The Red Room

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Chapter Three:

Time stopped meaning anything in the Red Room.

Days blurred together, measured not by sunlight or clocks but by routine. Brinka learned when food would arrive, when the guards passed the door, when the silence would deepen enough that her own thoughts became too loud to ignore. At first, she counted the days. Then she stopped. Counting only reminded her that the outside world still existed without her.

She hated that the room no longer scared her the way it had in the beginning.

The fear had softened, reshaped itself into something quieter and more dangerous. Familiarity.

The Red Room held her like a secret. The velvet walls absorbed sound. The mirrors reflected her back to herself until she felt multiplied, watched even when she was alone. Sometimes she caught herself standing in front of them too long, studying her own face, searching for signs that she was still the same girl who had signed that contract.

She wasn’t.

That realization crept in slowly, not all at once. It came in the way she folded the clothes provided without question. In how she waited instead of knocking. In how she listened for Excel’s footsteps without meaning to.

Excel never announced himself.

He appeared like a thought she hadn’t invited but couldn’t push away. Always calm, always controlled. Sometimes he stood in the doorway. Other times he came inside and sat in the chair across from the bed, his presence heavy but restrained. He spoke rarely, and when he did, his voice was even, measured, as if emotion were something he had trained himself to live without.

At least on the surface.

Brinka began to notice the things he didn’t say.

The way his gaze lingered a second longer when she looked tired. How his jaw tightened when she flinched too hard at sudden sounds. How he noticed when she stopped eating certain meals and quietly replaced them the next day without comment.

It confused her.

This was not kindness. She knew that. Kindness did not come with locks and rules. But it was attention, focused and deliberate, and it wrapped around her slowly, tightening before she understood what was happening.

One evening, he stayed longer than usual.

Brinka sat on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, watching him from the corner of her eye. He stood by the wall, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but alert. Like a predator at rest.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly.

The words escaped before she could stop them. Her heart pounded as soon as they were out. Speaking without permission was against the rules.

Excel turned his head, his gaze settling on her. He didn’t look angry. He looked curious.

“You were offered,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

A pause stretched between them.

“You adapt,” he added. “Most don’t.”

Brinka swallowed. “Adapt to being owned.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “To power.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “That’s what you call this.”

“Yes.”

Something about his certainty unsettled her. He believed in his world completely. The hierarchy, the control, the lines he drew and enforced. To him, this wasn’t cruelty. It was order.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” she asked.

Excel studied her for a long moment. “Guilt is a luxury.”

She didn’t know whether to be afraid or impressed.

After that night, he came more often.

Not every day, but enough that his absence became noticeable. He would ask simple questions. How she slept. Whether the room temperature was comfortable. If the music selection suited her. Always neutral. Always detached.

And yet she felt him everywhere.

Brinka began to wait for him.

She hated herself for that too.

When he didn’t come, the room felt emptier, heavier. The silence turned sharp instead of soft. She found herself replaying their conversations in her head, analyzing his expressions, wondering what he thought when he looked at her.

She realized, with a slow creeping dread, that Excel had become her anchor.

The Red Room no longer felt like a cage because he was the one who defined it. When he was present, it made sense. When he was gone, it didn’t.

That was the moment she understood she was in trouble.

One afternoon, she stood in front of the mirror, tracing the line of her jaw with her fingers. She looked well cared for. Rested. Almost… content. The realization made her stomach twist.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered to her reflection.

But the room didn’t argue.

Excel noticed the change in her before she did.

“You’re quieter,” he said one night.

“I’m learning,” she replied.

“That’s dangerous.”

“For who?”

“For you.”

She met his gaze then, really met it, and something passed between them. Not desire, not yet. Something deeper. Recognition.

He saw her. Not as a singer. Not as a deal. But as someone shaped by the same darkness that had shaped him.

That frightened her more than anything else.

Days later, a man appeared at the door she had never seen before.

He smiled.

That alone startled her.

“Hello,” he said warmly. “You must be Brinka.”

She frowned. “Who are you?”

“Luca,” he replied. “Excel’s brother.”

The way he said it was casual, light, as if being related to Excel Moretti was not something that carried weight and danger.

Luca stepped into the room without hesitation, his posture open, his eyes kind. He looked around the Red Room with visible discomfort.

“So this is where he keeps you,” he muttered.

Brinka stiffened. “Keeps me.”

Luca noticed immediately. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It didn’t.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s always been… intense.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Luca laughed softly, then grew serious. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

She didn’t know why, but she believed him.

When Excel appeared, the air changed instantly.

His gaze snapped to Luca, then to Brinka. Something unreadable flickered across his face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Excel said.

“I wanted to meet her,” Luca replied. “She’s not a ghost.”

“She’s under my protection.”

Luca raised an eyebrow. “Is that what this is?”

The tension between the brothers was sharp, old, and heavy with history. Brinka felt caught in the middle, unsure where to look.

Excel turned to her. “Did he upset you?”

“No,” she said quickly. Then hesitated. “He was… different.”

Luca smiled at her. Excel did not.

That night, after Luca left, Excel stayed longer than ever before.

“You liked him,” Excel said.

“He treated me like a person.”

Silence.

“That is not his role.”

“And what is yours?”

Excel stepped closer, his presence pressing into her space without touching. “To keep you alive.”

Her breath hitched. “That’s not all you’re doing.”

For the first time since she met him, Excel looked unsettled.

“Be careful,” he said quietly. “Attachment changes things.”

She almost laughed.

It already had.

When he left, Brinka lay awake long after, her thoughts tangled and restless. Excel’s control still wrapped around her, but now there was something else. A contrast. A choice she hadn’t known existed.

And that, more than anything, terrified her.

Because she was no longer just surviving the Red Room.

She was forming attachments.

And attachments, she was beginning to understand, were how people got destroyed in Excel Moretti’s world.