The Mate He Bought

Quiet Like Death

Athena’s POV

I didn’t sleep again. Not really. I laid there on the floor of that cold stone corner with my eyes open. Listening to the rats in the walls. Listening to Isabella’s breath above me, steady like a lullaby meant to mock me.

My stomach turned the whole night. Not hunger. Something worse. Deeper.

She knows.

She knows I’m pregnant.

She didn’t say the word, but she didn’t have to. I saw it in her eyes. Heard it in her voice when she said, “Let’s see how useful you stay.”

Useful.

Like I’m a mop. A dish. Something she can throw away once it breaks.

So now, I pretend.

I stand when I’m told. Smile when needed. Bite my tongue when it bleeds. I scrub the floors like they’re sacred. I fold her clothes like they’re silk from heaven.

I make myself small.

Invisible.

Because if I don’t…

She’ll tell him.

And he’ll kill me.

The baby, too.

I don’t even know if I want it. I really don’t. But I know I can’t let them touch it. Can’t let them make that decision for me.

This morning, Raphael showed up again. Not for me. Not really. Just to bark orders.

He barely looked at me. Said my name like it tasted sour.

"Athena. The hallway floor. It smells. Fix it."

I nodded. Quiet. Obedient.

I went and scrubbed so hard the soap turned pink with my blood.

Later, when I passed the back hall—the one they think no one uses anymore—I heard voices.

I stopped.

I didn’t mean to. But my body just…froze.

It was Raphael. His voice. Deep. Sharp.

And Isabella.

Her laugh, soft and mean.

"She’s almost done anyway."

I pressed my back to the wall.

"You sure?" Raphael said. "You think she suspects?"

Isabella snorted. "She’s stupid. She doesn’t suspect anything. She still thinks she has value."

I couldn’t breathe.

"How much longer do you want her around?" she asked.

A pause.

Then Raphael said it.

"A week. Maybe less. Once the pack meeting’s over, we clean house. No more loose ends."

Loose ends.

Me.

I felt the world tilt.

They’re going to kill me.

Not yell. Not beat.

Kill.

Quietly. Like I was never here. Like I’m just a stain they want gone.

I backed away, slow as I could. My feet made no sound. I didn’t breathe until I was in the laundry room.

And then I sank to the floor.

My hands shook. My teeth chattered.

They’re going to kill me.

And the baby.

No, no, no, no.

I pressed both hands to my belly.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this life. But I want to live.

I want to live.

For once.

I can’t die here. Not like this. Not at their hands.

So now, I plan.

I’m going to escape.

I don’t know how. I don’t have friends. I don’t have strength. I don’t even have shoes half the time.

But I have fear. I have desperation.

And maybe that’s enough.

I spent the whole day acting like nothing happened. I cleaned. I served. I flinched when I was hit. I kept my head down.

But I watched.

I watched every door. Every guard. Every hallway.

I listened.

I waited until night.

Then I crept.

Out of the servant quarters. Past the pantry. Toward the garden door. The one I remembered being loose last spring.

It was locked.

I pulled. I twisted. I almost cried.

Then I heard footsteps.

I ran. Blind. Barefoot.

I tripped. Fell. Scraped my knees. Got back up.

A hand grabbed my hair.

I screamed.

Then everything went dark.

---

When I woke up, my wrists were tied.

The basement.

Stone. Damp. Cold.

Isabella stood in the corner. Smiling.

"Did you really think you could run?"

I didn’t answer.

She crouched beside me. Touched my cheek with her perfect fingers.

"I should cut it out of you now."

I froze.

She laughed.

"But that would be too easy."

She stood. Turned away.

"Let him decide."

And then she was gone.

I lay there in the dark.

My stomach cramped.

My chest burned.

But I wasn’t done.

Not yet.

They haven’t buried me.

So I’m still breathing.

Still fighting.

Somehow.

---

I don’t know how long I lay there.

Minutes. Hours. A day, maybe. Time folds in on itself when there’s no light.

The stone beneath me is wet. Maybe from the walls. Maybe from me. I can’t tell anymore.

My wrists ache. The rope bites deeper every time I move. My shoulders are on fire. My knees are torn open. I’m shaking so hard my teeth feel loose.

But I’m alive.

That’s all that matters.

Alive means I can still find a way out.

I close my eyes and try to listen—really listen. Not with panic, but with purpose.

Water dripping. Distant footsteps. A rat somewhere in the corner. No voices. No keys in the door. No threats.

Good.

My fingers twitch behind me, testing the knot. Thick. Double loop. Isabella’s idea of a joke. She’s always loved drama.

But she made a mistake.

She left me breathing.

I shift, pressing my back against the wall, trying to push my hands lower. Every inch is agony, but I bite my tongue and keep going. I remember how Isabella laughed when she left—like I was entertainment.

Let’s make it a short season, sweetheart.

My nails scrape something. Brick? No—splintered wood. A beam. Rough.

I twist and drag the rope against it. Once. Twice. Again.

It scrapes.

Good.

Again.

I whisper to myself to stay awake. Stay focused. Don’t give up now.

The rope tears a little. Just a thread.

Then footsteps.

Closer this time.

I stop.

Hold my breath.

The door creaks open. A shadow blocks the light. Not Isabella.

Raphael.

He doesn’t speak. Just looks down at me like I’m already dead.

And then—

He steps inside and shuts the door.

Locks it.

I stay quiet.

“Didn’t think you’d try to run,” he mutters. “Guess you’re not as dumb as she said.”

I stare.

He crouches beside me. His eyes flick to my body, then back to my face.

“She said to wait.”

He pauses.

“But if it were up to me…”

He reaches into his coat.

I brace for a knife.

But it’s not a weapon.

It’s a key.

He holds it out. Just far enough I can’t reach it.

“I want something first,” he whispers.

My blood goes cold.

I already know what he means.

God help me.

This basement might still be my grave.