Chapter 33

I have been locked in here for what feels like an eternity. Maybe a week. Maybe longer. Time has lost all meaning.

The air is thick with decay, the stench so suffocating it clings to my skin, my hair, my lungs—like death itself has wrapped its fingers around me and refuses to let go. The bodies are still here. Rotting.

I try not to look at them.

I try not to think about the way their flesh has begun to bloat and darken, how the blood has dried in uneven pools around them. But it’s impossible. They are everywhere. Their lifeless eyes are on me, even in the darkness.

I press myself against the farthest corner of the room, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around them like they’re the only thing holding me together. I haven’t eaten since Adrik locked me in here. Not that it matters. Even if food were placed in front of me, I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

My throat is dry. My stomach aches, but not from hunger—from emptiness. From exhaustion. From fear.

The silence is the worst part.

The silence… and the buzzing.

A low, ceaseless hum fills the room. Flies. Dozens of them, swarming the corpses, their tiny wings beating against the stagnant air. I can hear them landing, burrowing.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I won’t look.

I can’t look.

But I can smell it. God, I can smell it.

Adrik did this.

He put me in here. Left me to rot with them. And yet, he doesn’t want me dead. Not yet.

This isn’t just punishment. It’s a lesson.

And I don’t know how much longer I can survive it.

I don’t sleep. I can’t.

Every time my body gives in, dragging me down into restless exhaustion, the screams start.

Their screams.

Echoing, shrill, pleading.

They beg me to save them, their voices cracking with terror, their hands reaching for me, their eyes wide with betrayal.

“Please, Joy!”

“Don’t let him do this!”

“I don’t want to die!”

In my dreams, I try to move, to stop him, but my feet are glued to the floor. My hands are slick with blood that isn’t mine. I open my mouth to scream, to tell Adrik to stop, but the words never come.

Then, one by one, the gunshots.

A deafening crack.

Bodies drop.

The blood spreads across the cold floor, rushing toward me like it knows my name.

And just before I wake—they turn to face me.

Their lifeless, rotting faces, eyes hollow, mouths parted in silent agony.

I jerk awake with a gasp, only to find that the nightmare never really ends.

Because they are still here.

The bodies. The smell. The flies, always the flies.

The heat has made it worse, thickening the scent, making it sink into my skin, my hair, my soul.

I press my hands to my ears, but I can still hear them.

The buzzing. The dripping. The whispers that don’t exist.

The maids are gone, but they won’t leave me alone.

The room is a graveyard of the forgotten.

I try not to breathe too deeply, but it doesn’t matter. The stench of rot is inside me now. It clings to my skin, seeps into my hair, coats the back of my throat until I can taste death itself.

I curl up against the cold wall, my body trembling from hunger, exhaustion, fear. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days. Weeks. Maybe forever. Time doesn’t exist in this prison. Only the bodies.

I can feel them even when I close my eyes.

Their lifeless stares boring into me.

Their twisted bodies, frozen in agony.

Their blood, thick and black, creeping across the floor like it’s reaching for me.

I tell myself I won’t look. I tell myself I can’t.

But my eyes betray me.

The first body is the closest. Her hands are still clasped together, fingers curled like she was praying before the bullet tore through her skull. The second one—her mouth is still open, frozen in the last scream that no one answered.

I press my hands over my ears, willing the echoes to stop.

But they never stop.

Every time I close my eyes, I see them again—falling, crying, begging.

“Please, Joy!”

“Don’t let him do this!”

“Help us!”

I jerk awake gasping, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. But waking up doesn’t matter. The nightmare never ends.

The room is silent.

Too silent.

Except for the flies.

They never stop. The buzzing, the crawling, the wet, sickening squelch of them burrowing into flesh. I feel them everywhere—on my skin, in my hair, under my fingernails—even when they aren’t really there.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t look. I won’t look.

But then—

A sound.

A shift in the air.

I know I’m not alone.

A hand brushes my ankle.

I freeze, my breath locking in my throat. No. No, they’re dead.

Lily.

She’s standing.

Her head tilts unnaturally to the side, her mouth still frozen in that last, breathless scream.

I squeeze my eyes shut, chanting in my mind, It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…

But when I open them again—

She’s closer.

I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming, the taste of copper flooding my mouth. The walls are closing in. The air is suffocating. The buzzing of the flies grows louder, almost deafening.

And then, in a voice that is both hers and not hers, Lily whispers—

“Why didn’t you save us?”

The door bursts open with a force that shakes the walls, sending dust spiraling through the dim light. I flinch, instinctively curling in on myself, my body too weak to do anything else. My breath is shallow, my limbs trembling from exhaustion, but even in my half-conscious state, I feel it.

His presence.

Adrik stands in the doorway, his frame a shadow of power, control, and something far more terrifying—satisfaction.

His three-piece suit is immaculate, untouched by the filth and death that saturates the air. Like he doesn’t belong to this place. Like he stands above it. The soft glow from the hall casts a faint shimmer over his cufflinks, his expensive watch—things that remind me how different our worlds are.

My world is on the floor, drowning in blood and decay.

His world watches from above, amused.

I force my gaze up to his face, and that’s when I see it—the flicker of pleasure in his eyes.

He’s enjoying this.

He drinks in my suffering like a fine wine, watching as I sit in the filth of the bodies he made me witness, the bodies he let rot around me. This was never just a punishment. It was a message. A lesson. A way to break me down, piece by piece, until I’m too shattered to resist.

“Get up.”

His voice is low, commanding, dangerous.

My body protests, muscles aching, my throat burning from dehydration. But I don’t move. I can’t.

His lips curl slightly—not in anger, but amusement. Like my defiance is something to be indulged. Like he enjoys watching me struggle.

Then, slowly, he steps forward.

His polished shoes land in a puddle of dried blood, but he doesn’t seem to care. The scent of death thickens as he moves closer, his towering frame casting me in shadow.

“I said, get up.”

I swallow, but my mouth is too dry. I can’t do this. I can’t keep fighting.

But if I don’t, what happens next will be worse.

With a shaky breath, I try.

My hands press against the cold, bloodstained floor, pushing myself upward, but my legs betray me. They’re too weak. I collapse back onto the ground, my vision swimming.

Adrik sighs. A slow, disappointed sound.

Then—the sharp click of his shoes as he kneels in front of me.

His fingers—ice cold—grip my chin, forcing my face up.

His thumb drags across my cheek, wiping away the streaks of dirt and dried tears. It’s almost gentle. Almost. But his grip tightens, just enough to remind me that he controls even this moment.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something dark, something pleased. “Such a mess.”

I want to pull away. I want to scream. But I can do nothing.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, his voice smooth, controlled—completely unaffected by the hell he’s kept me in.

His grip on my chin lingers for a second longer before he releases me, rising to his full height with effortless grace. I remain on the floor, shaking, broken, barely able to process his words.

Cleaned up.

Like the past days—or weeks, or eternity—rotting in this room meant nothing. Like the bodies surrounding me, their flesh peeling, their blood dried into black stains, are just another mess for him to wipe away.

Like I am just another mess.

My fingers twitch against the cold ground, pressing into the filth beneath me. The smell is unbearable now, sinking into my skin, my hair, my soul. But Adrik—Adrik stands above it all.

Untouched. Unbothered. Perfect.

The contrast is suffocating.

I don’t move. I don’t respond. I can’t.

His patience thins. “I won’t repeat myself, Joy.”

Then, suddenly—a hand in my hair.

Pain ignites across my scalp as he grips a fistful of my tangled strands, yanking me forward. A choked gasp rips from my throat, but I don’t fight him. I can’t. My legs are too weak, my body too drained.

“You reek of death,” he mutters, dragging me onto my knees. The way he says it… it’s not disgust. It’s amusement.

He tilts his head, studying me—taking in my sunken eyes, my chapped lips, the way my dress clings to my malnourished frame. I must look like a ghost. A shadow of the person I was before.

And yet, there’s something in his gaze.

Something pleased.

Something satisfied.

Because this—this is exactly what he wanted.

I try to speak, but my throat is too dry, my voice nothing more than a broken rasp. It doesn’t matter. Adrik isn’t looking for an answer. He’s already decided for me.

His grip in my hair loosens slightly as he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. His breath is warm. His words are ice.

“Let’s make you presentable again, shall we?”