Until the darkness fades

3. Room without exit

Aurelia's Pov

I hated how stuck I felt, but I needed my sisters safe at all costs. So I dropped the guns on the table and sat down like he said.

My hands were still shaking.

“I’m human,” I said. “I can’t just be turned into property. What do you even need me for? You have men. You have staff. Cleaners, chefs, people who actually want to serve you. Let me go. I’ll find a way to get your money and bring it back.”

He watched me for a long moment, unreadable.

“You’re correct,” he said finally. “I have people for all of that.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you… you’ll be different. You’ll be here for whatever I decide I want you here for.”

I stared at him. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You can’t just decide someone’s life belongs to you because of a debt they didn’t even make.”

“Your father made it. You inherited the consequences.”

“That’s not how the world works.”

“It is in mine.”

I let out a short, disbelieving breath and shook my head. “There has to be another option. Work. Time. Something. I’ll do whatever it takes to pay it back, just not like this.”

“There is no other option.”

“You’re choosing this.”

“I’m enforcing an agreement.”

I couldn’t sit still anymore. I stood up, the chair scraping lightly against the floor.

His eyes followed the movement.

“Sit down.”

“No. I’m trying to talk to you like a person—”

“Sit.”

“I said no. You don’t get to just—”

“Last time.” His voice dropped, quiet and sharp. “Sit down.”

Something in the way he said it made the air feel thinner. Still, I didn’t move. My pride wouldn’t let me.

“Or what?” I asked. “You’ll kill me? Then you lose your precious collateral.”

He stood.

I barely had time to take a step back before his hand was around my throat. He lifted me clean off the floor and slammed me into the wall hard enough that the impact knocked the breath out of me. My feet dangled. My hands flew up on instinct, grabbing at his wrist, trying to pull it away.

He didn’t budge.

Pressure closed in around my neck. Not enough to crush anything yet, but enough that every breath became a fight. My vision edged with gray. I kicked once, weakly, and he only pressed closer, pinning me there with his body and that single hand.

“Listen carefully,” he said, voice low near my face. “If you want to survive… if you want those sisters of yours to keep breathing… then I strongly suggest you learn how to behave. I do not have the habit of tolerating disrespect.”

He leaned in.

The heat of his breath touched my skin first. Then his lips brushed against my cheek — slow, deliberate, almost like a kiss that never quite landed. He dragged them higher, along my skin, until they rested just beside my ear. I could feel every warm exhale.

“I own you now.”

His fingers tightened.

Just for a second. Hard enough that a broken sound escaped my throat and black spots burst across my sight.

Then he let go.

I dropped to the floor in a heap, gasping, coughing so hard my eyes watered instantly. My hands clutched at my neck as I dragged in air that burned all the way down.

He was already turning away.

“Take her,” he said to someone I couldn’t see. “Give her a room.”

I stayed on the floor, still coughing, trying to pull enough oxygen back into my lungs while the sound of his footsteps faded.

I was still gasping, one hand pressed to my throat, when I finally looked up.

An elderly woman stood over me. She wore a simple maid’s uniform, but somehow she still looked graceful. Beautiful in a quiet, composed way. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It sat somewhere between pity and something that almost looked like admiration.

She held out her hand.

I took it.

The moment I was on my feet, she gently tilted my chin up and traced her fingers along the side of my neck. I flinched but let her. The skin felt hot and tight.

“It’s red,” she said softly. “And marked.” She studied it for another second before letting go. “He doesn’t usually spare people who talk back to him. He’s proud that way. The fact that you’re still breathing means you’re special.”

I didn’t answer. My throat still hurt too much.

She turned her head slightly.

“Maria. Take her upstairs. Second room on the left. It’s already arranged.”

A younger woman stepped forward. She looked about my age, maybe a little younger. She kept her eyes down and barely glanced at me.

“Follow me,” she said.

I didn’t want to. Every part of me wanted to stay right there on the floor or turn and run, even if it was stupid. But I already knew how that would end. If I wanted any chance of surviving this—or eventually getting out—I had to be smarter than my anger.

So I followed her.

Quietly.

When we got to the room, she opened the door and waited.

I glanced at her once before stepping inside.

It didn’t look like a room meant for someone being held against their will. It looked like the rest of the house—expensive, deliberate, and far too nice.

The space was large. A wide bed sat against the far wall with dark sheets and more pillows than anyone needed. Heavy curtains framed a tall window, half-drawn, letting in soft daylight. There was a long dresser with a mirror above it, a small sitting area with two armchairs, and a door that probably led to a bathroom. Everything matched in deep neutrals and black—clean lines, thick carpet, the kind of furniture that didn’t creak or look cheap.

I walked in slowly, eyes moving over it all.

No visible cameras at first glance. No bars on the window. Just quiet luxury that somehow felt more unsettling than a cell would have. Someone had already prepared this place for me. The bed was made. A few things were placed neatly on the dresser. It was ready.

Maria stood by the door, still not really looking at me.

I turned in a slow circle, taking it in, the ache in my throat throbbing with every swallow.

This was my room now.

Whether I wanted it or not.

When I turned back, the door was already closed.

I stood still and counted slowly to ten in my head, giving her enough time to walk away. Then I went to the door, wrapped my hand around the handle, and pulled.

It didn’t move.

Fuck.

I tried again, harder.

Locked.

Fuck. f**k. f**k.

I slammed my palm against the wood, then again, and again, the sound dull and useless in the quiet room. My throat burned with every hit. Eventually my arm dropped.

I walked over to the bed, sat down on the floor with my back against it, and pulled my knees up to my chest. My whole body ached—neck, shoulders, the scraped places from last night, the deep exhaustion sitting in my bones. I pressed my face against my knees and stayed like that, breathing through the pain, trying not to cry.

All those years of staying low. Of moving carefully. Of doing whatever it took to keep us safe.

And now this.

What happens to my sisters?

The thought sat heavy in my chest.

I lifted my head just enough to speak the words out loud, voice rough and cracking.

“I’m freaken’ stuck here.” I screamed to no one in particular. Then the tears came.