The afternoon dragged. I spent most of it staring at the ceiling, waiting for the door to open. 

In this house, you don't wait for things to happen; you wait for people to let you exist.

The lock eventually turned with a heavy thunk.

It wasn't Anya. Three people in white coats walked in and they didn't look like the friendly nurses at the community clinic. They looked like they belonged in a high-end tech lab. They were carrying silver cases and tablets.

"Good afternoon, Liora," the man in the lead said. He didn't offer a name. "We are here for the initial baseline. We need to establish your physical stats before the next phase."

"I did the vitals this morning," I said, sitting up. I felt a little defensive, but I tried to keep my voice steady. I didn't want to give them a reason to call Marcus.

"That was a surface check," the woman said. She was snapping on blue gloves. The sound was sharp. "This is about biology. We need blood work, a full physical, and a nutritional panel."

They didn't even wait for me to agree. They just started setting up on the marble vanity. It felt weird seeing medical equipment next to my hairbrush.

"Sit on the edge of the bed, please," the lead doctor said.

I did what I was told. I felt like a kid at the school nurse, except the stakes were a lot higher. I watched them pull out several small glass tubes.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"Hormonal mapping," he replied. He wasn't even looking at me; he was looking at his screen. 

"Mr. Volkov wants a clear picture of your health. We need to know exactly how your body reacts to the supplements."

"It reacts fine," I muttered. "I've never even had a cavity."

The doctors didn't laugh. They didn't even crack a smile. They just worked in silence. The woman wrapped a cuff around my arm to find a vein.

"I want to see my mom," I said. It wasn't a scream or a demand...Just a statement. "Xavier said she was stable, but I want to see the monitor. Just for a second."

The lead doctor paused. He tapped a button on his tablet. "I'll check the permissions."

I waited. My heart was thumping a little harder, but I stayed still. I didn't want to be "difficult." I just wanted to see my mum.

A moment later, he turned the tablet toward me. It was a live video feed. It was grainy and the colors were a bit washed out, but I saw her. She was lying in a hospital bed, her eyes closed. There were wires and tubes, but the machine next to her was showing a steady green line.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound was faint, but it was there.

"She's sleeping," the doctor said.

"She looks peaceful," I whispered. I felt a lump in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn't afford to get messy right now.

He turned the tablet away. "Ten seconds. That's the limit for now. Now, let's get this blood draw over with."

I held out my arm. I looked at the window while the needle went in. I watched a bird land on the stone wall outside. It looked at the barbed wire and then flew away. I wished I could do the same.

The woman drew four tubes of blood. It felt like a lot, but I didn't complain. I just wanted them to finish and leave.

"Your iron is a bit low," she noted, looking at a quick-read sensor. "We'll adjust your morning drink. Make sure you finish the whole glass tomorrow."

"It tastes like a lawnmower," I said.

"It's a requirement," she replied.

They spent another twenty minutes checking my reflexes and my breathing. They treated me like a car getting a tune-up and they didn't ask how I was feeling or if the room was comfortable. They just gathered their data.

When they were done, they packed everything back into their silver cases.

"The results will be sent to Mr. Volkov's office tonight," the lead doctor said. "Try to get some rest. Your body needs to stay relaxed for the process to work."

"I'll try," I said.

They walked out, and I heard the lock engage again.

I was alone. The room felt even bigger than before. I walked over to the vanity and moved my hairbrush back to where it belonged. I hated that they had touched my things.

I went to the bed and pulled my father's blue sweater closer to me. I didn't put it on yet; I just held the sleeve but It felt real. The doctors and the silk and the cameras felt like a fever dream-a weird, expensive dream that I couldn't wake up from.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Darian: The doctors say you were cooperative. Good. It makes things easier for everyone.

I stared at the text.And no,I didn't feel good about it. I felt like I had just passed a test I didn't want to take.

I laid back on the bed and looked at the camera. I didn't glare at it this time. I was just tired.

"I saw her, Dad," I whispered to the empty room. "She's okay for now."

I closed my eyes. The house was quiet. No sirens, no rain on the city streets, no chatter from the diner. Just the hum of the air conditioning.

I thought about the list of rules. I thought about the "dead zones" Anya mentioned.

Tomorrow, I would go to the garden. I would walk the paths and count the steps. I would be the perfect asset on the outside, but on the inside, I was going to keep my father's secrets safe.

I drifted off to sleep with the taste of that green juice still in the back of my throat. It was a long way from the life I knew, but as long as Mom's heart was beating, I could handle the white coats.

I just had to keep playing the game.

Four days. 

That's how long it took for the walls to start moving in. It was four days of green juice, four days of silent meals, and four days of being poked by people who didn't even know my last name. 

I felt like I was disappearing into the architecture of the house. The West Wing was beautiful, but it was a desert where there were no voices and no mess...Every morning, I woke up and counted the steps in my room, and every afternoon, I walked the garden and counted the bricks in the wall. I was becoming a machine, and the thought that I needed to see something real...a person who wasn't a statue and hit me during lunch.

I stared at the bowl of expensive ass soup on my table, which was perfectly seasoned but also incredibly boring! I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. I didn't even wait for Anya or a signal from the staff. I just walked out of the dining nook and toward the long hallway that led to the library, the place Anya called the border.

 I felt my heart start to thud in a fast, messy rhythm and my mind told me not to do it, to just go back to my room, but I told myself I wasn't a dog...

I kept walking until I reached the library where the thousands of books stood like a wall and Noo! I didn't stop there. I crossed the threshold into the dark hallway Anya had warned me about....the Main Wing. The air felt different here; it was colder and smelled like old wood and expensive cigars. 

The marble under my feet changed from white to a dark, veined grey. I took ten steps, then twenty, waiting for a siren to go off or for the house to scream, but there was only silence. I reached a set of massive, black double doors that were taller than me. I reached for the handle, my hand shaking with the thought of the monster being home...

Before my fingers could touch the metal, a shadow moved. It was fast and heavy. A hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around so quickly I gasped, stumbling back as my sneakers squeaked on the stone. It was Marcus. He didn't say a word, just stood there blocking the doors in a black suit that looked like it was holding back a mountain of muscle. His face was blank and he didn't even look angry; he just looked like a stone wall.

"Step back Miss Hayes ," he said, his voice deep enough to vibrate in my chest.

"I wanted to see the rest of the house," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

"You belong in the West Wing."

"I'm not a piece of furniture, Marcus. I can walk where I want." I tried to push past him, but it was like trying to push a skyscraper. He didn't move or even lean.

"The Main Wing is restricted," he insisted.

"By who? Darian?"

"By the contract you signed."

I felt a surge of heat in my face as I told him the contract said I lived here, not that I was a prisoner in one wing. ..Marcus just told me safety was the priority. I asked him what he was protecting me from...the hallway or the curtains and lunged to the left to dodge him. He moved with a speed that didn't make sense for a man his size and blocked me again. He didn't touch me this time, but he was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. He told me to go back now, but I stood my ground and refused to look away.

The heavy doors behind him groaned as they opened with a sound like a thunderclap. I looked up and saw Darian standing there. He wasn't wearing a suit today, just a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked tired and hot....Um I mean dangerous. 

His blue eyes landed on me, and the tension from the camera-stare on that first night came rushing back as a physical weight that made it hard to breathe...

"Marcus," Darian said, his voice too calm. "Leave us."

Marcus nodded and walked away into the shadows without looking at me. Now it was just me and the man who bought my life. Darian stepped forward and didn't stop until he was only a foot away, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him.

"You're a long way from home, Liora," he said.

"I'm bored, Darian," I snapped. "And I'm tired of being locked in."

"The doors were open," he pointed out. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be standing here."

I told him the doors to my room were locked at night and the maids treated me like a hazard. Darian looked at my shoulder for a long time and told me Marcus didn't touch me that hard because he was watching the feed. 

I asked him what he was hiding in this half of the house, dead bodies or the rest of his soul, and his lip curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. He told me there were things in this wing I wasn't ready to see, but I told him I didn't care about his business.

"You should," he said. "It's paying for your mother's heartbeat." The reminder hit me like a punch and I flinched, which he saw. He stepped closer until I could smell leather and something sharp like 

ozone. He asked if I wanted freedom, and when I said yes, he reached out and grabbed a lock of my hair, running it between his fingers.

"You are free to go anywhere you want," he whispered, giving me a spark of hope before adding, "But don't ever forget who owns the ground you're walking on." 

He let go of my hair and told me I could use the library and walk the halls, but if I touched a closed door, Marcus wouldn't be the one to stop me next time. I asked if that was a threat, and he said it was a fact because he doesn't make threats.

He looked me up and down and told me to go back to the garden because I looked pale and needed the sun. 

He turned around and walked back into the dark room, and the doors closed with a dull thud. I stood there alone in the dark hallway, my heart racing and my skin feeling like it was on fire. He had given me an inch, and I knew why; he didn't want a prisoner who hated him, he wanted a prisoner who forgot she was in a cage. 

I walked back to the West Wing, counting the steps, and when I got to my room I touched the journal under the mattress. I promised my dad I wouldn't forget as the phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't look at it. 

I just stared at the door, waiting for the next time it would open, knowing I needed to find Elias before Darian Volkov made me forget my own name.

The name Elias was a literal ghost. I spent the afternoon hidden in the library, tucked behind a shelf of dusty law books where the camera couldn't quite see my hands. 

I searched every database I could find on the guest computer and flipped through the back of every ledger. Nothing....No Elias.... No phone record. My father's only lead was a dead end, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. Maybe he's dead...Maybe he never existed. I shoved the journal deep into my waistband and headed back to my room before Marcus could find another reason to loom over me.

The silence of my suite was broken the second I stepped inside. Mrs. Gable was there, standing like a short bitch  in the center of the room. 

On the bed, she had laid out a dress that looked like it belonged to a nun...high neck, long sleeves, and a dusty grey color that made me want to gag. "Mr. Volkov expects you for a formal dinner tonight," she said, her voice clipping every word like a pair of shears. "Put this on. The stylist will be here in ten minutes to deal with... that." She gestured vaguely at my face.

"I'm not wearing that," I said, looking at the grey heap. "It look like a rainy day in a basement." Mrs. Gable's eyes turned into slits, and she told me that modesty was a requirement for an asset of my status. She said the dress was selected to reflect the purity of the project. 

Purity. Like I'm a prize cow. I waited until she marched out to check on the kitchen before I lunged for the walk-in closet.

I tore through the hangers, pushing aside the beiges and the creams that Darian clearly wanted me to wear. I needed something else. I needed to stop being the girl who got pushed around. If Darian wanted a masterpiece, I would give him one he couldn't handle. 

My hands snagged on something heavy and cold. It was a gown made of midnight-black silk, so dark it looked like it was drinking the light in the room. It was backless, with a side zipper that looked dangerously thin. It wasn't pure...It was a weapon.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the silk. It felt like cool water sliding over my skin, but as I reached for the side zipper, my fingers fumbled. The fabric was tight..too tight and the teeth of the zipper wouldn't catch. I strained, twisting my torso and cursing under my breath. 

My skin was flushed from the heat of the room and the frustration of being trapped in a piece of clothing I couldn't even close. Stupid dress. Stupid house.

The temperature in the room didn't just drop literally it died. I didn't hear the door open, but I felt the shift in the air. 

I froze, my hands still hooked awkwardly behind my ribs, my back completely exposed to the room. I saw him in the reflection of the full-length mirror. Darian was standing in the doorway, watching me struggle. He didn't look away he didn't even apologize. He just walked toward me with the slow, predatory gait of a man who owned everything he looked at.

I tried to pull the front of the dress up, my heart thudding against my lungs like a trapped bird. "You're not supposed to be in here," I gasped, my voice cracking. Darian didn't answer until he was standing directly behind me. I could see the contrast in the mirror: my pale, trembling skin against the sharp, dark lines of his expensive suit. He reached out, and I flinched, but he didn't grab me.

His fingers were like ice as they grazed the bare skin of my spine. I shivered, a violent jolt traveling from my neck down to my heels. He placed his hand at the base of the zipper and slowly, agonizingly, began to pull it up. I watched his eyes in the mirror. They weren't cold anymore; they were dark with something that made my stomach do a slow, sick flip. 

His knuckles brushed against my ribs as the silk tightened around my waist, sealing me inside.

"You are so weak, Liora," he whispered. His breath was warm against the back of my ear, a direct contradiction to the coldness of his touch. He didn't pull away once the dress was zipped. He lingered, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, right where my hair ended. My brain was screaming at me to run, to scream, to push him away. He's the monster. He bought you. But as his fingers stayed there, pressing just hard enough to make my breath catch, a new thought pushed through the fear.

 A messy, dangerous thought. He likes this. I looked at our reflection...the way he was looming over me, the way his jaw was set tight. Darian Volkov thought he was the one in control because he had the money and the walls. But he was reacting to me. He was breathing harder than he was a minute ago.

I leaned my head back, just a fraction of an inch, letting my hair brush against his hand. I saw his pupils blow wide in the mirror. He's human, I realized. He's a man, and men have weak spots. If I couldn't find Elias, and I couldn't find a way out through the walls, I would find a way out through him. 

I needed to play the part. I needed to stop fighting the cage and start seducing the guard.

"Is that what you think?" I whispered back, my voice steadier than I felt. I forced myself to turn around in his space, my chest almost brushing his. I looked up at him, my eyes tracing the hard line of his mouth. "That I'm weak?"

Darian's hand dropped from my neck, but he didn't step back. He looked down at me like I was a puzzle he was tempted to break. "I think you're a girl playing a game you don't understand," he said, his voice raspy. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering on my cheek for a second too long before he checked himself.

"Dinner is in five minutes," he said, his mask of ice sliding back into place. "Don't make me wait." He turned on his heel and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stood in the center of the room, my skin still tingling where he had touched me. I looked at the stranger in the black dress. I didn't look like the girl from the diner anymore. I looked like a threat. My heart was still racing, but for the first time, it wasn't just from terror. It was from the realization that even a man like Darian had a price. And I was going to make sure he paid it.