Chapter 7
1056 Words
Bella didn’t speak for two days.
Not a word.
Not a scream.
Not a single cry.
She sat curled in the corner of the room, knees to her chest, body still streaked with dirt and dried blood from the forest. She hadn’t asked for a change of clothes. She hadn’t looked at the food.
She hadn’t slept.
The lights in the room remained soft, warm, intimate. As if it mattered. As if they cared for her comfort now.
Cameras still blinked above. The walls still whispered.
But Bella was gone—mentally adrift somewhere between rage and grief.
Because Steven was gone again.
And this time, he might not come back.
---
Xavier didn’t visit her the first night.
Or the second.
He let her sit in it. Breathe it. Marinate in the pain.
It was a kind of waiting game he loved—watching someone slowly realize the rules had changed, the war had begun, and there would be no return to the world they once knew.
On the third night, he entered her room without a word.
Bella didn’t look at him.
He sat in the velvet chair across from her, legs crossed, elbows resting on the armrests like a king in court.
“I let you run,” he said quietly. “I gave you freedom. I gave you hope.”
She still didn’t move.
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And yet… you betrayed me.”
Bella slowly turned her head.
Her eyes were hollow. But her voice, when it came, was razor-sharp.
“I was never yours to betray.”
Xavier’s mouth twitched.
“I told you,” he murmured, “you’d beg.”
Bella stood slowly. Her limbs shook, but her spine stayed straight.
“I’d rather die.”
His eyes flared for a moment—something dark and animalistic flashing beneath the polished mask.
Then he smiled.
“You will.”
---
Down in the basement, Steven was barely conscious.
They hadn’t chained him again—but that didn’t matter. He couldn’t move. His ribs were broken, or near enough. One eye swollen shut. His wrists bleeding again.
He didn’t even know how long he’d been down there.
Time bent. Pain erased logic. Hunger sharpened and then dulled to a gnawing ache in his soul.
But still—his mind clung to one thing.
Bella.
He saw her in every flicker of memory. Her laugh. Her eyes. Her wedding dress. Her hand in his as they said their vows.
He clung to her like a man holding onto a rope over a pit of fire.
And he didn’t let go.
---
The next day, Bella woke to something new.
A gift box.
It sat at the foot of her bed, wrapped in black ribbon. Silent. Ominous.
She stared at it for ten minutes before she finally opened it.
Inside was a phone.
And a note.
“You want to know where he is? Then earn it.”
—X
She flung the box across the room.
But she kept the phone.
---
That night, Xavier returned.
He didn’t knock. He never did.
This time, he came with wine.
He poured two glasses. Sat across from her again.
Held one out.
Bella stared at him with disgust.
He didn’t move. Just waited.
After a long pause, she took the glass—only to drop it onto the carpet, letting it shatter between them.
Red wine spilled like blood between their feet.
Xavier stared at the mess. Then looked back at her.
His voice was soft. “Do you think this makes you strong?”
“No,” Bella said. “It reminds me I’m still human.”
---
That night, Bella sat with the phone in her hand for hours.
Should she use it? Would it trace her? Was this another trap?
But something gnawed at her. Something inside her chest that felt too sharp, too desperate.
So finally, at midnight, she opened the message app.
There was only one conversation.
Xavier:
Ready to play?
She didn’t reply.
Another message appeared moments later.
Xavier:
He’s alive. For now. But time is running out, Bella.
Then a photo.
It wasn’t graphic. It didn’t need to be.
Steven. Slumped against the wall of a basement. Bruised, bloody. Barely conscious.
Bella dropped the phone, hands trembling.
She had to do something. Anything.
---
The next morning, she demanded to see Xavier.
The guards didn't look surprised. As if they'd been waiting.
He met her in a room she'd never seen before—an atrium with glass ceilings and a white piano in the center.
He was already playing when she entered. Something soft. Classical. Sad.
He didn’t look up when she spoke.
“I want to see him.”
Still playing, he said: “Earn it.”
Bella’s fists clenched. “What do you want?”
His fingers paused over the keys.
“I want your mind. Not your body.”
She blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”
Xavier stood, slow, fluid, controlled.
“It means I want to rebuild you,” he said. “From the inside out. I want you to forget him. Forget who you were. And remember only me.”
“You’re insane.”
“No,” he said. “I’m focused.”
He stepped closer, voice low, magnetic.
“You’ll hate me at first. You’ll resist. But then one day, something will shift. A moment. A look. A touch.”
He touched her jaw—gently this time.
And she let him. Not because she wanted to.
But because she needed to know the rules of this game.
“Then,” Xavier whispered, “you’ll stop fighting.”
---
That night, she started the game.
When the guards brought her food, she smiled at them for the first time.
When the camera blinked, she changed clothes slowly, deliberately.
She sat on the bed like a woman at peace.
But inside her, a storm brewed.
This wasn’t surrender.
This was warfare.
And she was going to win.
---
Downstairs, Xavier watched the screen.
He saw the smile.
And he smiled back.
“She’s learning,” he murmured.
Damien, watching silently behind him, frowned. “She’s manipulating you.”
“Let her,” Xavier said. “That’s what makes it fun.”
---
- Writer
