Burning Hearts

Chapter Two

The manor was dark, silent, and cold. As if the entire building had been holding its breath while the black SUV rolled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Only traces of blood remained on the gravel driveway—the tattooed man’s body was gone. Most likely resting underground somewhere, in an unmarked grave, taken there by Lucian’s men. There was no room for mistakes on this estate. No room for weakness. And above all, no room for disobedience.

Lucian Thornewell still stood at the door, hands clasped behind his back, as they lifted Andromeda out of the trunk. He didn’t say a word, only watched as two men carefully carried the stretcher inside. Tobias, his loyal right hand, understood his role with a single gesture. One eye always on Lucian, the other on the world he was tasked with keeping in line.

Inside the house, the world was different. The foyer was lined with dark wooden walls, adorned with old oil paintings of unknown faces—stern men and proud women with veiled gazes. A thick red carpet muffled every footstep. The whole place felt like time had stopped—or at least, like humanity had left it long ago.

The men carried the stretcher down the hall to a steel door, behind which lay a coldly lit examination room. The walls were covered in white tiles, the air reeked of antiseptic mixed with a faint scent of blood. On the table next to the bed were gauze pads, sterilized cloths, medical tools—professionals worked here, even if the surroundings were far from hospital-grade.

Lucian entered the room but didn’t approach the stretcher. He simply stood still and looked down at her. Andromeda was unconscious. The wound on her temple hadn’t been treated yet, but it had stopped bleeding. Her skin was nearly translucent in its paleness, her lashes trembled faintly.

“Tobias,” Lucian said quietly.

“Yes, boss.”

“Clean her up. Wash off the blood, disinfect the wound. Unbind her hands and ankles, but don’t leave her free. No need for kindness. Just… don’t let her die. I want her awake before she goes down.”

Tobias nodded. “Understood.”

Lucian’s gaze returned to her face. Silence followed. His expression remained perfectly still—sculpted from stone—but his eyes darkened. Not with rage, but something else: betrayal. The feeling of sacrilege. A broken promise. Then he turned on his heel and left the room without looking back.

♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️

Under the sterile light, two nurses and Tobias got to work. They carefully released the restraints on her hands and ankles, but Tobias clipped a thin steel cuff around her waist—one that could be instantly locked to the bed if necessary.

One of the nurses—a stern-faced, middle-aged woman—muttered quietly as she wiped the blood from Andromeda’s temple.

“Young. Beautiful. But fragile. A sedative after such a strong blow… could’ve been fatal.”

Tobias didn’t reply. He just watched the heart monitor, beeping slowly but steadily.

Andromeda’s fingers twitched. A second later, her eyelids fluttered. Her breathing quickened. Then suddenly, her eyes opened.

The world returned first as muffled noise. A beeping… monotonous, rhythmic, as if following a foreign pulse that didn’t belong to her. Something pricked her arm. The air was sterile and unfamiliar. Her eyes resisted at first—the light was too harsh, the room blurry. And when she finally managed to focus, nothing was familiar.

This wasn’t her apartment. Not her office. Not a hospital. It was a cold, white-tiled room. Medical tools. Surgical lights. A metal-framed bed wrapped in sheets. The air smelled of disinfectant and… something metallic. Blood.

Andromeda Carter jolted upright.

She tried to sit up, but her body protested. Her temple throbbed, pain lingered beneath her ribs. A leather strap bound her wrist to the bed, the weight of it pressing her back down. Panic hit fast and hard.

“Where am I?!” she shouted, voice hoarse and strained. A woman appeared in her blurred vision—maybe in her forties, with a stern face and sterile gloves. She didn’t look like a doctor. More like… an enforcer. The woman said nothing, only checked the IV line.

“Hey! Talk to me! What is this place?!”

The woman gave her a quick, mechanical glance. Then walked out.

Andromeda collapsed back onto the pillow. Her heart was racing, breath shallow and uneven. The memories were crawling back. Her office. Two men. A strike. The pain. The darkness.

Then—a voice.

“I see you’re finally awake.”

Her head snapped toward it. A tall man stood in the doorway, dressed in an elegant suit, black hair, deep brown eyes, his face carved like marble. There was something cold in him… calm, yet menacing. She didn’t know him. Not at all.

“Who are you?” she asked—hoarse, but sharp.

He didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer, stopping two paces from the bed, and looked her over. His gaze wasn’t leering—it was clinical, as if cataloging information.

“My name is Lucian Thornewell. And right now… I decide everything that happens to you.”

The name meant nothing to her. But his tone, his posture, his presence—something primal inside her flared up: danger.

“My brother… Elliot… he did this, didn’t he? I’m not the one who owes you. But… but… let me go and we’ll pay it back!”

Lucian’s smile was dark. Not amused—predatory. Like a wolf watching prey that hadn’t yet learned the rules of the game.

“I’m not looking for repayment. I’m… interested in something else.”

Andromeda stiffened. The sedatives had worn off. She knew, without a doubt, this wasn’t just a kidnapping.

“You’re sick,” she hissed.

Lucian’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t raise his voice. But his next words cut like a blade.

“I said bring her to me unharmed. And yet… here you are, blood on your face. Because someone didn’t understand a simple order. They’ve paid for their disobedience—and they were my men. What do you think awaits a stranger?”

His voice was cold. Clinical. As if he weren’t talking about her—but about a flaw in the system. Then he turned his head.

“Tobias!”

Another man entered. Shorter, bald, sharp features, dressed in dark clothes. His gaze lingered on Andromeda before turning to Lucian.

“I’m here.”

“Get her ready. She goes down. With the others. She can’t stay here.”

“Understood,” Tobias nodded.

Lucian left without another word. He didn’t look back. The door closed behind him, and Andromeda heard the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️

Two unfamiliar men wheeled the stretcher out of the room. Tobias led them, observing every move. Andromeda didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She knew it was pointless now.

The corridors grew darker as they moved. The walls turned to thick, rough stone, the floor clanged under metal grates. After a sharp turn, they stopped at a massive steel door with a card-reader lock. Tobias pulled a keycard, swiped it. A click.

The inside was no longer sterile.

The temperature dropped. The light dimmed. The walls were damp, water dripped from the ceiling in irregular intervals. The air was stale and metallic—like the depths of a prison. Or a grave.

On the left side of the hall, a row of thick iron doors stretched into the distance. Each had a small viewing slit. These weren’t rooms. They were cells. Tobias opened one.

The cell was small, cold—containing only a metal bed, a tin bucket, and a tiny table.

“You’ll stay here.”

“For how long?”

“Until Lucian decides otherwise.”

Andromeda’s eyes flashed.

“You think you can break me?”

Tobias’s face didn’t move.

“We don’t break people here. We observe. And under observation, everyone breaks… eventually.”

Then he stepped out. The door closed. The key turned.

She was alone in the dark. The walls were cold. And the silence was thick as stone. Only one sound remained: her own heartbeat.

And Lucian’s voice echoed in her head, over and over:

“From now on, your every move is being watched.”

The key turned again. The heavy iron door creaked closed, then clicked shut with finality. The silence crashed over her like a wave. Sharp. Dense. Suffocating.

The air was heavy, damp, metallic, and musty. The cell wasn’t larger than a walk-in closet. Bare stone walls. A single flickering lamp above, casting a weak yellow glow. No window. No exit.

And no sense of time.

Andromeda sat at the edge of the bed for a long while, arms wrapped around herself as if to fight off the chill—but the cold came from inside. Her thoughts were chaotic, her heart pounding too fast, a strange heat pulsing at the nape of her neck. The wound on her temple throbbed. Not unbearable, but sharp and deep. Then it hit her: likely a concussion. The dizziness was getting worse.

She tried to stand. Her legs trembled. The world tilted, like a boat caught in a storm. Her stomach churned, nausea rising fast. She collapsed back onto the bed, panting.

Her body was drenched in sweat, but she was freezing. Her heart felt like it would burst through her chest.

“Okay… calm down…” she whispered, pressing both palms to her forehead. “This is just… this is just temporary.”

But it didn’t pass. And worse—was the silence.

No clock. No music. No traffic. Even her own breathing sounded too loud in this dark box. Every small noise filled her with dread.

The distant drip of water started as strange… then terrifying. A creak, somewhere to the left, beyond the wall. A dull thump below the floor, like someone—or something—had moved.

Panic crept in slowly. Then all at once.

Her breathing grew rapid, gasping. Her chest tightened. Her throat closed. Her fingers clutched the bedframe like it could stop the spinning.

“No… no… this can’t be happening,” she whispered. “I have to get out of here…”

She jumped up. A blinding pain shot through her skull. She grabbed the iron door, pulling, banging on it with both fists.

“Let me out! Do you hear me?! Help!” she screamed, her voice rising into hysteria. “Please! I can’t take this!”

Her cries bounced off the stone walls, echoing back in cruel repetition. Then—silence again. Even the dripping stopped.

For a moment, she thought she heard footsteps outside. Or imagined them. Panic blurred the lines between real and unreal.

She collapsed against the door, resting her forehead on the cold metal. Tears filled her eyes. I can’t handle darkness. I can’t handle being locked in.

The childhood memory hit like a sledgehammer. That day Elijah locked her in the closet, as a joke. Then forgot about her. She cried there for three hours until their mother found her. Since then, she’d never handled small, dark spaces well. And this—this wasn’t a closet. This was a cell.

“Breathe… just breathe…” she whispered, but her body wouldn’t listen.

Her knees buckled, and she hit the floor, rolling onto her side. The cold stone bruised her hip, but the pain was drowned out by the throbbing in her skull, the spinning world, the terror.

Tears streaked down her cheeks. She bit her fist to keep from screaming.

And then—a sound. Not a thud. Not water. A key. A slow turn in the lock.

The handle moved. The door creaked. A sliver of light pierced the dark.

Andromeda looked up.

And she saw him. Lucian Thornewell. In the same suit. The same cold eyes. As if he had never left.

Behind him, a shadow—maybe Tobias. It didn’t matter.

He just stood there. Watching her. Her face was wet with tears, her hands trembling. There wasn’t much pride left in her. But her voice still burned.

“You’re a monster…”

Lucian stared. Then finally spoke.

“Maybe. But at least I know who I am. You, on the other hand… you don’t even know why you’re really here. We came down here to help. But if you don’t need it—then we were never here.”

And then… he closed the door.

The darkness crashed down again.

And she lay there, on the cold floor, trapped in her own body, her own mind.