Chapter 2

I stood in the cramped hallway, the dim overhead light flickering with the faltering rhythm of a dying heartbeat.

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady though a tremor had taken root in my hands. "You saved my life, and I gave you three years. The blood debt is paid. I am leaving."

Julian slowly turned around, the ice clinking musically in his whiskey glass as a dark, predatory smile spread across his face.

"You leave this house," he murmured, taking a slow, measured step toward me, "and I cut the funding for your father's heart surgery at the underground clinic. Tonight."

A fine, needle-like tremor began at the base of my spine and shot up to the nape of my neck; my fingertips grew so numb I could no longer feel the texture of the air against them.

My father, once a loyal Soldier for the Family, lay on life support in a hidden medical facility.

Julian owned the clinic.

He owned the doctors.

By that extension, he owned my father's life.

"You would not," I whispered, my throat suddenly constricting.

"Try me," he challenged, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. "Go ahead, Anna. Walk out that door and sign his death warrant."

I closed my eyes, feeling the invisible chains wrapping tightly around my throat, choking the fight from my very bones.

I had no choice but to stay in this cage.

Over the next few days, the safehouse became a psychological prison.

Julian restricted me from leaving the apartment, claiming the streets were too dangerous for a liability like me.

Vivian, in his absence, used his absence to escalate her twisted games.

I walked into the kitchen one morning to find her holding a green jade bracelet.

It was the only thing I had left of my late mother.

"Oops," Vivian said, meeting my eyes with a dead, hollow stare.

She merely opened her fingers.

The bracelet hit the ceramic tile and shattered into a dozen jagged green pieces.

I dropped to my knees, frantically trying to gather the shards, heedless of the sharp edges cutting into my palms.

Vivian simply stepped over me and walked into the bathroom. As she stepped over me, her heel came down on a shard of green jade. She paused, just for a heartbeat, and I could have sworn I saw her jaw tighten—a flicker of something that looked almost like regret. Then it was gone, replaced by the practiced smirk I had grown to hate.

Through the crack in the door, I watched her pick up my toothbrush.

She dipped the bristles directly into the toilet bowl, scrubbed the porcelain rim, and with a casual flick of her wrist, placed it back in the cup on the sink.

Bile rose in my throat, hot and sour.

I threw the toothbrush in the trash, and spent the better part of an hour scrubbing my mouth with soap until my gums bled.

The next afternoon, the hallway lightbulb burned out.

I dragged a cumbersome wooden stepladder from the closet and climbed up to replace it.

One of Julian's hulking Soldiers walked past me, his shoulder pointedly catching the side of the ladder.

It was no accident.

The wood violently shifted beneath my feet.

I fell backward, my right foot twisting awkwardly against the floorboards.

A sickening crack echoed through the narrow space.

A white-hot agony shot up my leg, blinding me for a second as I fought for a breath that would not come.

At that moment, the front door opened.

Julian walked in, flanked by two more massive Family Soldiers.

"Julian!" Vivian shrieked, instantly dropping to the floor and clutching her perfectly fine wrist. "She pushed me! She tried to throw the ladder on me!"

Julian did not even glance at my rapidly discoloring, purple ankle.

He rushed past me, dropping to his knees to scoop Vivian into his arms.

He cradled her against his chest like she was made of fragile glass.

"You are causing nothing but trouble," Julian snapped, glaring down at me as I dragged myself against the wall. "You are forbidden from stepping foot outside this apartment. Keep the guards at the door," he commanded his men.

He turned his back on me, carrying Vivian toward the bedroom.

As her head rested on his shoulder, Vivian looked back at me.

As Julian bore her away, the Soldier who had knocked over my ladder sneered down at me. With a vicious glint in his eye, the massive guard swung his steel-toed combat boot down, bringing his full weight directly onto my broken ankle.

He stomped with all his might.

A scream tore from my throat, raw and agonizing, but the bedroom door simply clicked shut in answer.

The guard's jacket hung on the doorknob. While he was busy laughing at my shattered ankle, I had already memorized the patrol rotation pinned to its inner pocket. 10 PM. 2 AM. 5 AM. I just needed to survive until the window at 2.

Some minutes later, my phone vibrated on the floor.

It was a restricted number from the underground clinic.

I answered it with trembling, sweaty fingers.

"Anna," the doctor said, his voice rushed and grave. "The procedure failed. Your father is crashing. You need to get here now if you want to say goodbye."

The phone slipped from my hand.

I dragged myself across the floor, ignoring the blinding pain in my leg, and reached for the front doorknob.

Two heavy hands shoved me backward.

Julian's Soldiers stood in the doorway, their faces like stone.

"Boss said nobody leaves," the guard grunted.

"My father is dying!" I screamed, beating my fists weakly against the man's solid chest. "Let me out! Please!"

They did not move an inch.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Julian's number.

It rang once and went straight to voicemail.

I called again. Voicemail.

I sat on the floor, banging my fists against the heavy wooden door until my knuckles split open and bled, my tears making muddy tracks in the dust on the floorboards.

An hour later, the phone rang again.

"He is gone, Anna. I am sorry."

The world stopped spinning.

The air left the room.

I stared at the blank wall, allowing a heavy, suffocating darkness to swallow me whole.

My father had died alone, all because my husband wished to teach me a lesson.

I crawled into the kitchen, pulling open the bottom drawer.

My fingers wrapped around the cold plastic handle of a fruit knife.

I looked at the sharp silver blade, the only escape left in a world that had taken everything from me.

I pressed the cold metal against my wrist, the darkness finally feeling like a friend.