His to Claim, Hers to Survive

HER PERSONAL HELL

CHAPTER FOUR

The gates closed behind her with a deep metallic groan. Not loud. Not violent. Just final.

Elena didn't turn around. She already knew escape wasn't behind her — it had been left somewhere far beyond House Vesperov.

One of the Blades pushed open another iron gate. "Inside."

She stepped through, and the smell hit first. Sweat. Disinfectant. Rust. And beneath it all, something older — the kind of smell a room only earns after years of holding people who didn't want to be there.

The Bastion wasn't hidden beneath the mansion. It sat along its eastern wing like a scar House Vesperov had never bothered to heal. Stone walls climbed toward a high ceiling crossed with steel beams. Long rows of metal bunks stretched from one end of the hall to the other. Some had blankets. Most didn't. The walls carried countless scratches — some accidental, others deliberate, like people had once counted days until they'd stopped bothering.

Nobody spoke. Dozens of eyes lifted toward the newcomer — young, old, men, women, some with fresh bruises, others with scars so old they'd become part of their skin. No one looked surprised. Only curious. Another Bound. Another life that had ended somewhere outside these walls.

A guard tossed folded clothes against her chest. "Change." She caught them awkwardly — coarse grey fabric, black buttons, long sleeves, plain trousers. No color, no name. Only a small number stitched above the hem.

Not an identity. An inventory.

"Where?" she asked.

He pointed toward a narrow washroom. "Three minutes."

The door slammed behind her.

The room held a cracked mirror no larger than her hand. She stared into it and barely recognized what stared back — hair tangled, dried blood along one cheek, dark circles beneath eyes that hadn't truly closed since yesterday.

She changed. The cold reached her skin immediately. The uniform fit too well, as though someone had expected her.

She looked at the mirror one more time. The girl who'd dreamed of singing beneath stage lights was gone. In her place stood another Bound.

"I'm still me," she said aloud.

It sounded less convincing than she'd hoped.

A knock echoed against the door. "Time."

She stepped out. No one looked twice — because everyone wore the same thing, the same tired expression. Individuality ended at the Bastion gates.

The Blades turned to leave. One paused beside the entrance. "If you survive — learn quickly." Then they were gone, and the iron gate shut behind them. This time, no one opened it again.

Elena stood alone, unsure where to go, unsure if she was even allowed to move.

"You're blocking the walkway."

She turned. A young woman stood beside one of the bunks — dark hair tied loosely back, sleeves rolled to her elbows, nothing intimidating about her except tired eyes that had learned to expect disappointment.

"Sorry."

The woman gave the smallest nod. "First day?"

Elena managed one back.

"I'm Vivian."

"Elena."

Vivian studied her for a moment. "How much?"

"What?"

"Debt."

Elena's fingers tightened around the edge of her shirt. "Ten million."

A few nearby Bound glanced over. One let out a low whistle. Another went back to cleaning his boots without a word.

Vivian sighed. "They sold you?"

"My uncle."

Vivian's expression didn't change — as though she'd heard worse plenty of times before. "Family usually does." She motioned toward an empty bunk. "Sit."

Elena obeyed. The mattress barely dipped beneath her weight, thinner than a blanket. Vivian sat across from her.

"Whatever you were told before you got here — forget it. This is how it actually works." She glanced around the room before she spoke again. "If you run, they hunt you. If you refuse orders, they punish you. If you become useless—"

She looked across the room, toward a bunk standing empty. Neatly made. Nobody touched it.

"They stop feeding you."

Something tightened in Elena's chest. "You mean—"

"No one here dies peacefully."

Silence stretched between them.

"So what do they make you do?"

Vivian laughed, though nothing about it was funny. "Whatever increases the House's profits. Training. Construction. Cleaning. The jobs nobody else wants." She leaned in slightly. "And if you're good enough, they send you where the operatives refuse to go."

Elena swallowed. "I don't know how to fight."

Vivian blinked. "You don't?"

"No."

"Hacking? Weapons?"

Elena shook her head slowly.

Genuine confusion crossed Vivian's face. "Then why would Lord Adrian bring you here?"

"I don't know."

Neither did Vivian. And that — more than anything — seemed to unsettle her.

She studied Elena more carefully now. "Do you even know who brought you here?"

"I only heard one name." Elena hesitated. "Bloody Friday."

The room seemed to go quieter, even the conversations farther off fading into background static.

Vivian exhaled slowly. "So it's true. You really don't know who saved you."

"I wouldn't call it saving."

"No." Vivian agreed. "Neither would I." She glanced toward the sealed gate. "When Lord Adrian accepts a Friday mission, people disappear. Entire crews. Entire organizations. The survivors don't tell stories — because there usually aren't any survivors."

She met Elena's eyes. "In all my years here, I've never heard of Bloody Friday bringing anyone back alive."

Elena's heartbeat picked up. "Then why me?"

Vivian didn't answer. Because she couldn't.

Sometimes the most frightening thing wasn't knowing the answer.

It was realizing nobody else did eith