Just as Bianca raised the bow and let the arrow fly, Rafael intervened—striking her hand away with swift precision.

The arrow veered off, missing me entirely.

His words sliced through the tension like a razor: “That’s enough. You’ll end up killing her.”

His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be. The menace in its calmness said more than a shout ever could.

Bianca slowly lowered the crossbow, but her gaze remained fixed on me—burning with loathing. Disappointment danced in her eyes. She had meant for the shot to end me. She had wanted to witness the life leave my body.

Rafael approached, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept over me like I was dirt tracked across his polished floor. His mouth twisted in revulsion.

“You never change,” he sneered.

I remained silent. What could I say that would matter? Nothing would alter what was already decided.

“Send her to the east wing.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Even Bianca’s face faltered for a beat. Bianca tilted her head, pretending to be worried, but I saw the subtle gleam of victory in her eyes. Morgana, ever the matriarch, was the first to speak. She stepped closer and pressed a hand to Rafael’s chest with maternal urgency.

“My son, think this through. She’s proven herself a threat to us—”

“She won’t die today,” he cut in icily. “That would be far too easy.”

Bianca groaned, rolling her eyes and casually twirling the bow. “You’re seriously no fun anymore.”

But Rafael paid her no attention. “She stays in the east wing. She speaks to no one. She gets no food or water unless I authorize it. If she insists on acting like a beast, she can live like one.”

He looked directly at me, a wicked smile twisting his features.

“Let’s see how long until she starts begging.”

+++

The east wing of the estate hadn’t been occupied in ages. It reeked of decay and stale air. Dust coated every surface, and the scent of mildew clung to the walls like rot. Moonlight barely slipped through the boarded-up windows, casting fractured shadows on the cracked stone floor.

The guards didn’t bother being gentle—they shoved me inside and slammed the heavy door shut with a resonating clang.

I barely managed to stay upright. Pain flared in my bruised limbs, and my ribs throbbed from the earlier scuffle. My throat was still sore from Rafael’s grip, each breath scraping like sandpaper.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, my fingers brushing the icy, uneven floor. There was nothing in the room. No bed. No chair. No blankets. Just crumbling walls and silence so loud it echoed in my ears.

Time passed like molasses. I couldn’t tell if it had been hours, or a full day. Hunger gnawed at my belly, but thirst tormented me more—my mouth dry, lips cracked, tongue thick and swollen.

Then, the silence broke. The door creaked open.

Morgana entered, regal as ever, carrying a silver tray. The aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and warm vegetables drifted into the room, intoxicating me.

She placed the tray on the floor in front of me. My fingers twitched. My body cried out for nourishment. I reached forward, hesitant but desperate.

CRASH.

The sound of porcelain shattering against stone rang out.

Morgana had smashed the tray with the heel of her boot. The food spilled everywhere, mixing with the filth and dust of the floor. Gravy smeared across the stone, broken bits of ceramic scattered like glass confetti.

She sighed as if inconvenienced. “Oh dear. What a pity.”

I stared in stunned silence. The savory scent now mocked me.

She looked down at me, her eyes devoid of pity, absent of humor—just contempt.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” she murmured, nudging a chunk of bread across the floor with her boot. “Go ahead. Eat. That’s all you’re good for, you little gutter creature.”

Her mouth curled into a cruel grin. “On your hands and knees. Prove how low you’ll go.”

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t—not because I was incapable, but because I refused to give her that satisfaction.

Morgana made a disappointed sound, clicking her tongue. “Still pretending to have dignity?” She crouched to my level, voice soft as poison. “You remind me of a mutt I once owned. Nasty thing. Bit me once.” She leaned in, trailing a gloved finger along my bruised cheek. “I had her put down.”

My stomach churned.

Behind her, Bianca entered, her laugh a grating, gleeful sound.

“Oh, please, Grandma. If she’s going to act like royalty, let her starve. Though, I think she’s just embarrassed. Maybe she needs a little help getting started.”

Dread prickled across my skin.

Morgana straightened. “Perhaps you’re right.”

She turned to the guards. “Hold her.”

“No—” I choked out.

But they were faster.

Hands gripped me from every side, pinning me down to the frigid stone floor. I writhed, but it was pointless.

Bianca stepped forward, picked up a soggy clump of bread smeared with dirt and sauce, and knelt beside me. She seized my chin with bruising force.

“Open wide,” she said sweetly.

I jerked my head away, but her fingers dug into my jaw like claws.

“Eat it, you worthless whore,” she snapped.

I spat the bread out and shoved her backward with everything I had. She stumbled, nearly falling, her face twisted in fury.

For a second, I thought she would strike me.

Instead, she smiled—a terrible, victorious smile—and pulled out her phone.

A burst of light.

Bianca’s voice chimed from the doorway. “That’s the shot. Gorgeous.”

My gut sank.

They had been filming the entire thing.

Bianca cackled, holding up the phone like a prize. “Can’t wait to see the internet eat this up. I wonder what the press will say when they see your true colors.”

Bianca’s laugh joined hers. “Rafael will love watching this. He always did like humiliation.”

Something inside me snapped.

I had endured silence. I had swallowed bruises and insults and lies. But this—this wasn’t just cruelty. This was erasure. This was a public crucifixion.

They left me like that. On the floor.

The darkness wrapped itself around me like a shroud. My body trembled, but I didn’t shed a single tear.

I sat, and I waited.

Not in defeat.

But in fury.

They thought they had shattered me. That they’d broken every part of who I was.

They didn’t realize all they’d done… was sharpen the knife.

The walls whispered secrets in that place.

I didn't know how long I had been lying on the cold floor of the east wing, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, listening to my own heartbeat. It was slower now, weaker.

Hunger gnawed at me, thirst burned my throat, but the real pain ran deeper than that. It was the kind of pain that settled in the bones—the kind that came with the realization that I was never meant to survive.

They didn’t want me alive. They wanted me to wither.

I closed my eyes. Maybe if I slept, I wouldn’t wake up. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Then—

Creak.

My eyes snapped open. A soft noise, barely there, came from the far corner of the room. The wall shifted. No—not the wall. A hidden panel. A door. Slowly, it swung open, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

And then, a hand. Long fingers. A firm grip. Reaching for me.

My body locked up. I should have screamed. I should have pulled away. But then a voice, low and urgent, whispered,

“Come with me. Now.”

I hesitated. The voice belonged to a man, but not one of Rafael’s guards. Not one of his monsters. It was calm. Steady.

“Who…” My throat was raw. The words scraped against my skin. “Who are you?”

A shadow shifted, stepping closer. Moonlight spilled through the cracks, illuminating sharp cheekbones, intense gray eyes behind thin glasses.

I knew him.

Dr. Elias Navarro. Rafael’s private physician. The man who had stitched up bullet wounds, whispered medical advice in hushed tones, and stayed in the background of Rafael’s world like a ghost. And now he was here. Helping me.

I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. But I didn’t have a choice, did I?

He knelt beside me, pressing something into my hand. A small vial. A pill.

“Drink this,” he murmured. “It’ll keep you on your feet long enough to follow me.”

I stared at it. “Why are you doing this?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I need you.”

A bitter laugh scraped out of me. “You need me? What could I possibly have that Rafael’s personal doctor doesn’t?”

Elias exhaled sharply. “I’ll explain later. But if you stay here, you’ll die.” He leaned in, his voice low, urgent. “I need you to save a life, and in return, I’ll give you yours back.”

Save a life?

My fingers tightened around the vial. I should have said no. I should have pushed him away. But I swallowed the pill.

Because survival was a game. And I never played to lose.

***

The passage behind the hidden door was cold and narrow, the air thick with dust. I stumbled, my legs weak from starvation, but Elias caught me before I hit the ground.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “We’re almost there.”

I didn’t ask where "there" was. I just followed.

We slipped through corridors I had never known existed, winding through the mansion like ghosts in the walls. The farther we went, the more my stomach knotted. Something about it felt… wrong.

Not like a rescue. Like a trap.

Elias finally stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, his fingers curling around the handle. He hesitated. Then he looked at me.

“You’re about to see something Rafael never wanted you to see.”

My pulse stuttered. “What?”

Elias didn’t answer. He just pushed the door open.

And my world tilted.

***

She lay on the bed, pale and unmoving.

A woman.

A breathing, living woman.

Her skin was paper-thin, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. Tubes snaked from her arms, IV drips keeping her tethered to life. Her long, dark hair spilled over the pillow like ink.

She looked like a ghost. But ghosts didn’t breathe.

I stepped closer, my knees weak. My hands trembled as I reached for her wrist, pressing two fingers against her pulse.

It was faint. But steady.

I swallowed hard. “Who is she?”

Elias didn’t answer right away. “She’s... She’s Rafael’s first wife.”

The words hit like a gunshot.

“No.” My head shook, rejecting the impossible. “That’s not—his wife is dead.”

“Is she?” Elias murmured.

I turned to him, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. “Rafael buried her.”

Elias let out a slow, measured breath. “He said he did.”

My stomach twisted.

“No,” I whispered again. “That doesn’t make sense. If she’s alive, then why—”

“He keeps her like this.” Elias gestured at the IVs, the sedatives. “Just enough to keep her breathing. Just enough to keep her silent.”

The room spun.

This woman—this corpse bride—was connected to Rafael’s greatest secret.

And I had just walked straight into it.