The Next Morning
After breakfast, Dominic didn't speak much. He barely even looked my way, as if the weight of last night hadn't happened, him stealing my first kiss.
His cold indifference wrapped tighter around me than any chains could. He left with that same commanding presence, flanked by his guards, giving only a brief order for the doctor to see me.
A few minutes later, his personal doctor arrived a quiet, middle-aged man with kind eyes. He didn't ask too many questions as he gently cleaned and dressed the wound on my arm. I flinched once, and he offered a small apology, though we both knew pain was something I was becoming far too familiar with in this house.
When he was done, Clara appeared by the doorway. She waited patiently, hands clasped in front of her, her expression unreadable. After the doctor left, I stood there for a moment before walking up to her.
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
Clara blinked, surprised. "Miss Liana—"
"No. I mean it. For worrying you. For yelling. For… all of it. I didn't mean to take it out on you." My voice cracked at the end.
She stepped forward and pulled me into a light hug. "You don't have to apologize," she whispered. "I just want you safe."
And for the first time in a long time, I believed someone meant that.
The rest of the day passed slowly. I stayed mostly by Clara's side, as we discussed and laughed together, anything to distract my mind. But Micah's face wouldn't leave my mind.
***
"Micah."
He turned. His boss, Mr peter, waved him over.
You're assigned to the Voss estate this weekend. Big private party for the grandfather—birthday celebration. The family wants a luxury-style team of servers."
Micah blinked' But that's not my job sir and besides I need time to investigate on Liana missing.
I don't care about you or your stupid best friend' you serve drinks at the party or you loose your job so you have all the time to look for your friend.
When is it?
It's tonight.
***
Clara was with me in my room then the door opened.
She stood up immediately as he walked in bowed her head then walked out of the room.
The stylists are here to get you ready' he uttered.
She stood immediately, her voice sharp:
"No. I'm not going anywhere
"You will," he said flatly.
I won't play dress-up for your sick show," I hissed.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice.
"It's my grandfather's birthday. And you're my fiancée, remember?"
"I never agreed to that lie—"
"Then agree now," he interrupted.
"No." my eyes blazed. "And don't you dare threaten Micah again. You'll never find him."
Dominic's lips curled at that.
"Won't I?"
He snapped his fingers. One of his men walked into the room wheeled in a flat screen. The room dimmed. The screen flickered.
A dark room.
A man tied to a chair.
Face obscured by shadows and a sack.
A gun aimed at his head.
Dominic's voice echoed faintly on the footage: when I tell you to shoot...'
"Stop," i whispered. "Stop it!"
I dropped to the floor.
"Please…" i sobbed. "Please, don't hurt him."
"So you'll behave?" His tone turned cruelly soft.
I nodded, breath ragged, tears streaking down my cheeks.
"Good girl," he said, the devil's smile breaking across his face.
Then the door opened.
In poured a team of strangers stylists, makeup artists, wardrobe assistants wheeling in racks of glittering gowns, cases of cosmetics, heels that looked like weapons, and cold brushes of transformation.
"Get her ready. Make her unforgettable."
As the team swarmed me, i sat stiffly, broken not by the brushes or the fabric—but by the sick victory in my eyes.
And in my heart, something darker than fear began to grow:
Hatred.