don’t know where I am. The room’s too big, too quiet.
My senses start to return. Soft sheets. Heavy blankets. A silk pillow under my head.
A warm breeze from the window stirs the curtains.
And the door—
Still locked.
I’m not there.
I’m not there.
I’m not there.
My breath stutters, tears rising too fast to stop. I throw off the covers and press my feet to the cold wood floor just to feel grounded, to make sure I really am here.
The dream clings like smoke. His voice still echoes.
I wrap my arms around myself, curling forward. My hair sticks to my face, damp. I reach out—fingers trembling—and switch on the small lamp beside the bed.
Light floods the space.
No cracked drywall. No duct tape over windows. No bloodstains on the carpet.
This is my room. Ashthorne Hall. Safe.
My throat aches. I wipe my face with the edge of the blanket. My phone sits on the nightstand like a lifeline. I almost reach for it.
But instead, I whisper to the empty room.
“I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.”
I don’t even try to go back to sleep.
By the time I wander downstairs, sunlight is pouring through the tall windows like something out of a movie. Everything in Ashthorne Hall looks less haunted in the daylight.
The dining room is quieter than last night. Just the soft rattle of porcelain and the smell of coffee and something buttery drifting from behind swinging doors.
Lucian smiles as I enter. “Morning.”
He’s in a dark gray sweater and slacks, somehow looking both expensive and approachable. His hair’s still damp from a shower, pushed back from his face.
“Morning,” my voice is hoarse.
He gestures toward the table. “Help yourself.”
I sit. The chair doesn’t creak. The table doesn’t wobble. There’s a place already set for me—white China, a glass of orange juice, a linen napkin folded like a flower.
Lucian sits across from me and sips his coffee. “I heard you were up late. The night staff mentioned the TV.”
I stiffen. But he holds up a hand. “No one’s monitoring you, Isobel. Just… making sure you’re okay.”
I nod, eyes flicking to the covered plates in front of us. “I didn’t sleep much.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
He doesn’t press. Just lifts the lid on one of the dishes and reveals a small stack of golden pancakes with berries and powdered sugar. The other plate has eggs, toast, and what looks like some kind of fancy bacon. Not a single thing touches another.
“I used to hate when food mixed.”
“I remember.” Lucian chuckles.
“You remember that?” My eyes widen.
“I remember everything I was allowed to know.”
I study him. “Even the dumb little stuff?”
He looks at me then, truly looks. “Especially that.”
“Well, I eventually got over the food touching thing. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
I reach for the toast just to have something to do with my hands.
He adds, voice gentler now, “No one expects you to adjust overnight. Take your time. Set your own pace. Anything you want or need, you got it.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I smile, raising an eyebrow.
Lucian smiles into his coffee. “I’ll have my lawyer draft it this afternoon.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a while. Lucian refills my orange juice without asking, and when I finally clear my plate, he pushes a small plate of croissants toward me.
“You’re trying to fatten me up,” I murmur, half-teasing.
He raises a brow. “This isn’t about fattening. It’s about giving you back your strength.”
I tear off a piece of croissant and chew slowly. It’s buttery and soft. I don’t say thank you out loud, but I think maybe he hears it anyway.
Dakota skips in, wearing a blue matching work out set and a small white jacket.
“Good morning!” She gives us a big smile.
“Morning.” I take a long sip of coffee.
“Good morning, Dakota.” Lucian smiles.
Dakota slides next to me, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “We’re going to the gym today. Isobel said she’d keep me company.” Dakota bites into a crispy piece of bacon.
“Oh, really?” Lucian’s eyebrows rise. “I didn’t know you work out.”
“I don’t.” I shrug.
“We’re going to get to know each other and if there’s anything Isobel wants to try, I said I’d help her,” Dakota adds.
“Well, I’ll try to stop by and see how it’s going.” Lucian’s phone rings. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls it out and glances at the screen. “Sorry, girls, I’ve got to take this.”
“No problem,” Dakota and I say in unison.
I give her a small smile.
Lucian’s eyes soften for a moment before he turns, answering the phone with a stern greeting before walking out.
Dakota sets me up on a treadmill, and I walk in a steady rhythm as I watch Dakota move from one machine to the next. She lets me know that she has a trainer coming shortly.
She asks me a lot of the basic things. What’s my favorite color? Black. She tells me that’s not a color. So, blue. What’s my favorite TV show? I don’t have one, never had time to watch. Favorite movie? Same answer as before. Favorite food? Couldn’t really be picky since I didn’t have many options.
She has a small crease between her brows by the time her trainer arrives. Dakota twists her hair back into a tight braid. I stop the treadmill and move next to the boxing ring, dabbing my forehead with a towel and drinking some water.
Dakota steps into the ring with a tall, broad-shouldered trainer. He circles her like a shadow, barking commands that she answers with fierce precision.
Jab. Cross. Elbow. Sweep.
She moves like she’s done this a hundred times. I can hear the power behind each move.
My breath catches as I watch her land a brutal hook to the trainer’s padded side, followed by a low kick that knocks him slightly off balance. He grunts in approval, nodding for her to go again.
Lucian stops beside me. I can’t help the jump. His arms are crossed, as he watches his stepdaughter without a word. His expression was unreadable.
I can’t look away for long.
This was the same girl who’d passed the bread at dinner with a polite smile. Who looks like a walking doll. But here—she is something else entirely. Sharp. Unyielding. Fierce. She moves with a type of grace that is equally deadly.
“I didn’t know she could fight like that,” I say, a bit of awe in my voice.
Lucian glances at me. “She’s been training since she was ten. It started as a way to channel her energy. Now it’s part of her discipline. Her edge.”
I nod slowly, still watching Dakota drive her fist into the padded mitt with a satisfying crack.
A strange feeling tightens my chest. Not jealousy. Not envy. Something deeper.
Need.
“I want to learn.”
Lucian turns fully toward me.
“I want to learn how to do that,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “To defend myself. To fight back. I don’t ever want to feel weak again.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he nods once.
“Good,” he says. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
And just like that, something inside me shifts and clicks into place.
“That would be perfect.” I beam up at him. “Thank you.”
I’m trying to copy the stretches Dakota showed me when Lucian steps in with a woman with wine-colored hair. They laugh and it dawns on me that I’ve never seen Lucian talk and joke like this with anyone.
I push myself up off the ground and rub my hands down my leggings.
“Isobel, this is my good friend, Savannah Riley. Savvy, this is my daughter, Isobel.”
Savvy extends her hand out with a wide smile. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
I take her hand. Something about her just emanates warmth and comfort. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Savvy is one of the best fighters and trainers I know. She agreed to help out and teach you this summer.” Lucian crosses his arms, his smile big and easy.
“Sounds good.” I return their smiles.
“I'll leave you ladies to it.” Lucian squeezes my shoulder. “Thanks again, Sav.”
“Oh, no thanks needed!” she returns with a bright smile. “It’s truly my pleasure.”
Lucian heads out, and she turns back to me, taking a deep breath. “Ready?”
I exhale heavily. “As ready as I can be.”
Savvy spends the next hour teaching me different workouts and building a circuit that I can do when she’s not around.
Then she teaches me the proper fighting stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart, slight bend in my knees, weight balanced, hands up, elbows in.
She teaches me the basics. Guarding, footwork, breathing, blocking, parrying, and how to throw a proper punch.
By the end of hour two, I’m drenched in sweat while Savvy looks like she just started to work out. We settle on the floor to take a break.
“How do you know Lucian?” I take the water she hands me gratefully.
“We grew up and went to school together actually. I’ve known your dad since we were little kids.” She takes a swig of her water, then smiles at the memories that must be playing in her mind.
“Your dad was always so nice to everyone, but he had a few dorky years before growing into the man he is today.” She laughs under her breath.
“Really?” I smile trying to think of Lucian as anything other than powerful. Dorky?
“Can you tell me more about him? What he was like to grow up with?”
“You want embarrassing stories.” She pokes at me.
I nod eagerly. “I mean, if you’re willing to share them.”
Savvy laughs and it’s a light but full sound. “Your dad has these friends, Max, Preston, and Derek. I'm sure you'll meet them soon. They've been thick as thieves since elementary school. They banded together over fruit snacks and juice boxes and have been that way ever since.”
“Max, he’s the troublemaker, always daring everyone to do things. While Preston is very proper and craves order, Derek is very ‘go with the flow’ but usually helps Max with all the shenanigans.”
“Oh boy.”
“Yes, anyways, we had a class trip to this ice-skating rink. There was this girl Lucian was trying to impress, and when she asked him if he knew how to, he said yes. When in fact, your dad did not skate. He had never skated.”
“Oh no.” I gasp but laugh.
“Right, but he couldn’t back out now. It would require admitting incompetence, and at that time, Lucian would rather perish than admit defeat.” Savvy laughs, shaking her head.
“So, the moment he steps out onto the ice, he’s slipping and sliding like a newborn deer trying to stand and walk.”
We both laugh. “Oh my gosh! What happened next?”
“He’s gripping the wall like it owes him money, meanwhile, his legs are going every which way and he can’t stand still for longer than a few seconds.
“The girl asks if he’s okay and he insists he's 'warming up'. But ten minutes pass, and he does not leave that wall. A child skates past him— backwards.”
I fall back, laughing at the mental image.
“Eventually, Max tries to teach him. ‘Push and glide,’ he said.”
“Push and glide.” I giggle.
“So, your dad pushes, and glides… directly into the barrier. The crash was so loud I swear the whole place went silent.” Savvy is laughing so hard she’s wiping at her eyes.
“Your dad just lies there for half a second, dignity in shambles, then sits up and announces that ‘the ice is uneven’. We were crying laughing.”
“Oh, that must have been so embarrassing.”
“Yes, safe to say, he did not impress the girl.” Savvy takes a deep breath while still laughing.
“For weeks afterward, people would ask him if the floors were uneven.”
“That's freaking hilarious.” My cheeks hurt from smiling.
“It really is.” Savvy stands up and offers me a hand. “That’s my one Lucian story for the day. Let’s get back to it.” She helps me up.
“If he ever asks, tell him Max told you all these, okay?” She winks.