Adrien
Present
The way back home was silent. Nat was out the entire time. Only fidgeting in my arms, muttering something in that deep, synthetic sleep we forced on her.
Now she’s peacefully tucked into bed in our manor, still unconscious, while the three of us sit around her like creeps, perched on the mattress, flinching every time she mumbles or twitches.
She should’ve woken up by now. It’s been hours.
Then Kiara breaks the silence.
“So, you should know,” she starts carefully. “She’s not… okay,” she adds softly, like even saying it out loud might fracture something.
“I know,” I whisper back.
But I don’t. Not really.
Whatever happened in that garage feels like a fever dream. My mind keeps replaying only one thing on a sickening loop—the fact that I finally held her again.
Everything else feels blurred, slowed, and stripped of meaning. I don’t know how to process it yet.
None of us took our eyes off her since they joined me here.
I want to ask.
God, I need to ask.
But the words won’t come. It’s like the thought itself hurts too much to touch.
Kiara does it for me.
“Also, you should know,” she says, visibly bracing herself. “From what I understand, she’s been with him for years.”
The words dissolve into the air like poison.
Fuck.
So, that’s it.
A silent breakdown folds me in on myself. I come to lie onto the bed beside her, face turned toward her body, burying myself into her warmth, my fingers scraping helplessly at the sheets like that might somehow pull me out of my own skin.
It feels like a bulldozer is running over my insides again and again, grinding everything down to nothing.
How could I fail this enormously?
I had one job. One. My entire life.
Ever since I learned enough English to hold a conversation, there was only one clear path laid out in front of me.
Make Natalya Varner fall in love with me.
Make sure we’re having fun during the process.
Propose. Marry her. Get her away from the Varners.
Put her through college. And then just… live. Together and however we wanted.
Where did I go wrong?
When did our lives take this horrifying turn?
How is it even possible for a person to fail this fucking much?
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur into her limp hand, pressing it to my lips like it might give me air. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
This time, I need to be here when she wakes up.
“We’ll get her back, I promise,” Kas says behind me, his voice meant to reassure, and it almost works.
But I can hear the hesitation underneath it. The hairline crack in his certainty. He’s scared too.
“Are we safe here?” Kiara asks quietly. “Isn’t someone coming after us?”
“We have one very precious blonde hostage,” Kas replies without hesitation, steady now. “And several armed men on the property. We’re definitely fine.”
I stay quiet. I know he’s there.
I know he’s downstairs, locked in the basement and waiting. He’ll get my attention soon enough.
But nothing, not even him, can pull me away from this room right now. This time, I need to be here when she wakes up.
Straightening slightly, my eyes roam over her. She’s still dressed in those tight black clothes, all of them dirty, streaked and soaked with my blood. Seeing it hits me strangely, like proof of how violently we ripped her out of that place.
“I should change her clothes,” I murmur, the realization landing late.
I need to move and do something. Anything. I can’t just collapse here like useless debris. Without another thought, I head to my room, grabbing a stack of clean T-shirts at least.
When I come back, Kiara is already reaching for them, taking them out of my hands.
“I’ll do it,” she says firmly.
I wave her off lazily, barely looking at her. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
But she steps directly into my path. She hesitates, visibly struggling with herself, like she’s holding something back. Then she repeats it, softer, threaded with something that sounds a lot like remorse.
“I’ll do it, Adrien.”
A frown pulls at my face, the pieces clicking together far too slowly. She’s been with Natalya for a month. She should be telling us more than she is.
“You know more than you’re saying,” I say, my tone sharpening. “What is it? What are you not telling us?”
She gulps, nerves written plainly across her face.
And I just snap. “Tell me everything that happened. Now!”
Kasien shoots up, of course, pushing me away as I regret it immediately.
“Don’t you fucking raise your voice,” he growls, placing himself squarely between us.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the word tumbling out of me.
I feel hollow and useless. Like I’m failing at everything all over again.
Kiara instantly jumps in.
“No, I’m sorry, but—” She trails off, hesitating, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s carefully choosing where to cut. Then she swallows and starts.
“Adrien, I’m so sorry, but she’s not your girlfriend anymore.”
“Yes, she is,” I choke out.
Kiara glances at Kasien as if checking if he’s going to help her with this conversation or not.
“She is,” I repeat.
The answer is automatic and desperate. But the words hardly make it past my throat. Somewhere underneath that reflexive denial, I know she’s right.
I have no right to her anymore. Not after everything.
Kas and Kiara both look at me with that same expression—wary and unbearably gentle, like I’m something fragile.
I fucking hate this.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap, my gaze jumping between them sharply.
“I’m here. She’s back. We’re back,” I croak pathetically.
They don’t argue. They just stare at me like I’m a madman clinging to a version of reality that doesn’t exist.
“The thing is—” Kiara draws in a slow breath. “I’m not sure if she knows that.”
The room seems to tilt. “What do you mean?” I force out.
“Let’s just wait until she wakes up,” she says quietly, her voice padded. “And let her decide. Okay?”
“Kiara.” My voice comes out rougher this time. “What do you mean?”
“Look,” she says gently. “The main thing you should know is that she wasn’t some kind of prisoner there. Not like I was.” She hesitates. “She was with him.”
“What do you mean, with him?”
She’s trying not to hurt me and somehow, that makes it worse.
Kiara finally meets my eyes. “I mean with him.”
The world narrows into those two words.
With him.
Then I notice it before anyone else does. Natalya’s breathing changes. It’s subtle at first, just a slight hitch, like her body is surfacing but her mind is still pulling her under.
All of us freeze instantly, our attention snapping to her in unison, frozen and waiting. Then her fingers move as they slide softly against the bed sheets beneath her, then curl, clawing into the fabric like she’s trying to recognize it or anchor herself to something real.
Her eyelids flutter open for a second, then close. Open. Close. Never staying open long enough, like her brain won’t let her cross the line yet.
The room is kept dim so she can wake up peacefully, without the dull gray autumn light making it harder. Then she opens her eyes, and this time it looks final.
But she only stares at the ceiling, unmoving, as if she’s trying to recognize it. When she doesn’t, her fingers claw harder into the sheets, knuckles whitening.
She’s starting to get nervous.
I can’t believe we did this to her twice. Dragging her into a new place and forcing her to wake up into a new world. She hates being watched. Hates being moved by others like some pawn on a chessboard, or protected like a possession instead of trusted like a person.
And that’s exactly what we did to her. We wanted to keep her safe so desperately that we ended up doing everything she hates the most.
We failed her.
So. Fucking. Much.
I don’t move. I’m scared.
Deep down, I know something is really wrong. But my mind refuses to fully grasp it yet, like it’s protecting itself from the impact.
She lets her head fall lazily to the side, and that’s when her gaze finally lands on us.
At first, it almost looks like she doesn’t really see us or we’re just ghosts lingering in the corner of a room. Then her focus sharpens. On me. Then on Kas. Then back on me again.
Don’t say anything. Don’t move. Don’t spook her.
She stills, like an animal that just caught a sound in the woods. My chest caves in on itself. Her eyes dart across my face, fast and frantic, like she’s trying to find the flaw in it, the glitch, or the reason it shouldn’t exist.
Her breathing speeds up into short, clipped inhales, her hands curling into the sheets now, not just searching but anchoring with need.
She shakes her head once, barely noticeable. Then again, harder this time, like she’s trying to physically erase the image of us.
And then it starts.
She begins to cry silently, without a sound, no sobs. Just tear after tear slipping down the sides of her face, devastatingly calm.
“No,” she whispers, but she’s not speaking to me or Kas.
She’s speaking to herself. Her legs fold beneath her, her whole body starting to fidget.
I can’t just stand there, so I take one step toward the bed.
She shoots upright like someone just electrocuted her, sitting up so fast her head must be spinning, slamming hard against the headboard behind her.
Every instinct tells me to move, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing.
She’s here, and yet she isn’t.
This is the worst nightmare. The kind where the thing I want the most is right in front of me, but completely unreachable. The same nightmare as in the garage.
She stays on her knees, her whole body folded into the headboard as if she’s trying to disappear into it. Her fingers curl deeper into the sheets, gripping them like lifelines, grounding herself with sheer force.
I swallow hard. I need to say something. Anything. But I’m so fucking afraid I’ll mess this up.
Her gaze keeps flicking between me and Kas, then she squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again.
She’s trying to erase us.
She thinks we’ll be gone when she opens her eyes again. And when we’re not, she looks even more desperate, fighting the reality of it with everything she has.