Kai
Isee the headlights before I see the car.
Noah’s fancy black SUV tears out of the driveway like he’s running from something—or toward something—but either way, he’s going too fast for a man who claims he loves the woman inside that house.
I watch from the trees, arms crossed, breath a calm I haven’t felt in hours. The night is cold, biting, sharp enough to carve truths into bone. The wind pushes through the branches above me, carrying the scent of her—faint perfume, sweat, fear, alcohol.
Alcohol he didn’t give her.
The rest?
Yeah.
He gave her that.
The engine fades down the road, swallowed by distance and arrogance.
I wait.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
Then?
I move.
I step out of the woods like a shadow with teeth, boots silent on the grass, heart steady in a way it hasn’t been since I left the prison gates. The house rises up in front of me—white stone, wide glass, trimmed hedges too perfect for the chaos it’s holding inside.
I walk through the side garden, fingers brushing the ivy-covered wall. Noah thinks this place is secure, thinks money can buy safety, thinks locks mean ownership.
He has no idea.
I slip through the gate he forgot to latch.
I cross the patio.
I slide open the back door without a sound.
The house greets me like it recognises me.
Like it’s been waiting.
Warm air hums around me— scented with polished wood, lemon cleaning spray, and the faintest trace of the drink she spilled last week when she dropped a glass during an argument she pretended she didn’t have.
I step inside fully.
Close the door.
The click echoes in the dark like a promise.
My eyes adjust instantly.
The living room glows with the dim light of a lamp left on to make the house feel “safe.” It isn’t. Not from me.
Scarlett is on the floor by the sofa—half on the rug, half off—slumped, soft, barely conscious. Her hair spills around her like a halo torn apart. Her dress slips off one shoulder. Her chest rises in uneven breaths, each one shallow like she’s fighting her own lungs.
Her hand twitches.
Her lips part.
A tiny sound escapes.
My name.
Barely formed.
Broken by chemicals she never should’ve tasted.
My pulse spikes.
Low.
Dark.
Violent at the edges.
I step toward her slow, deliberate, each footstep a reminder of how little distance exists between want and ruin.
“Hello, little sister.”
My voice is soft, but the words cut the air open.
She stirs—barely—her head tilting toward the sound. Her pupils are blown wide, swimming, unfocused. Her body tries to move but fails.
She swallows.
A slurred whisper slips out.
“…Kai…”
My breath leaves me in a slow, dangerous exhale.
Oh, sweetheart. You know me even like this.
I crouch beside her, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. Her skin is warm, feverish, trembling beneath the drug Noah used to keep her in line.
A drug she never should’ve tasted.
I run my thumb along her jaw.
“You look wrecked,” I murmur. “And not the way I wanted.”
She tries to lift her hand, but it falls halfway, fingers brushing my knee instead. Her eyelids flutter, heavy, fighting to focus on me.
“Missed me?” I whisper, leaning closer. “You were screaming in the woods like you wanted me to drag you home by your throat.”
Her breath catches—barely there, but I hear it. She tries to speak again—my name, or something like it—but the drug drags the words under before they form.
I laugh under my breath, not mocking.
Delighted.
A sound soaked in obsession.
“Noah really did me a favour, didn’t he?” I say it low, voice warm with something feral. “He wanted to shut you up. Slow you down. Make you manageable.” I tilt her chin up with two fingers. “But all he did was leave you helpless in a house he can’t protect.”
Her eyes roll slightly—half-awareness flickering like a dying flame—and she tries to cling to consciousness.
To me.
Her fingers curl weakly against my leg.
My teeth clench.
“You’re trying so hard,” I whisper, breath grazing her temple. “Trying to stay awake. To fight. To see me properly.”
Another tiny sound leaves her.
“…Kai…”
The second one hits harder.
I almost close my eyes.
Almost lose control.
Instead, I drag a slow breath through my teeth and let the darkness in me settle, coil, sharpen.
“God, I missed hearing my name on your lips.”
My gaze flicks to the empty glass on the table.
White residue along the rim.
A faint smear inside.
My jaw flexes.
“Noah drugged you,” I say coldly. “Walked right into the trap I’ve been setting for four years.” I stroke her cheek gently. “You should not be this soft. This slow. This breakable.”
Her head tips into my hand—barely, drunkenly, instinctively.
My chest tightens.
“I’m going to kill him for this,” I murmur. “Not tonight. Not quickly. But I will.”
Her lashes flutter.
She whispers something like don’t but it dissolves, swallowed by whatever’s dragging her under.
I lean closer, lips almost brushing her ear.
“You don’t have to be scared,” I murmur. “He’s gone. He can’t touch you right now.” I brush her hair back again. “But I can.”
Her breath hitches.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, voice low, dark, almost tender in a twisted way. “Not because he tried to make you. Because I’m here.”
She melts slightly against the floor, body giving in the way drugged bodies do—soft, heavy, unresisting.
I slide one arm under her back, the other beneath her knees, lifting her off the rug with slow, deliberate ease.
She sighs—broken and foggy—as her head falls against my shoulder.
Her lips ghost my collarbone when they part.
“Kai…”
The third whisper.
My favourite.
I tighten my grip on her, holding her close, breathing her in.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that again.”
I stand with her in my arms, the house silent and watching, the darkness pressing close like it wants to listen to every word.
“You and I,” I murmur, carrying her toward the stairs, “we’re going to fix what Noah broke.” I glance at the glass one more time. “And then I’ll break him.”
Her weight in my arms is wrong.
Not heavy.
Not limp.
Not dead.
Just… unguarded.
She hasn’t been unguarded since she was Twenty.
Since before the courtroom.
Since before she stood there with her chin shaking and her voice breaking and told the world a lie that almost killed me.
And now?
Now Noah’s little chemical leash has her soft in my hold, head pressed against my shoulder, breath warm on my throat like a secret she didn’t mean to share.
I walk slowly through the house, boots soundless on polished wood, each step deliberate—like I’m strolling through a place that already belongs to me.
Because it does.
It belongs to me because she does.
Her fingers twitch weakly against my chest, clutching at nothing. Her head rolls slightly. She tries—pathetically, beautifully—to wake up, to form a word, to fight whatever Noah slipped into her veins.
“Easy,” I murmur, tightening my hold. “I’ve got you, little sister.”
That name—soft on my tongue, sharp in my chest—pulls a sound from her.
A tiny mumble. A slurred sigh.
“Kai…”
Jesus.
My pulse spikes so fast I have to grip her tighter just to stay steady.
I lean down, breath brushing her ear, voice dropping into something low and dangerous.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”
Her lashes flutter, heavy and drugged, cheeks flushed, lips parted like she’s caught between sleep and drowning.
She’s never looked more breakable.
Never looked more mine.
I step into the living room and glance around, taking in the clean lines, the curated decor, the untouched surfaces. Everything about the place reeks of Noah’s control—perfect angles, matching colours, expensive emptiness.
It disgusts me.
“He keeps you like a display piece,” I mutter. “Pretty little thing in a pretty little box.”
Her head lolls slightly against my shoulder, and I adjust her carefully, almost gently.
“You’re not meant for cages,” I whisper, “no matter how shiny he buys them.”
She shifts, breath stuttering.
Her fingers slide weakly up my shirt, fist clenching fabric for one dizzy, desperate second.
It’s not strength.
It’s instinct.
She reaches for me even drugged out of her mind.
I laugh—quiet, breathless, dark.
“Noah really thought he could put you to sleep,” I murmur against her hair. “He has no fucking idea who he’s dealing with.”
I carry her toward the staircase.
The house creaks around us—subtle sounds, settling wood, whispering heat—like it knows something is wrong. Like it’s terrified of the man climbing its stairs with its mistress in his arms.
I stop halfway up.
Just to look at her.
Her throat moves on a swallow she can’t complete. Her brow furrows slightly. She’s fighting to wake up, to understand, to hold onto me.
Beautiful.
Feral.
Mine.
I tilt her chin with my finger, watching her eyes flicker under heavy lids.
“Open your eyes,” I whisper.
She tries.
Fails.
Tries again.
Her lashes lift halfway.
Not fully.
Not consciously.
But enough.
Enough to meet me.
Enough to know.
Her pupils are blown wide, black flooding the blue of her irises, but when she focuses—when she finds my face—her breath catches.
“…Kai…”
Barely sound.
Barely a word.
More like a plea wrapped in a memory.
I inhale slowly, the sound low and sharp.
“There she is.”
Her lips tremble.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
From the instinct burned into her bones.
“I told you I’d come back,” I murmur, leaning so close she can feel the words across her skin. “I told you you’d see me again.”
Her fingers cling to my shirt again—weakly, drunkenly—but they cling.
And something in my chest, something I thought prison had strangled to death, snarls awake.
“Noah thought he drugged you to keep you calm,” I say softly. “But all he did was deliver you straight into my hands.”
Her head tips, cheek brushing my jaw like a ghost of affection, sending a brutal pulse through my body.
I whisper it against her temple—
“You’re exactly where you should be.”