Liora's POV

The bathroom was so big. 

The echo of the running water sounded like a waterfall in a cave...I stripped off the pink uniform and left it in a wet heap on the heated marble floor. I hated that dress, but seeing it lie there felt like seeing a dead friend. It was the last thing that belonged to my old life.

I scrubbed my skin until it was red. I wanted the smell of the diner and the grease and the rain gone, but when I finally stepped out of the tub, I felt even more exposed.

I walked into the bedroom. The maids had left a dress on the bed. It was deep emerald silk. I touched the fabric. It was cool and felt like water. When I put it on, I realized something that made my stomach twist: it fit perfectly. They didn't just guess. They knew my height, my waist, the width of my shoulders. They had measured me before I even knew they existed.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. One of the stone-faced maids brought in a tray of food...steak, asparagus, and some kind of sparkling water. I wasn't hungry, but I ate every bite. I needed the energy. I needed to be strong for whatever "mapping" meant.

Then came the doctors. Two men in white coats who didn't tell me their names. They took my blood. They checked my heart. They looked at my teeth and my eyes. They didn't talk to me; they talked about me.

"Vitals are strong," one said.

"Cycle starts in four days," the other replied, marking a tablet.

When they finally left, the room felt even emptier. I stood in front of the full-length mirror, looking at the stranger in the green silk. I looked like someone who belonged in this house. I looked expensive.

I looked up, scanning the ornate molding near the ceiling. I found it in the corner. A small, black dome. A camera.

My heart gave a heavy thud. He was watching.

Darian's POV

I sat in my study, the only light coming from the bank of monitors on my desk. The whiskey in my glass was untouched. I had three different feeds of the West Wing pulled up...

I watched her eat. She ate like it was a chore, her movements sharp and efficient. She didn't cry. I kept waiting for her to break, to put her head in her hands and sob for the life she'd lost. 

But she just kept chewing.

Then the doctors arrived. I watched the feed as they drew her blood. Her face remained a mask of ice, but I saw her free hand. She was gripping the silk of that green dress so hard her knuckles were white. She was terrified, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

I liked the green on her. It made her eyes look less like mud and more like a forest...

The doctors left, and she was alone again. She stood in the center of the room, looking around. I leaned in, my chest tightening as I watched her eyes move. She was smart. She was looking for the cracks in the fortress.

Then, she looked up.

She found the lens.

On my screen, her hazel eyes became massive. She didn't look away. She didn't hide in the bathroom or turn off the lights. She stood perfectly still and stared directly into the camera. It was a silent challenge.

"Liora Hayes..."I whispered.

I felt a jolt of something that wasn't just triumph. It was heat.

Liora's POV

I didn't blink. I stared at that black eye in the ceiling and imagined I was looking right into Darian's blue ones. I wanted him to see that he could buy my time, but he couldn't buy my fear.

I stayed like that for a long minute. Then, very slowly, I walked to the bed. I pulled back the heavy covers and climbed in. The silk felt like a mockery against my skin. I reached over and clicked off the lamp.

The room went dark, except for the tiny, red glow of the camera's power light. It looked like a demon's eye in the corner.

I'm still here, Darian, I thought as I closed my eyes. 

I'm still here.

Darian's POV

The screen went black and white as the infrared kicked in. I watched her lie down. I watched her chest rise and fall in the steady rhythm of someone pretending to be asleep.

She was a Hayes, alright. Stubborn to the point of suicide.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking in the silent office. 

A slow smile spread across my face. I hadn't felt this alive in years. Most people were so easy to break. They crumbled the moment the money was on the table.

But Liora? 

She was going to be a masterpiece.

I picked up my glass and took a slow sip of the scotch. The burn felt good as always.

"Let the game begin, Liora," I whispered to the monitor.

I watched her until the early hours of the morning, long after her breathing finally turned heavy and real. I watched the way she curled toward the center of the bed, even in her sleep, as if she were trying to protect something.

Tomorrow, the real work would start. Tomorrow, she would learn that in this house, there are no dreams...Only requirements.

I turned off the monitor and sat in the dark.

I could still see her eyes.

Liora's POV

I woke up because the sun was being too loud...

Yeah I know that sounds stupid. But that is exactly how it felt.

A single, sharp beam of light was hitting me right in the eye...

I tried to roll over, but the bed was too soft. I felt like I was being swallowed by a giant marshmallow.

I forgot where I was for a second. I thought I smelled the grease of the diner.

Then I felt the silk.

Oh Right. I'm a prisoner.

I sat up too fast. My head spun. The room was exactly as it was last night.

Perfect....Cold.

The little red light on the camera was gone. Now it was just a dull black eye watching me.

"Asshole," I muttered.

I looked at the nightstand. There was a piece of heavy paper sitting next to the black phone.

The handwriting was sharp and It looked like the person who wrote it didn't have time.

Rules for the Estate:

1. 07:00: Breakfast is served in the West Dining Nook.

2. 08:00: Medical vitals and nutritional intake.

3. 09:00 – 12:00: Personal time (West Wing Gardens).

4. 12:00: Lunch.

5. No contact with the Main Wing.

6. No contact with staff beyond basic requirements.

I looked at the clock. 7:15. I was already late for his stupid list.

I scrambled out of bed. I didn't even have my own clothes, so I went to the closet...

Everything was cream, beige, or green.

I grabbed grey leggings and a sweater that felt like it was made of foam...I felt like a fraud wearing it.

I walked out of the room and followed the smell of coffee.

The Dining Nook was all glass. It looked out over a garden that was so green it looked fake.

A girl was there. She looked about my age. She was setting a silver pot down.

"You're late," she said. She didn't look at me.

"I'm Liora."

"I know. I'm Anya." She scowled at a spoon. "I'm the one who gets in trouble when you sleep in."

"Sorry. The bed is... a lot."

"Is he here?" I asked. "Darian?"

Anya snorted. A real, human sound. "Mr. Volkov left at five. He doesn't eat with people like you."

"People like me?"

She stiffened. She realized she'd said too much. "Drink the green stuff. It's a requirement."

I took a sip of a glass filled with swamp-colored liquid. It tasted like grass and dirt.

"This is disgusting. I want a donut."

Anya let out a tiny laugh. Then she killed it.

"No donuts. Your body is a temple now. Or a greenhouse. Whatever he calls it."

"A greenhouse," I said. My chest felt tight. "Grow the plant, take the flower, throw away the dirt."

Anya gripped her silver tray. Her face softened for a split second.

"Just eat the fruit, Liora. Save your energy for the big things."

"What big things?"

"The Obsidian Circle," she whispered.

She turned and marched out before I could ask what that was.

I sat alone. The silence was so heavy it made my ears ring. "What the fuck the Obsidian Circle"I whispered

I reached for my father's journal. It was the only thing I had left that wasn't "V" branded.

I opened a random page. The ink was faded.

"The air in the city is getting thin, Lio. But as long as you can breathe on your own, you're free."

I touched the words. My eyes stung.

I can't breathe on my own here, Dad. He bought the air.

I tried to read more, but my mind was messy. I kept thinking about the camera.

Was he watching me read this? Was he looking at my father's secrets?

I slammed the book shut.

I walked out to the garden. It was beautiful, but there was a ten-foot wall beyond the trees.

I saw the silver wire at the top.

I wasn't a guest. I wasn't even a vessel.

I was a prisoner in a very expensive cage.

I walked back inside just as the doctor arrived. He didn't say hello.

"Sit. Vitals."

I let him take my blood. I felt like a ghost watching a movie of my own life.

When he left, I went back to my room.

The silence started to feel like a weight on my chest. I needed to move.

I walked to the door. I wanted to find a library. Or Anya. Or anyone.

I turned the handle.

It didn't move.

I turned it harder. I pulled. I pushed.

Locked.

"Hey!" I shouted. I banged my fist against the wood. "Open the door!"

No one answered.

I slumped against the door and slid down to the floor.

He hadn't just bought my time. He had bought my air.

"I'm still here," I whispered.

I reached for the black phone in my pocket. My hand was shaking.

I looked at the only name in the contacts.

Darian.

I pressed the button. I didn't care if he was busy. I didn't even care about the rules.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

I held my breath, waiting for the monster to answer.

Liora's Pov

The phone kept ringing.

Each tone felt like a hammer against my ribs...

I held the device to my ear, waiting for his voice. Waiting for the monster to explain why I was locked in a room like a piece of evidence...

Pick up. Pick up, you coward.

The line went dead.

No voicemail. No answer. Just a cold, digital click.

I stared at the screen. He didn't even care enough to tell me no.

Suddenly, I heard the lock turn.

I scrambled to my feet, dropping the phone into my pocket.

The heavy doors swung open.

It wasn't Darian.

It was a woman who looked like she was made of iron and vinegar. Her hair was a tight, grey knot. Her eyes were like two cold coins.

Behind her stood the two statue maids from the night before.

They were carrying empty plastic bins.

"I am Mrs. Gable," the woman said. Her voice was sharp. It cut through the quiet. "The head of the household."

"You locked me in," I snapped. My heart was still hammering.

"The West Wing is secure for your safety," she said. She didn't even blink. "Now, step aside. We are here for the intake."

The maids pushed past me. They didn't ask and didn't even bother to say excuse me.

They just went straight for the pile of my old clothes on the bathroom floor.

The pink uniform. My socks. Everything.

"What are you doing?" I lunged toward them.

"Discarding the waste," Mrs. Gable said. "Mr. Volkov was clear. Nothing from the outside enters this ecosystem. It is a bio-risk."

"It's just clothes!" I shouted.

They threw the pink dress into a bin. It looked pathetic. It looked like a dead skin.

Then they moved toward the bed. Toward my father's satchel.

Not that. Not that.

My brain screamed. I felt a cold chill wash over me.

I stumbled toward the nightstand. My hands were shaking.

The journal was sitting right there. It was wide open.

I grabbed it and shoved it under the heavy silk duvet.

I did it just as one of the maids reached for the satchel.

"Wait!" I recoiled, grabbing the bag first.

I pulled out a thick, navy blue sweater. It was old. The elbows were thin. It smelled like peppermint and old books.

It was my father's favorite.

"You can't have this," I said. I clutched it to my chest.

Mrs. Gable stepped closer. She smelled like bleach.

"That is a rag, Miss Hayes," she said. "It is unhygienic. Give it to me."

"No."

"Sentimental value is a weakness in this house," Gable said. She reached out. Her fingers were like claws. "It clutters the mind. Mr. Volkov wants you focused."

"I don't care what he wants!"

I lunged away from her and backed into the corner, clutching the wool.

It was the only thing I had left that felt like love...

The maids stopped and looked at Mrs Gable.

"Mr. Volkov did say she could keep the bag," one whispered.

Gable's eyes narrowed. She looked at the sweater. She looked at me like I was a bug she wanted to squash.

"The bag. Not the filth inside it."

"He said everything in the bag stays!" I lied. I hoped Xavier hadn't told her the truth.

Gable stared at me for a long time. The silence was violent.

"Keep your rag for now," she spat. "But if I see it outside this room, it goes in the incinerator."

She turned to the maids. "Finish the purge. Search the drawers. Anything not issued by the Volkov Estate is to be burned."

They tore through the room. They checked the closet. They checked the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart in my throat.

The journal was inches away from their hands.

Don't look. Don't look under the blanket.

I felt sick. If they took the journal, I would have nothing.

They finished with the bins. The room felt even emptier now.

"Lunch is at twelve," Gable said. She walked to the door. "Do not be late again. The schedule is not a suggestion."

They walked out. The door clicked.

Locked again.

I waited until their footsteps faded.

I lunged for the duvet and pulled the journal out.

I hugged it along with the sweater. I was shaking so hard I couldn't breathe.

They're going to take everything.

I realized then that Darian didn't just want a baby.

He wanted a blank slate.

He wanted to erase Liora Hayes until there was nothing left but a body.

I walked to the window and looked at the wire.

I felt a sudden, sharp realization.

I wasn't just staying here to save my mother.

I was staying here to survive him.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

A text message.

Darian: I am busy.Follow the schedule.

I stared at the words.

My grip tightened on the journal.

I wasn't going to be a blank slate...

I was going to be his worst nightmare.

I looked at the navy blue sweater. I pulled it on over my expensive grey one.

It was too big. It was ugly. It was "waste."

But it was mine.

I looked back at the door.

I needed a plan. I needed to know what the Obsidian Circle was.

And I needed to find a way to make Darian Volkov look me in the eye when I talked.

The sun went behind a cloud. The room turned grey.

I sat on the floor, hidden from the camera by the bed, and opened the journal to the last page.

There was a name written there. 

Someone my father knew.

Someone who might still be alive.