Chapter 7 – Violet
The door clicks open a few minutes after sunrise.
No one says anything. No voices. Just the sound of the lock disengaging and the quiet thud of receding footsteps.
So Kaz is keeping his word.
I stay in bed for a few more minutes, half-expecting someone to barge in and drag me downstairs, but when no one comes, I slowly get up.
The house is quiet—eerily so—and it feels strange to move without the constant threat of someone watching me.
Not that I’m na?ve enough to think the cameras are gone.
I know they’re still there, blinking silently in the corners like invisible eyes.
But still, the unlocked door feels like a small win.
I take a quick shower and then slip into the closet, immediately heading toward the shelf where I hid the burner phone.
My fingers curl around the small device, and I quickly unlock it, expecting to find messages from Noelle, but I don’t find anything. My heart breaks. My messages to her were delivered, so why isn’t she responding to me?
I bite down on my lower lip, panic spreading like a slow burn across my chest. I want to tell her everything. I want to scream.
I wish I had Zoe or Jennie’s number. Maybe they could help. Maybe they could convince Lukin or Adrian to get me out of here. But that’s just wishful thinking. I sigh and tuck the phone back into its hiding spot, behind a stack of neatly folded silk camisoles.
When I finally look around the closet, I realize just how absurd all of this is.
Everything here is designer. Rows of shoes still in pristine boxes, shelves stacked with clothes in all the right colors and styles—my styles.
Whoever stocked this place either did their homework or guessed me way too well.
My eyes fall on a black satin slip dress. It’s draped elegantly on a velvet hanger, catching the soft lighting overhead.
I pull it down and run my hands over the fabric. It’s soft. Cool. Ridiculously expensive. A dress like this probably costs more than what I make in a month freelancing for murder reports. Maybe two.
Still….
I slip into it, letting the silk skim over my skin and settle against my curves. The dress leaves my shoulders bare, clings gently to my waist, and ends mid-thigh, leaving my legs mostly exposed.
It’s seductive. Bold. Exactly the kind of thing I wouldn’t wear under normal circumstances. But nothing about this place is normal. And if I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well look like a version of myself that feels powerful—even if it’s fake.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I look…sexy.
For the first time in days, a small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Let Kaz see me like this.
Let him suffer.
I slowly step out of my room.
The hallway greets me with soft lighting, marble floors, and the subtle scent of something expensive and old—like aged leather and pine polished with secrets.
For a second, I hesitate, unsure if stepping out is really allowed, or if this is another one of Kaz’s mind games. But I take a breath and move forward.
It’s the second time I’m leaving the room since they threw me into it over a week ago. And now, out here, I realize just how massive this place is. No, mansion doesn’t even cover it. This is a palace. Every inch is curated, elegant, drenched in quiet wealth.
Wide hallways stretch like something out of a movie. Gilded mirrors, towering arched windows, hand-painted walls. There’s even a grand staircase up ahead, the kind with a thick mahogany rail and a chandelier dripping from the ceiling like liquid gold.
I walk slowly, almost reverently, taking it all in—the silence, the elegance, the suffocating beauty of it all. I approach two stationed guards, men in black suits who stand near a doorway up ahead. I pause, wondering if they’ll stop me—but when they see me, something strange happens.
They turn away. Deliberately. Almost respectfully.
Their eyes drop to the floor, and they face the opposite direction like I’m royalty passing through a palace, not a prisoner walking through the halls of her own captivity.
What the hell?
I keep walking, pretending not to notice them, but it gnaws at me.
Why won’t they look at me? Did Kaz say something to them? Are they under orders not to speak to me? Or—worse—do they know something I don’t?
My stomach tightens, but I keep going. No weakness. Not today.
I keep walking, weaving my way through polished corridors and sunlit archways, but the pattern continues—every time I pass a guard, they avert their eyes.
Not one glances at me. Not one says a word.
It happens again near a wide glass wall that overlooks the back garden. And again near what looks like a library. By the fifth time, it’s not flattering. It’s not chivalrous. It’s unnerving.
They’re doing it on purpose. Every single one of them.
Like I’m something fragile. Or cursed. Or owned.
My skin prickles with heat.
I walk faster, trying not to look shaken, but it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been paraded in some silent ritual that I don’t understand. Like they’ve been told: Don’t look at her, don’t speak to her, don’t even breathe in her direction.
God. What did Kaz say to them?
By the time I make a full loop of the house, I’m wound tight with nerves. I turn on my heel and retreat back the way I came, past the ornate furniture, the gold accents, the scent of too many things I can’t name—and head straight for the stairs.
The grand staircase stretches in front of me like some royal path, wide enough for ten people to walk side by side. I grip the carved railing and begin to climb.
Each step feels heavier than the last. I don’t even know where I’m going—I just know I need to be upstairs, away from all the silent eyes that won’t meet mine.
Back in the gilded cage I’ve started to hate slightly less than the rest of the house.
By the time I reach the landing, I’m breathless—not from the stairs, but from the tension wrapping around my chest like barbed wire.
I need to lie down. I need to think.
And I need to figure out what the hell Kaz is turning me into.
“Violet?”
I pause at the top of the stairs and turn toward the voice.
It’s Arina. I haven’t seen them in a few days. They’re the only person I like in this place. Fuck the rest of them, especially the blue-eyed monster.
Arina is leaning against the doorframe at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, tattoos on full display beneath a sleeveless lavender blouse with metallic silver pants that should clash—but don’t. Their eyes rake over me with dramatic flair, and then they whistle low.
“Well damn,” Arina says with a smirk. “Did you seduce Hades or escape him?”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the little laugh that escapes. “Neither. He finally gave in and let me walk around.”
“Huh,” they say, tilting their head. “Color me shocked. The mighty Kazimir letting go of the leash for a second. Miracles do happen.”
“I’m actually looking for him right now,” I say, adjusting the strap of the black satin slip on my shoulder. “Do you know where he is?”
Arina doesn’t answer right away. Instead, they look at me for a beat—really look at me. Then their lips curl, and they jerk their thumb over their shoulder.
“Probably in the study. Third door on the right, past the piano room,” they say. “Try not to make him combust. That dress is very distracting.”
I blink at them. “You think this is distracting?”
Arina grins. “Violet, if I were him, I’d be on my knees already. But hey…maybe that’s the goal.”
I roll my eyes again, trying not to blush. “Thanks, Arina.”
“Anytime, sunshine,” they say, already sauntering the other way.
I exhale and turn in the direction they pointed. The dress clings to my legs with every step, and suddenly I’m hyper aware of how quiet this house is again—of how charged it always feels when I’m about to be near him.
Kazimir.
What am I even doing?
But I keep walking toward the study anyway.
I reach the door Arina mentioned and gently push it open.
“Hello?” I call out softly.
Nothing. The study is empty. The scent of coffee and expensive cologne still lingers in the air, and sunlight streams in through the tall windows, illuminating the room in soft, golden streaks.
My eyes fall on the wall of books.
Rows and rows of them—leather-bound, cloth-bound, hardcovers that look ancient and delicate, others with cracked spines and gilded titles. It’s a private library. No—a kingdom. And for a moment, I forget why I even came.
I step toward the shelves slowly, almost reverently, my fingers brushing the worn edges. Dickens, Dostoevsky, Dumas. First editions, if I’m not mistaken. I inhale deeply, because this—this—is heaven. The scent of old paper, the weight of words, the hush of a room that holds a thousand stories.
My heart actually flutters.
With no one around to stop me, I pick up a copy of Jane Eyre—a personal favorite—and turn it over in my hands.
The pages are buttery and delicate and smell like time.
I glance around the study once more, then cross over to the massive leather chair behind the heavy desk.
It creaks faintly as I sink into it, the upholstery molding to my body like a lover’s embrace.
I curl my legs beneath me, the book balanced on my lap.
I start reading.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel…something like peace. Even if it’s borrowed. Even if the monster I’m trying to survive owns this room.
I don’t get through more than a few pages before the door swings open. I jolt upright, the book slipping slightly in my lap.
Kaz storms in, glass of whiskey in one hand, sleeves rolled, dark eyes already locked on me like he knew exactly where I’d be. There’s a faint clink as the ice shifts in the glass, and then—
“That’s my chair,” he says.
I don’t move. I don’t blink.
Instead, I slowly close the book, smooth my palm across the cover, and look up at him with every ounce of defiance I can summon.
“Then take it back,” I say.