✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧
It's the kind of cold that silences you- the kind that pierces straight through skin and bone.
Stone walls. Iron bars. One flickering light. Every sound echoes- my own breath, Dante's chains shifting somewhere behind me, the distant rhythm of footsteps.
I don't know how long we've been here. Hours. Days. Time bleeds out in the dark.
Footsteps. The light blinds my eyes.
Then his voice- smooth, rehearsed, the same one that charmed courtrooms and reporters.
"My little girl," my father says. "Always running. Always choosing the wrong people."
He walks around me like he's inspecting a mistake. His thick cologne fills the air, choking me.
I lift my chin, though my throat burns. "You're never going to win."
He smiles- a politician's smile, not a father's. "I already have. I've got you back. This time, permanently."
He spins my chair around.
Behind him, in the room across, I catch a glimpse of Dante- restrained, bruised, but alive. His eyes meet mine, sharp, warning me not to speak. Not to give anything away.
My father circles closer, his voice lowering. "You could have had everything, Lila. But instead... you chose him."
The words scrape something raw inside me. For a moment, I'm a child again- my mum's voice whispering through the dark: Don't let him break you.
Don't let him break you.
The memory flashes: her hand trembling, her eyes wide, the sound of something shattering behind a locked door. Then silence. Always silence.
I force the memory down, meeting his gaze. "We chose each other. You can chain me, lie to the world, but you'll never own me again."
His smile fades. "We'll see."
He turns, signalling the guards. The light above buzzes, dimming to shadow.
Dante calls my name- sharp, desperate- before the door slams shut and everything turns black again.