Cora woke in pieces.
First, the softness beneath her — sheets she recognized, the bed she'd slept in for weeks now. Then the light — grey and muted, filtering through curtains someone had drawn. Then the silence — thick and heavy, pressing against her ears like cotton.
She kept her eyes closed. If she didn't open them, she didn't have to face what had happened. Didn't have to remember.
But the memories came anyway.
Blood. So much blood. Spreading across concrete, creeping toward her feet. Abernathy's eyes going empty. Damien's claws hooked into flesh, pulling, tearing—
"You're just like him."
Her own voice, sharp and cruel.
"You're exactly like him. You just have better excuses."
Cora's eyes flew open.
The chamber was dim. Empty. The space beside her on the bed was cold — had been cold for hours, maybe longer. Damien wasn't here.
She sat up slowly. Her body ached like she'd been beaten, every muscle stiff and sore. Her head throbbed. Her throat was raw, though she couldn't remember screaming.
Maybe she had. In her sleep,In her dreams.
She couldn't remember those either.
The door opened.
Cora flinched, her heart slamming against her ribs. But it wasn't Damien.
The woman who entered was tall, grey-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, it was the silent servant. The one who never spoke, never reacted, never acknowledged Cora's existence beyond the tasks she performed.
She carried a tray — food, water, fresh linens folded beneath her arm. She set it on the table by the window without looking at Cora. Without greeting her.
"Wait."
The woman paused. Didn't turn.
"Where's Damien?"
Nothing. The woman continued toward the door.
"Please." Cora's voice cracked. "I need to know if he's— where is he? Is he okay?"
The woman stopped at the threshold. For a moment, Cora thought she might actually answer.
Then she walked out. The door clicked shut behind her.
The lock turned.
Cora stared at the closed door. Locked. She was locked in.
Not like before in the West Wing, not as a prisoner. This was different. This was Damien's own chambers. Their chambers.
And he'd locked her inside.
She didn't eat.
The food sat on the tray, untouched, growing cold. Cora sat on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the wall.
Time passed. She didn't know how much. The light through the curtains shifted — brighter, then dimmer, then dark. Night. It was night again.
How long had she been unconscious? Hours? A day?
She tried to feel for Damien through the bond. That constant hum that connected them, the thread she'd grown so accustomed to that she barely noticed it anymore.
It was there. Faint and Muted. Like hearing music through a thick wall — she knew something was playing, but she couldn't make out the melody.
Well at least he was alive. That much she could tell.
But he felt distant. Closed off. A door slammed shut between them.
Because of what she said.
"You're exactly like him."
The words echoed in her head. She'd meant them in the moment. Hadn't she? The blood, the violence, the casual brutality of watching him tear a man apart—
But Abernathy had deserved it. She knew that. Every broken bone, every scream, every drop of blood — he'd earned it a thousand times over.
So why had she lashed out at Damien?
Because it was easier than facing what she really felt.
The second day was worse.
Cora woke from nightmares she couldn't remember, her sheets soaked with sweat, her throat raw from screaming. The silent woman came and went — food appeared, dishes disappeared, but no words were exchanged. No information given.
She tried the door. Still locked.
She tried the windows. They opened, but they were three stories up, nothing but a sheer drop to the grounds below.
She was trapped. Again.
The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd started in a cage, and here she was again. Different room. Same prison.
Only this time, she'd built the bars herself.
Her mind kept circling back to that moment. Damien's face when she'd said those words. The way he'd gone still. The way something had shuttered behind his eyes, a door closing that she wasn't sure she could ever open again.
She'd hurt him.
A knock on the door.
Cora's head snapped up. She scrambled off the bed, her legs unsteady, hope flaring in her
"Cora? It's Mira. Can I come in?"
Not Damien. Mira.
"I—" Cora's voice was hoarse from disuse. "I don't think it's unlocked."
A pause. Then Mira's voice, softer now: "Yeah. I know. He won't let anyone in. But I wanted you to know I'm here. I've been coming every day, but that creepy silent lady keeps turning me away."
Every day. How many days had it been?
"Mira." Cora pressed her palm against the door, as if she could reach through it. "How long have I been in here?"
"Three days. Almost four." A pause. "Cora, what happened? No one will tell me anything. The Alpha's been... I don't know. Different. He won't speak to anyone. Even Marcus is walking on eggshells."
Three days. She'd lost three days.
"I can't—" Her throat closed. "I can't explain right now. But I'm okay. I think. I just need..."
What did she need? She didn't know.
"I'm going to keep coming," Mira said firmly. "Every day until he lets me in. You're not alone, okay? Whatever happened, you're not alone."
Cora's eyes burned. "Thank you."
Footsteps retreated. Then silence.
She slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the wood, her knees pulled to her chest.
Alone. Despite Mira's words, that's exactly what she was.
The fourth night, she felt him.
Not physically but Through the bond.
It was late, the deepest part of the night, when the estate was silent and the darkness pressed against the windows. Cora was lying in bed, staring at the canopy, not sleeping. She hadn't really slept since she'd woken up.
And then she felt it.
A pulse through the bond. Faint but present.
She sat up.
The door was still locked,but she could feel him now. Close. Just outside, maybe.
Close enough that the bond was straining toward him, reaching for its other half.
She got out of bed. Walked to the door. Pressed her palm against it.
"Damien."
Nothing. No response. But she could feel him — a presence on the other side, heavy and silent.
"I know you're there."
Still nothing.
"I'm sorry." The words came out broken. "What I said — I didn't mean it. Not really. I was scared, and I was— I couldn't process what I'd seen, and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair."
Silence.
"You're not like him. You're nothing like him. He took from me because he could, because he wanted to, because I was weak and alone and no one would stop him. But you—" Her voice cracked. "You killed him for me. You did something no one else ever did. You believed me. You avenged me."
Her forehead pressed against the wood.
"Please. Please don't shut me out. I can't do this alone."
For a long moment, there was nothing.
Just the silence and the darkness and the weight of everything unsaid.
Then — a sound. The lock clicking.
Cora stepped back as the door swung open.
Damien stood in the hallway. He looked terrible — dark circles under his eyes, stubble shadowing his jaw, his clothes rumpled like he'd slept in them. If he'd slept at all.
He didn't speak. Just looked at her with those pale eyes that held something raw.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
He moved. Fast, sudden, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His hands cupped her face
,rough, desperate, tilting her head back.
"Don't." His voice was hoarse. "Don't ever compare me to him again."
"I won't. I swear, I won't—"
He kissed her.
Hard. Bruising. A kiss that tasted like desperation and forgiveness and three days of silence. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, pouring everything she couldn't say into the kiss.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said quietly. "Not to him. To what I am. What I did."
"You saved me."
"I tore a man apart in front of you."
"He deserved it."
Damien closed his eyes. His forehead pressed against hers.
"I would do it again. A thousand times. For you, I would burn the whole world."
Cora touched his face. Traced the lines of exhaustion around his eyes.
"I know. That's what scares me." She swallowed. "But it's also why I'm still here."
He carried her to bed.
Not for anything more ,neither of them had the energy for that. He just lay down beside her, pulled her against his chest, and held on like she might disappear if he let go.
Cora pressed her ear to his heartbeat.
"Don't lock me in again," she said.
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"Yourself." A pause. "Me."
She lifted her head. Met his eyes.
"I don't need protection from you."
"You might."
"I don't." She said it firmly. "I need you. The real you. Even the dark parts. Especially the dark parts. Because those are the parts that fight for me."
He kissed her forehead. Gentle this time.
"Sleep," he murmured. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
She closed her eyes. Let his heartbeat anchor her.
For the first time in four days, she slept without nightmares.