I woke up in a room that didn't feel like a room.
It was too quiet.
Too clean.
Too intentional.
The ceiling above me wasn't cracked or stained. No peeling paint. No buzzing lights. Just smooth white, interrupted only by recessed bulbs that glowed softly, like they were designed never to flicker.
For a moment, I wondered if I was dead.
My body felt heavy, dull, like I'd been wrapped in cotton. When I tried to move, the ache followed slowly, spreading through my limbs like a warning rather than pain.
I turned my head.
The bed wasn't mine. The sheets weren't mine. The air didn't smell like anywhere I'd ever lived.
My stomach dropped.
I pushed myself up, heart thudding as memory came back in jagged pieces. The lounge. The door. The couch. The silence.
I sucked in a breath that didn't feel like it reached my lungs.
The dress was gone.
Not ripped and discarded like before. Gone entirely.
I was wearing something else, an oversized shirt that swallowed my frame, soft but unfamiliar. The kind of clothing meant to erase shape. To make you smaller.
My hands shook as I slid off the bed.
The floor was cold marble.
That's when I noticed the door.
Thick. Dark wood. No handle on the inside.
I walked to it slowly, every step hesitant, every nerve screaming. I pressed my palm against it.
Nothing.
I knocked once. Then harder.
"Hello?" My voice sounded wrong. Too quiet. Too thin.
No answer.
I stepped back, pulse racing.
That was when I realized something else.
There were no windows.
The room was a box.
Panic crept in slowly, like it didn't want to scare me all at once. I paced. Counted my steps. Tried to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time didn't work properly here.
Finally, the door opened.
Two men stood outside. Black suits. Blank faces. The kind of men who didn't look at you unless they had to.
"You're awake," one said flatly.
"Where am I?" I asked.
Silence.
"Where am I?" I repeated, louder this time.
"This is a private residence," the other said. "You'll be staying here."
My chest tightened. "I didn't agree to that."
One of them finally looked at me then. Not with interest. Not with pity.
With boredom.
"You don't make decisions right now."
The door closed again.
That was the first day.
After that, everything blurred into a slow, humiliating routine.
Food appeared at set times. Always bland. Always placed just inside the door like I was something that might bite. No one spoke unless necessary. No one answered my questions.
I wasn't allowed outside.
I wasn't allowed a phone.
I wasn't allowed mirrors.
Sometimes they forgot to bring food until hours later. Sometimes they woke me in the middle of the night just to make sure I was still there.
Still breathing.
Still trapped.
I slept curled up, even though the bed was large. Took up as little space as possible, like that would somehow make me less noticeable.
The worst part wasn't the isolation.
It was knowing who this place belonged to.
The details gave him away.
The books on the shelf I wasn't allowed to touch.
The faint scent of whiskey and leather in the hall.
The quiet order of everything.
Cyprian.
Every hour I spent there carved his name deeper into my hatred.
He hadn't saved me.
He hadn't intervened out of mercy.
He'd taken control of the damage and locked it away.
And I hated myself for ever thinking he was anything else.
On the third day, one of the men finally spoke more than a sentence.
"He'll be gone for a while," he said, setting the tray down. "You'll behave until he returns."
My stomach twisted. "If he returns?"
The man paused. Just for a second.
"When," he corrected.
Something cold settled in my chest.
I stopped asking questions after that.
Stopped begging.
Stopped hoping.
Hope hurt too much.
By the time Cyprian returned, whatever softness I had left was gone.
The door opened one evening and I didn't look up.
Didn't move.
Didn't care.
His presence filled the room anyway.
"You're quieter than I expected," he said.
I laughed softly.
The sound surprised even me.
"Congratulations," I replied, voice flat. "You broke something."
Silence followed.
Then footsteps. Slow. Measured.
"I kept you alive," he said.
I finally looked at him.
"And I'll hate you for it forever."
Something flickered in his eyes then. Not regret. Not guilt.
Annoyance.
He turned away.
"Pack her things," he told the men. "She leaves tonight."
"Where?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
The men didn't answer.
Before I could react, a cloth was pressed over my eyes. Thick. Rough.
"Don't try anything," one of them said flatly.
I struggled, heart hammering, but they were stronger. The blindfold cut off the world, every hint of light and color, and with it, every sense of control. My hands flailed uselessly, trying to find the door, the walls, something...anything, but all I could feel was cold air and their firm grip.
The car ride was endless. Every turn, every stop, every silent moment between the men felt stretched, like time itself had slowed to torture me. I had no idea where I was going, how long we had been moving, or what awaited me. My chest tightened. Panic clawed at my ribs.
I didn't know how long it took before the car stopped. I was lifted out, guided along corridors I couldn't see, my every step forced by rough hands. My stomach twisted with nausea and dread.
Then I heard it.
A soft shuffle ahead.
A familiar sound. Feet. Not harsh. Not trained.
I froze. My heart skipped.
"Claire?" I whispered, breath trembling.
No answer. My fingers clawed at the blindfold. I shook my head, trying to clear the darkness.
"Quiet," one of the men said.
The hands released me only enough to let me stumble forward. Then the blindfold was ripped away.
Light. Shapes. Reality.
And there she was.
Claire.
The shock froze us both for a heartbeat. I could barely breathe. She was alive. And angry. And as chaotic as ever, hair tangled, eyes wide, and trembling with the relief of finding me.
"Raven?!" she cried, launching herself at me. I fell back with her on top of me, limbs tangled, breaths ragged.
"I thought you were dead," she gasped into my shoulder, clutching me like she could will me back into the world if she held tight enough.
"I thought you were," I whispered. "I.... really thought you were gone."
Her arms squeezed tighter. "I went crazy looking for you. Eclipse, police.....nothing. They told me to come back after seventy two hours. Seventy-two hours! And then....when I pulled up to my driveway?"
She shivered violently. "Armed men. Just.....grabbed me. Like I wasn't supposed to be asking questions."
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "So we're both kidnapped. Together. Huh."
"You weren't kidding when you said we'd be miserable together," she muttered, trying to smirk but failing as tears streaked her cheeks.
"I hate him," I said softly.
"I hate him more," Claire replied without hesitation.
We sat on the floor, knees touching, clinging to each other. Shock, fear, relief, and frustration mingled in a storm of emotions. Every second of isolation, every day of silence, every moment of uncertainty came rushing back, and we let ourselves feel it fully.
"And the worst part?" I asked, voice small.
"The blindfold?" Claire guessed.
I snorted through tears. "The blindfold," I admitted. "I was terrified. Didn't know if I'd be thrown into a wall, or worse.....if I'd even see you again."
She shook her head. "And I was screaming in my apartment, trying to figure out where you went, only to end up… here. Locked. Blindfolded. Same as you. Thanks for the mental trauma, by the way."
"I'm collecting my own list," I replied, laughing despite myself.
Then the silence settled again. Heavy. Cold. The men had closed the door behind them, leaving us alone in that small, windowless room.
"We'll get out of here," Claire said softly, resting her head on my shoulder. "Eventually."
I let her stay there, the warmth of her presence holding back some of the panic that had been clawing at me since I woke.
For the first time since Cyprian had claimed me, since the door had closed behind his men, I felt less alone.
And though we were trapped, blindfolds of fear removed only by each other's presence, there was one small spark of defiance flickering quietly in the dark.
We'd survived this long.
We'd survive together.