Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Six
Isabelle sat on the chair at the windowsill, staring at the birds as they flew in the sky, and the pets that roamed around the grounds. It was a full moon, and she smiled down on her people brightly. She wondered if the moon goddess could see her, if this was what she wanted for her, the life she thought she deserved. A life of continuous servitude. Her lips lifted in a sad smile; they were free. A luxury that she had enjoyed until Lucien had wrenched it from her hand and thrown her down into a life of bondage.
She tilted her head back, letting the moonlight illuminate her face. The cool glow touched her skin, pale and delicate, highlighting the faint curve of her lips as they lifted into a small, sad smile. Could the moon goddess see her? Did she even notice the lives of the mortals below, the quiet suffering of a girl who had once been free? Isabelle closed her eyes, imagining the goddess peering down from her celestial perch, wondering if she approved of the life Isabelle now led—or if she even cared. Perhaps she was always destined to be a servant, her desires and her freedom irrelevant to anyone’s grand design. A life of quiet servitude, structured, controlled, and confined, was all she had now. All she had ever known since Lucien had come like a storm and ripped away the life she had thought she deserved.
She raised her knees up to her chin and wrapped her hands around it, closing her eyes against the immediate irritation caused by the sound of the rattling at her feet.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she caught her reflection in the glass. Her hair had been washed and brushed and was up in a fancy hairdo on the insistence of her mate. He had also insisted that she be dressed in the finest of clothing every day, so there she sat, dressed in a vintage silk dress.
She remembered he had also told his servants to cater to her every need. Her every need except taking her chains off and letting her go. No, that one was out of bounds.
Isabelle could not help but notice that despite his psychotic behavior, his people respected him. Some loved him even. She wondered why. She wondered what it was they saw that she could not see. She wondered if they were blind to his madness; she wondered why no one had challenged him for the position of alpha. She wondered if they thought him the best leader because they were all as mad as he was; maybe he was just a reflection of who they were, and that was why they didn’t do anything wrong in what he did.
She sighed heavily and stood up. She looked around the room, unsure of what to do. The room was becoming smaller; she could feel it. The more time she spent in there, the more the room seemed to decrease in size. It felt as though the walls were closing in on her.
She walked over to the full-length mirror in the room and stared blankly at her reflection. She looked like a princess…a Disney princess. Perhaps, she was Cinderella, locked up in a castle, me allowed to do nothing else than be pretty for her mate and exist in bondage. Tears gathered in her eyes. She wondered why she hadn’t seen her mother yet. Couldn’t she see that her daughter was in trouble? Couldn’t she see that her daughter badly wanted to escape from this place that was draining her? Why did no one ever show up for her when she needed them to? Why did they always have to be late or never show up at all?
Where was Khalil? What was taking him so long? Did all the things he said about wanting a second chance with her have no meaning? Were they all empty stories? Lies? A way to get JT to remain by his side indefinitely and faithfully? Where was her husband?!
Her eyes fell upon her mother’s diary, lying untouched on the desk. A fragile weight of unspoken history pressed down upon her. She had avoided it ever since Lucien had taken her, fearing the memories and truths it might reveal. Survival had consumed her; escape had been her only focus. Now, curiosity mingled with fear as she reached for the book. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it, the fragile pages whispering secrets she had not yet been ready to hear. What had her mother endured? What joys, what sorrows had shaped the woman who had raised her? She lingered over the first page, hesitant, unsure if she was prepared to enter the life of the woman who had given her life.
She slowly reached down and picked up the book, unsure if she wanted to read it, if she was ready to catch a glimpse into the mysterious woman that was her mother. As she held the book in her hands, she wondered what kind of life she had lived. She wondered what kind of friends, what family, she had come from? Where were her people?
Just as she tried to flip open the first page of the book, a knock sounded at her door. She didn’t answer; she didn’t need to. The knock was always just a warning before her door was opened. But not this time, this time, whoever was on the other side of the door waited patiently.
Isabelle’s brows drew down in a frown. She carefully let her book down on the table and turned to the door. She tried to read the presence of whoever was on the other side…smell them…something, but found she couldn’t. She looked down at the chain at her feet in disgust. The wolfsbane in the chain had severely weakened her powers.
She sighed heavily as the knock came again, loud but unsure.
“Come in!”
The door creaked open, and Lucien stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a sudden, shifting shadow. He moved slowly, deliberately, and as he did, the door swung shut behind him with a soft thud, sealing the space between them. For a long moment, he did not speak. His eyes swept the room with meticulous attention, traveling over every corner, every piece of furniture, as though he were seeing it—and her—for the very first time. There was a careful deliberation in the way he observed the space, an intensity that made the air between them feel heavier, almost tangible.
Isabelle remained rooted to the spot, her heart hammering painfully against her chest. Her hands hung at her sides, fingers twitching unconsciously, as she tried to read the expression on his face. Confusion twisted inside her like a knot that refused to unravel. She could feel the tension in the room, the subtle shift in energy, and yet she could not make sense of it. Every instinct screamed caution, but another, more fragile part of her wanted to believe there was something different in him tonight—a change she could neither define nor trust.
Her eyes followed his gaze as it traveled slowly across the walls, lingered over the polished floor, the heavy curtains, the desk with her mother’s diary resting on it, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, it came to rest on her. And in that moment, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them in the quiet, tense space. Isabelle swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat, as a wave of uncertainty and apprehension washed over her. She did not know what he was thinking, nor could she predict what he might do next. All she knew was that nothing about this encounter felt ordinary.
And then finally, his eyes settled on her, and she heard a sharp intake of breath.
“You look beautiful…” he said.
Isabelle’s frown deepened. There was something wrong. He felt wrong. He felt like a different person. His eyes didn’t have that childlike wonder in them; he seemed aware of himself. He seemed kinder. This just served to puzzle Isabelle further.
“How are you doing?” He asked, and rocked himself back on his feet, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes everywhere but on her.
“What is wrong with you?” Isabelle asked, her hands balled into fists, the anger she felt bubbling over to the surface.
How dare he? How dare he come in here and act like her suffering wasn’t his fault?
Lucien seemed confused. “What?”
“How dare you ask me how I’m doing when you locked me up in here like a common slave?!” She asked, screaming at the top of her lungs, tears burning at the back of her eyes as she pointed down to her shackled ankle.
Lucien’s eyes followed her finger, and he swore loudly as his eyes found the chain. Isabelle watched in bewilderment as he swore loudly and dropped to his knees. She watched as he ripped the chain off her ankle with his bare hands, ignoring the burning sensation. A loud gasp escaped her lips as he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently on the lush covers.
Isabelle was confused. Terribly confused. What was happening?
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
“What is wrong with you?” She asked, her voice barely above a breathless whisper. “Who are you?”
Lucien turned away from her, refusing to look at the damage he had caused. He was ashamed, terribly so. But how would he explain that it’s not what she thought it was?
“I’m sorry…” he said.
“What?!” Isabelle exclaimed. “That’s all you’re going to say?!”
Lucien shook his head. “I could explain, but I doubt that you would understand,” he answered. “But please, my love, understand that it was never my intention to hurt you…that was the other guy.”
Isabelle’s brows furrowed deeply, knitting together as confusion twisted in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to follow the thread of his words, but it felt as though he were speaking an entirely foreign language, one she had never learned. Each syllable that passed his lips seemed both familiar and alien, like echoes of a thought she almost understood but couldn’t quite grasp. She could hear the words clearly, the tone of his voice, the slight tremor that betrayed his own unease, but the meaning behind them seemed to slip away from her with every passing second.
Her pulse quickened, a fluttering storm of uncertainty rising in her chest. The sentences he formed, while simple on the surface, carried layers of intent and emotion that eluded her comprehension. It was exhausting, trying to piece together what he truly meant, trying to discern sincerity from guilt, apology from justification. Isabelle felt as if she were standing on the edge of a vast, uncharted ocean, trying to make sense of the waves crashing around her, each one carrying hints of truth she could barely hold onto.
A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as she tried once more to organize her thoughts, to force sense from the confusion, but it was like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands—every attempt slipped through her fingers. Her heart ached, a deep, raw ache that mingled with anger and disbelief. How could someone she had feared, someone who had caused her so much pain, now speak with such a tone of gentleness and remorse, leaving her in a state of helpless bewilderment? It was exhausting, infuriating, and terrifying all at once.
“What?!”
Lucien sighed heavily. He didn’t want to, but he knew that he would have to. He could not simply apologize his way out of the damage that he had done. He took a deep breath, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He had brought her to his abode to explain the truth to her about Khalil and her powers. It had been his idea to bring her there, but the other guy…he had been unnecessarily violent.
“I…I will tell you everything,” he said finally. “But first, I am going to get you a doctor to see to those wounds.”
And with that, he walked out of her room, taking her chains with him and leaving a very confused and dumbfounded Isabelle staring after him.
Isabelle remained on the bed, stunned, her mind a storm of questions, doubts, and emotions too complex to untangle. She stared at the empty doorway, trying to process what she had just witnessed, the whirling thoughts threatening to pull her under.
Time stretched in the quiet room. The moonlight shifted slowly, brushing across the walls, highlighting the emptiness she felt. She traced patterns on the bedspread, letting the cool silk slide through her fingers. She thought of Khalil, of promises and lies, of the diary she had left untouched. The questions tumbled endlessly in her mind, with no answers in sight. Her body ached, her soul ached, yet she could not look away from the soft shadows dancing across the floor, nor stop thinking of Lucien’s sudden tenderness, nor the strange, foreign sense of hope that lingered at the edge of her fear.
She let herself fall back against the pillows, closing her eyes, letting the rhythm of her breathing guide her. Thoughts of escape mingled with visions of Khalil’s face, of her mother’s possible words in the diary, of freedom that might still exist somewhere beyond the walls of this room. And in that quiet, she allowed herself the smallest, fleeting thought: perhaps she could endure, perhaps she could survive, perhaps she could understand.
The night stretched on, long and silent, carrying with it the sense of things left unsaid and promises yet to be made. Outside, the pets settled beneath the moonlight, birds drifted across the sky, and Isabelle, trapped yet strangely aware of her own resilience, began to breathe a little easier, a little lighter, despite the chains she had only just shed.