Kasien
Present
The nightmare still hasn’t left me. Every time I drift back to sleep, it finds me again.
Kiara chained somewhere in a dark room. Alone, terrified, and injured.
Then the dream shifts without warning.
Her body lies motionless, lifeless. Dead.
Sometimes she’s covered in blood. Sometimes there isn’t a single mark on her. Sometimes she’s not alone. That version is the most terrifying.
And now, sometimes it even shifts to my sister.
The images wrench me awake over and over again until I finally bolt upright beside her, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
Every single time, my hands find her before my mind catches up.
I run them over her arms, her ribs, her neck, searching for injuries that aren’t there, making sure she’s breathing, making sure she’s warm and real.
Half the time I wake her in the process.
She never complains.
She just sleepily catches my wrist or threads her fingers through mine until my breathing slows enough for my brain to remember where I am.
The nightmare isn’t going anywhere.
It’s a reminder of how easily the life I’m still not convinced I deserve can disappear. Proof of how close I came to losing her because I let myself believe letting her go was the right thing to do.
Never again.
I’ll never be arrogant enough to believe I possess enough self-control to survive any other way than with her by my side.
My gaze follows her now as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing through her hair. It isn’t even a conscious decision anymore, I simply can’t stop looking.
If she leaves the room, I notice. If she’s too quiet, I notice. If I can’t hear her breathing at night, I’m already awake before I realize why.
Her brown waves catch the morning sunshine, their copper tones glowing against her golden skin, so unreal for a moment she looks like something that was never meant to belong to this world.
Then her eyes meet mine in the mirror and a knowing smile spreads across her face.
“You need to stop following me everywhere,” she says, amusement dancing in her voice. “I’m okay and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to disappear through the drain when I go to the bathroom, okay?”
I nod from the doorway. But the truth is, I don’t believe a word of it. Not because I don’t trust her, but because I no longer trust the world enough to look away.
She finishes her hair and sets the brush on the counter before she walks up to me and cups my face. My eyelids fall shut as I lean into her touch.
Her thumb brushes the spot under my eyes.
“You need to sleep properly,” she states protectively.
“It’s okay. I’m fine,” I say weakly, enjoying her presence.
“I think,” she pauses as if she’s about to say something bold. “You should talk to the psychiatrist.”
“Of course I will. After every session she has with my sister.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “I mean you need to talk to her. About yourself.”
“Okay,” I huff out a laugh. “That’s not happening. I’m beyond repair anyway.”
She widens her eyes. “Anything I want, remember?”
I take a deep breath.
“Right,” I nod obediently. “Anything you want. Fine. But after we get my sister back. That’s the priority.”
Her lips curl into a thin line as she’s accepting my offer.
“Fine.”
She walks around me and fumbles through the sheets, looking for her clothes, while I continue staring.
There has to be a way.
Some way to make sure I know her whereabouts every second of every day. Some way to keep her close enough that nothing and no one could ever take her from me.
Unfortunately, biology insists I occasionally need sleep. I should really find a workaround for that.
Maybe the first step is making her my wife.
My mouth slowly curls into a smile.
Yeah. As soon as this entire mess is over.
The smile grows wider.
“You’re maliciously smiling,” she calls from the bedroom, wrestling her way into some jeans. “What is it?”
I blink, forcing my expression back into something resembling innocence.
She could say no. Asking her might be an unnecessary risk. Much safer would be to figure out how to make her my wife without leaving room for rejection.
I’ll think of something.
“Nothing,” I mumble, giving her a wink.
“The psychiatrist should be here any second, I’ll go check on Nat.” She disappears through the door and I force myself not to follow instantly.
Instead, I drag myself back toward the bathroom. A cold shower does little to quiet my mind, but at least it gives my hands something to do.
By the time I pull on a clean shirt and step back into the hallway, the house has already come to life.
I walk into the kitchen and, to my surprise, find Adrien leaning against the bar—
That can’t be right.
Reading a book?
He’s slumped over it, completely absorbed. I tilt my head, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever has him so invested.
Introduction to Clinical Psychology.
I bite back the grin creeping onto my face. He only notices me when he grabs an entire pancake and stuffs it into his mouth as if he hasn’t been fed for days.
The moment our eyes meet, he snaps the book shut like he’s been caught doing something illegal and promptly shoves it to the far side of the kitchen island.
“Morning,” he mumbles around the mouthful.
“What do we have here?” I ask with a smirk, reaching for the book. “Are you actually educating yourself?”
“Well,” he starts, snatching it away before I can get to it. “I’m just trying to understand the stuff the psychiatrist says, but…” His voice trails off as he absently tilts his head.
“But?” I press, leaning against the island beside him.
He lets out a quiet sigh and drops the book onto the counter, finally accepting that he’s been caught.
“But all of this seems too general,” he says uncertainly. “Nat is specific, you know.”
“Right,” I sigh, the smile fading the second guilt settles in my chest.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s all helpful,” he continues, idly flipping through the pages. “But I feel like we still have that connection. Like I can understand her.” He hesitates before adding, “I feel like I notice things no textbook could ever explain.”
I only nod, distracted by my own thoughts, because I know he’s right. I know damn well that if anyone can somehow bring her back, it’s him.
And yet I can’t shake the gnawing guilt eating away at me from the inside, accompanied by a quiet sense of inadequacy as I realize he understands her in ways I never will.
“Do you think,” I start, dragging a hand through my hair, “that she’ll forgive me? When she gets better.”
His gaze drifts across the room, the spark of hope in his eyes slowly dimming before falling to the floor.
“You’re her brother, Kas,” he says quietly. “Of course she’ll forgive you. You’re family. She’ll love you no matter what.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I murmur.
“I am,” he replies without hesitation. Then his expression shifts. “The real question is—” He swallows. “Whether she’ll ever forgive me.”
I look over at him, but he’s only fiddling with the corners of the book, his focus fixed somewhere far beyond the pages.
“I’m not family,” he says after a moment. “I’m not even…” He pushes himself to his feet, suddenly too restless to stay still. “I’m not anything.”
“You’re everything,” I say simply, the words leaving my mouth before I can think twice, because they’re true.
He glances up at me through his lashes.
“Well,” he mutters, lowering his eyes back to the book, “not anymore.”
Silence settles between us, heavy enough to make the air feel thicker.
“Let’s go to the basement,” he says at last.
“About time,” I straighten as he’s already halfway out of the kitchen.
?
“So, why is no one threatening us yet?” I ask.
Adrien lingers by the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, unusually quiet for once. I know him well enough to recognize what it really is—he’s barely keeping himself from exploding.
Lucien, on the other hand, hasn’t changed in the slightest. He sits by the wall with the same unnerving composure he always carries, as though none of this is even mildly inconvenient.
“Well,” he says after a beat, exhaling through his nose. “Considering you didn’t leave a single person alive, it will probably take my father some time to piece together what actually happened. He’s overseas at the moment anyway.”
I nod once.
“So when he figures out you’re here, what happens?”
“Nothing particularly exciting.” A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “He’s not you. He’s old-fashioned. He’ll most likely request a conversation.” His eyes settle on mine. “Which gives you the perfect opportunity to kill him, just as I asked.”
“Why do you suddenly need him dead?”
“It’s hardly sudden.”
“Then explain it.”
For a second, he only studies me, almost amused by the question.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “I’m tired of him.”
“That’s it?” Adrien barks. “You put all of us through this because you’re tired of your dad?”
Lucien’s smile widens by a fraction.
“That, and I wouldn’t mind inheriting everything he has.”
Adrien lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course.”
“If I kill him myself,” Lucien continues with infuriating calm, “I become a traitor and the organization loses faith in me. But if you kill him…” He tilts his head ever so slightly.
“Then I’m merely the unfortunate son mourning his father while reluctantly inheriting his responsibilities, along with power no one else I know possesses. ”
He pulls an exaggeratedly mournful face before it melts into a slow, sinister smile.
“But all the theatrics with Kiara?” I ask. “Were they really necessary?”
“I saw an opportunity to get your attention.” He shrugs as much as the chain around his wrist allows. “And to persuade you to do what I needed.”
“We spent years doing whatever you asked,” I point out evenly. “Why not just tell us to kill him from the start?”
“And risk you deciding to betray me?” He gives a tiny shake of his head. “No, thank you.”
I take a slow breath.
“You had Natalya the entire time to threaten us with. Why drag Kiara into it too?”