THE DEVIL'S PAWN

His Prisoner

They didn’t bother giving Amara a real room.

They threw her into something closer to a dungeon — cement walls sweating with damp, one dim bulb flickering overhead, a metal chair bolted to the floor, and chains heavy enough to shackle a wolf.

When the guards pushed her inside, Lucien walked past her like air.

Not one glance.

Not a second of curiosity.

Nothing.

He gave only one order, voice cold and flat.

“Lock her down.”

Klark stood beside him, silent, watching the guards cuff Amara’s wrists to the chair. He didn’t blink. He didn’t interfere. He knew exactly what this kidnapping was for — and exactly what Lucien planned to do next.

The door slammed shut.

Bolt. Click. Silence.

Amara let her breathing shake on purpose. The cameras blinking red in the corners caught every tremble. Every tear she allowed to slip. Every gasp she pretended.

She had mastered the art of looking breakable.

But deep inside, she was counting seconds.

Three… four… five…

Her mouth hardened. Her eyes cleared.

She whispered, barely audible, “Let the game start.”

Before she could settle into her act again, heavy footsteps rushed down the corridor — fast, impatient, angry.

The door burst open.

Tris walked in like a storm.

Tall. Sharp. Pretty in a wicked way. Tight black dress. Nails red like blood. She stopped in front of Amara with a look that said she already hated her.

“So this is her?” Tris sneered.

Her voice carried attitude, insecurity, and delusion all tangled together.

“The little princess he brought in?”

Amara kept her eyes wide, scared, trembling — because that was the safest mask.

“I don’t know who he is,” Amara whispered. “Please… I want to go home.”

Tris rolled her eyes.

“Of course you do. They all do.”

She circled Amara slowly, heels tapping on the concrete.

“You must feel special,” she said. “Lucien doesn’t keep people. He kills them. So why you?”

Amara fake-flinched.

“I don’t know. He didn’t speak to me. He didn’t even look at me.”

“Exactly,” Tris snapped. “And he won’t. Don’t start dreaming.”

She leaned close, gripping Amara’s chin hard.

“Listen, sweetheart. Lucien is mine. I’ve been here long before you came crawling into his life. So if you think your pretty little face is going to change anything, wake up.”

Amara let her lip tremble.

“I’m not trying to take him.”

Tris smirked, brushed imaginary dust off her dress, then walked to Lucien’s jacket hanging on a hook near the door. She pulled out red lipstick, smeared it along the collar, and smiled to herself.

Marking him like a territory she was scared to lose.

“This place will chew you alive,” Tris whispered near her ear. “And I’ll enjoy watching.”

She strutted out, slamming the door again.

Amara inhaled slowly, resetting her expression — tears, shaky breath, soft fear.

Perfect for the cameras.

But somewhere else in Chicago, chaos erupted.

...

SANTI D’VORE WAS LOSING HIS MIND.

Men rushed around his mansion carrying weapons, phones ringing nonstop, alarms blaring. His voice boomed through every hallway.

“Find her! NOW!”

A soldier stuttered, “We’re searching every block—”

Santi smashed a glass against the wall.

“Not fast enough! My daughter is not a ghost!”

Another guard entered, panting. “Sir, we confirmed Lucien’s men crossed the south border—”

“I KNOW THAT ALREADY!” Santi roared. “Bring me Lucien’s head or bring me my daughter!”

His hands shook with rage. His eyes were red and wild. He grabbed another guard by the collar.

“If he harms her… if he TOUCHES her… I will burn this entire city!”

The room fell silent.

No one dared speak again.

Santi paced, muttering to himself, jaw tight, fists clenched so hard blood dripped from his palms.

His empire was shaking.

Because Amara was gone.

Because Lucien took her.

And because he knew exactly what that meant.

War.

...

Back inside the dungeon, Lucien stood outside the door watching the security feed with icy calm. He saw Tris’ theatrics, but he didn’t react. He didn’t look at Amara through the screen either. His mind wasn’t on her.

It was on Santi.

On revenge.

On the next move.

“Ready the team,” Lucien said finally.

Klark nodded. “Already done.”

Lucien turned away without glancing at the camera where Amara sat trembling.

He remained completely, deliberately uninterested.

Amara saw that through the lens across the room and let her eyes water again.

Perfect.

Let him ignore her

.

Let him underestimate her.

Let Santi lose his mind.

Let Tris drown in jealousy.

She would play them all.

One breath at a time.