Owned by Revenge (A Web of Lies Duet #2)

Chapter 1

Emerald

The first thing I noticed when I woke up wasn’t fear. It was the smell, and the immediate, deeply personal offense I took to it.

Stale air clung to the back of my throat like it had been sitting here for years waiting for someone unfortunate enough to inhale it.

Damp, heavy, and wrong in a way that felt intentional, like whoever put me here didn’t just forget basic human comfort, they actively rejected it.

I lay there for a second, eyes still closed, breathing through my nose like that would somehow make it better.

It didn’t. It got worse.

“Absolutely not,” I muttered, my voice rough but steady, because if there was one thing I refused to do, it was wake up in a situation like this and immediately fall apart. “Whoever designed this place needs to be arrested. ”

My lashes lifted slowly, and that’s when I realized the second problem.

I couldn’t see anything. Not shadows. Not shapes.

Not even the vague outline of my own hand when I lifted it in front of my face and flexed my fingers like the movement might force it into existence.

The darkness wasn’t soft or natural—it was complete, suffocating, the kind that swallowed everything and gave nothing back.

I blinked once, then again, like that would fix it. It didn’t.

“Great,” I sighed, pushing myself up onto my elbows, the bed creaking beneath me like it was just as unhappy about this situation as I was. “Dark, damp, smells like regret. You really went all out.”

This wasn’t my room. That part didn’t creep in quietly—it landed, solid and immediate, sliding into place like the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Nothing about this felt familiar. The air didn’t belong to me.

The space didn’t belong to me. The complete lack of lighting?

Definitely not something I would ever tolerate voluntarily.

Which meant one thing. Someone had brought me here.

I sat up fully, dragging a hand through my hair, and immediately hit resistance. My fingers caught in a knot so aggressive I physically recoiled, my face twisting in disgust as I tried again with less enthusiasm and got the same result.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I snapped under my breath, tugging a little harder before giving up entirely. “This is actually disrespectful. ”

My hair felt like I’d been dragged through something questionable and then left to marinate in it.

My clothes weren’t any better; wrinkled, stiff in places, clinging in ways that made my skin crawl.

I shifted slightly, my shoulders tightening as irritation spread through me faster than anything else.

Not fear. Never fear. I was uncomfortable. And that? That was unacceptable.

“Okay,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my tone sharpening as I planted my feet on the cold floor, the chill shooting straight up my spine. “We need to address several things immediately.”

The ground was freezing, the kind of cold that made my toes curl instinctively as I stood, but I barely acknowledged it. I was too busy taking in everything else; the silence, the stillness, the overwhelming lack of anything remotely resembling effort.

I turned slowly, arms crossing as if I could somehow look around despite the darkness, my expression narrowing like the room itself had personally offended me.

“First of all,” I continued, speaking into the void like someone better be listening, “if you’re going to kidnap someone, the least you could do is make it livable. This?” I gestured vaguely. “This is embarrassing.”

The word kidnap didn’t hit like it should have. It didn’t spike my heart rate or make my chest tighten. It settled into place like it made sense, like it belonged in the situation even if I hadn’t fully pieced together how I got here yet .

That part could wait. Because right now? I smelled bad. My hair was a disaster, and whoever was responsible clearly had no understanding of priorities.

“Honestly,” I muttered, pacing a few careful steps forward, my hands brushing the air until they hit something solid; a wall, cold and unwelcoming beneath my fingertips. “You couldn’t even throw in a shower? A light? A mirror so I can at least confirm how tragic this situation is?”

I dragged my hand along the wall as I moved, mapping the space without thinking about it, counting steps, measuring distance, already adjusting like I had every intention of making this place work for me whether it wanted to or not.

Because that was the thing. I didn’t do helpless. I didn’t sit quietly and wait for someone to explain things to me. And I definitely didn’t accept being dragged somewhere without at least demanding better conditions.

I stopped near what I assumed was the center of the room, placing my hands on my hips as I exhaled slowly, already done with the entire situation despite only being conscious for a few minutes.

“Whoever you are,” I called out, my voice carrying easily through the silence, “we’re going to have a conversation about expectations. Because this?” I paused, glancing down at myself even though I couldn’t see anything. “This is not going to work for me.”

No response. Of course not. I rolled my eyes, already annoyed .

“Unbelievable,” I spat. “Kidnapped and ignored? Pick a struggle.”

“Hello?” I called out, my voice carrying farther than I expected, echoing slightly before being swallowed by the walls.

Nothing answered me. I sighed, rolling my eyes even though I couldn’t see anything.

“Cool,” I said flatly. “Super welcoming. Love the vibe. Very… mysterious dungeon chic.”

Still nothing. I took a few careful steps forward, my hands out in front of me, fingers brushing against empty space until they finally met something solid—cold, flat, and unyielding.

A wall. I dragged my fingertips along it as I moved, slowly mapping the room in the only way I could, counting my steps under my breath, measuring the space without really thinking about it.

Small. Too small. The longer I stood there, the more that delayed realization began to settle in. This wasn’t just not my room. I had been taken. Actually, fucking taken.

The memory came in pieces. Voices raised. My voice. The argument between Roman and I, sharp and messy, fueled by frustration that had been building for far too long, words thrown without thinking about how they would land.

You don’t tell me anything .

You don’t understand what you’re asking.

I’m not a child anymore.

The way his jaw had tightened. The way mine had set in response. Neither of us willing to bend. Neither of us willing to give.

I swallowed hard, my fingers pressing harder against the wall as the memory sharpened just enough to sting.

That was the last thing I remembered clearly.

After that—nothing. That should have scared me.

It should have sent my heart racing, should have made my chest tighten with panic, should have had me screaming and clawing at the walls like any normal person would.

But instead, I exhaled slowly, pushing the memory aside with a flick of my mental wrist. Because if there was one thing I refused to be, it was helpless.

“Nope,” I said aloud, my voice firm and steady, as I straightened my shoulders even though no one could see me. Hell, I couldn’t even see myself. “We’re not doing that.”

I turned away from the wall, pacing the small space, my steps more confident now as I let irritation take over instead of fear.

By the time I decided I had officially had enough, I had already insulted the room at least twelve times, criticized the complete lack of amenities, and mentally written a full review of my experience so far—one star, obviously, and that was being generous .

The door was easy enough to find once I’d mapped the space. Heavy. Solid. Locked. Which, ya know, rude. I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear anything on the other side, my breath slowing as I focused.

The first few times trying to ease drop, there was nothing. Although is it really ease dropping if they didn’t bother giving me anything to do? No? I didn’t think so.

When I pressed my ear to the door again, I heard the faint sound of footsteps. They began getting louder as the seconds ticked on. Moving past the door instead of opening it.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, immediately straightening as I lifted my hand and knocked sharply against the door.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice brightening slightly, slipping into something sweeter out of pure instinct. “Hi, yes, excuse me, I would like to file a complaint.”

The footsteps didn’t stop. I knocked again, louder this time. “Hey! I know you can hear me. I’m literally right here. It’s kind of your job to acknowledge that.”

Nothing. My eye twitched. “Oh, okay,” I said, nodding to myself as I stepped back, cracking my knuckles lightly. “We’re doing this.”

I raised my fist and slammed it against the door. Hard. The sound echoed, sharp and satisfying, the impact sending a jolt up my arm that I ignored completely .

“Open. The. Damn. Door,” I demanded, punctuating each word with another hit.

Still nothing. Unbelievable .

“I swear to God,” I continued, pacing in front of it now, my voice rising. “If you don’t start answering me, I will make this the worst kidnapping experience you’ve ever had. I will complain so much you’ll regret ever bringing me here.”

That got a pause, and I pounced on it immediately.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said, leaning closer to the door, lowering my voice like I was letting them in on a secret. “You don’t want that. Trust me. I’m very high maintenance.”

The footsteps stopped, however there was nothing but silence. Something about it made my frustration snap clean in half, sharp and immediate.

“Fine,” I snapped, stepping back again. “Ignore me. That’s fine. I’ll just escalate.”

I hit the door again. And again. And again. Until my palm stung and my patience was gone.