The room was cold. Damp. Silent, except for the sound of Nirvana’s shallow breaths.
She lay on the floor, wrists raw and bloodied from trying to twist out of the ropes, the side of her face throbbing from where she’d been slapped earlier. Her ankle screamed every time she moved. But she didn’t cry. Not anymore.
Crying was for when she still had hope.
The creak of the door had her flinching, body going rigid.
“Well, if it isn’t the heiress of ruins,” Celeste’s voice echoed with a sickening sweetness.
Nirvana blinked through the low light, barely able to lift her head.
“Aw, don’t give me that look,” Celeste purred, stepping into the room, her heels clicking dramatically on the wooden floor. “You should be honored we even came to see you.”
Behind her, Adrian stepped in with a satisfied
