"If freedom had a scent, it would be the metallic tang of blood and sweat I left behind trying to take it."
I didn't sleep.
I lay there all night staring at the ceiling—counting the soft hums of the air conditioner like they were the last steady things in my life. The sheets were soft, warm, expensive… but it all felt wrong. Like I was lying inside a room built to be comfortable, not safe. A place meant to keep me contained, not cared for.
Every breath scraped against my lungs. Every blink dragged his face into my mind—cold, calculating, distant. A man built out of edges and silence. A man who didn't need to raise his voice to ruin me.
By the time the first gray light seeped under the curtains, my throat burned raw. My eyes throbbed from holding back tears. I felt cracked open, emptied––like something inside me had been carved out during the night.
The door opened without warning.
Kieran stepped in.
Perfect suit. Perfect posture. Perfect control. His presence chilled the room with an authority that didn't need volume. His gaze landed on me with the precision of a blade.
"You're awake."
Not a greeting.
Not a question.
Just a confirmation that I was exactly where he left me.
I stood too fast, the bed groaning beneath me. "Kieran, please. Let me leave. I can't— I can't even breathe knowing my son is in the hospital. I just need to know If he's okay . That he's safe."
He adjusted his cufflink like I hadn't spoken at all. A tiny, precise movement. That was always the worst part—his quiet indifference. That sharp, unshakeable calm that made me feel small, invisible, rearranged at his discretion.
"You'll eat first," he said. "Breakfast is ready."
"No." My voice broke. "I don't want food. I want my freedom."
"You want too many things."
Cold. Smooth. Unmovable.
"Don't do this to me," I whispered, trembling. "I've given you everything you asked for. My life is yours. Please… please just let me see my son. Let me hold him."
His eyes finally lifted to mine.
The look he gave me didn't burn—it froze. It hollowed me out.
"Aurielle," he murmured, soft and dangerous, "your movements are no longer dictated by what you want. Only by what I allow."
My breath cracked in my chest.
"You can't keep me here," I pleaded, the words barely formed.
"I can," he said, stepping closer, "and I will. Until I decide otherwise."
My knees trembled, folding under the weight of his certainty. I reached for him instinctively—desperation drowning logic. "Kieran, I'm begging you. I won't run, I won't fight you, I just—please, I need my son."
He took my wrist slowly, his grip firm, controlled. He peeled my fingers off his sleeve one by one. Each motion was a quiet humiliation. A lesson.
"You don't beg," he whispered against my cheek. "You obey."
He let go. My hand dropped like dead weight.
"I'll be back later, wife. Don't test me. The consequences will be severe."
Then he walked out. The door closed.
The lock clicked.
Something inside me snapped so sharply I felt the tremor in my bones. Hope—fragile, desperate—shattered.
I didn't feel strong enough to sob. I just sank to the carpet, letting silent tears fall. They burned hot down my cheeks, pooling into the thick rug beneath me. Helplessness tasted bitter, metallic, wrong.
Minutes passed.
The door opened again. Mrs. Gable entered, stone-faced and stiff, balancing a silver tray and fresh clothes.
"Breakfast," she said flatly. "You need strength."
"I don't want it," I muttered into the carpet.
She ignored me. Of course she did. She placed everything neatly and turned to leave.
But this time––
The lock didn't click.
My breath froze.
My heartbeat stuttered, then surged.
I lifted my head, staring at the unmoving doorknob.
Was it a mistake? A trap? A test?
It didn't matter.
I crawled toward the door, hand shaking so violently I almost missed the handle.
I turned it.
Unlocked.
Air slammed into my lungs like revival.
I slipped into the hallway, moving silently, bare feet sliding over marble floors polished to mirrors. Every shadow felt like a threat. Every breath a countdown.
A guard rounded the far corner.
I ducked behind a marble pillar, body pressed to the cold stone. He paused, rubbed his neck, then turned away—distracted by voices in another hall.
I moved again.
Down the staircase.
Past another guard, head bent over his phone.
Past the service corridor.
The back door.
Unlocked.
Sunlight hit my face like a slap. The air outside was thick, humid, alive. Freedom tasted hot and wild on my tongue. Gravel cut into my feet but I didn't care—I ran.
I flagged down the first cab.
"Downtown," I gasped. "Please—go. Fast."
The driver hit the gas without question. My nails dug into the seat. My heart hammered like it was trying to break out of my ribs.
Traffic slowed. Thick. Suffocating.
"Is there another way?" I whispered.
"Side street," he said. "Faster."
I nodded, pulse screaming.
For a moment, I believed I might escape.
Then the first black SUV slid from a side junction. Smooth. Silent. Predatory.
Fear iced my veins.
"Driver?" I whispered.
Another SUV blocked us from behind.
Then another.
Then two more.
Perfect formation. Caging us in.
The cab driver froze. I couldn't blame him. The air felt carved with danger.
My lungs refused to expand.
And then…
The door of the front SUV opened.
He stepped out.
Kieran.
Moving with that cold, precise grace that made the world shrink around him.
His presence swallowed the street.
His gaze locked directly onto the cab—onto me—before I even moved.
The cab felt like a cage. Too small. Too fragile.
And I…
I was caught.
He had found me.
"You thought I'd let you leave, wife?"