Chapter 42

Joy’s POV

I didn’t even realize when sleep took me, but like everything else in this cursed house, even rest came with a price.

I jolted awake, chest heaving, fingers clenched into the sheets. Another nightmare. Another twisted dream where Adrik’s darkness seeped into my subconscious like ink bleeding through paper. There was no escape from him—not even in my sleep. His shadow lurked behind every door in my mind, cold hands dragging me back into memories I wanted to forget.

I turned to my side, blinking against the low glow of the lamp, and reached for my phone on the nightstand. 3:47 AM.

The screen illuminated the room just enough for my thoughts to spiral again. My thumb hovered over a familiar contact—her. My best friend. The only one who still lived in the world I once belonged to, before chains and mansions and glass cages.

I missed her laugh. Her advice. Her lightness.

I’ve been so close—so close—to calling her, to hearing a voice that didn’t drip with control or violence or obsession. But I never pressed the call button. Not once.

Adrik doesn’t need another reason to hurt someone. And if he ever discovered her—another piece of me to dangle, to break—God knows what he’d do.

No. I can’t risk her too.

So I locked the phone and slipped it under my pillow, like hiding it could somehow bury the ache in my chest.

Elsa stirred at my feet, curling closer to my leg like a living comfort I didn’t deserve. I reached down and stroked her fur, swallowing the scream rising in my throat.

Rising from the bed, I moved in silence, careful not to wake the house with even the softest creak. I slipped on a jacket over my nightwear, its weight familiar and comforting, like armor before battle. My heartbeat echoed in my ears as I cracked the door open just slightly, peeking out into the dimly lit corridor. No footsteps. No shadows. Just silence. Good.

I took a breath.

Tonight’s mission was simple—get to the garden, take the pill, come back unnoticed. But in a house like this, nothing ever stayed simple. Every second I spent beyond that door was a gamble. I just hoped luck—or God—was on my side tonight.

I held Elsa close to my chest as I quietly opened the bedroom door. The hallway was dark and silent. I stepped out slowly, careful not to make a sound. I knew which floorboards creaked and avoided them, moving like a shadow.

My heart was racing. If a guard caught me, it would be over.

I passed the stairs, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. The red light from the alarm panel glowed dimly, reminding me I was still trapped in Adrik’s house. I made my way to the back door—the one that led to the garden.

I entered the code I had memorized from the guard’s notes. The door clicked open. I slipped outside, the cold air hitting my face. I rushed to the tree where I hid the pills and checked.

But… nothing.

My fingers dug deeper. I searched again. Empty.

Panic settled in my chest.

No. No, no, no.

They were gone.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. How could I forget? I had taken them to the room last night. The panic, the fear—it was all for nothing.

I stamped my foot against the cold dirt, frustrated at myself. My body was still tense, heart still racing from the scare. I glanced down at Elsa, who blinked up at me innocently from my arms, her tiny nose twitching.

With a sigh, I sat on the edge of the stone path, letting the night air cool my face. The breeze wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t ask for—but it was comforting in a way.

The breeze felt cooler tonight, brushing gently against my skin as I hugged the jacket tighter around me. I shifted on the bench beneath the tree, letting my thoughts wander. The silence was almost too peaceful—something I hadn’t felt in a while.

My eyes fluttered closed, just for a moment. I didn’t mean to stay long, just long enough to catch my breath… but the stillness, the way the wind rustled through the leaves, how Elsa curled beside my feet—it lulled me in. Before I knew it, sleep claimed me right there in the garden.

A gentle nudge against my shoulder dragged me from sleep.

“Ma’am…?”

My eyes fluttered open, blinking against the sting of morning light. For a second, I couldn’t place where I was—the crisp air, the distant chirping, the dampness clinging to the hem of my dress. Then it came back to me: I’d fallen asleep in the garden.

One of the new maids stood in front of me, wide-eyed and unsure, as if she was debating whether waking me had been a mistake. Her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her apron.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said in a hushed voice. “You weren’t in your room, and I… I thought something might’ve happened.”

I pushed myself up slowly, sweeping my hair away from my face. Elsa stirred at my feet, stretching with a quiet yawn.

“It’s fine,” I murmured. My muscles protested slightly, stiff from the wooden bench, but somehow the rest had been deeper than anything I’d found in my bed lately.

The maid lingered, lips parted like she had more to say. I didn’t give her the chance.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

She nodded quickly and scurried off.

I glanced down at Elsa, who blinked up at me sleepily, then rose to follow as I turned toward the house—my little escape under the stars sealed in silence.

The rest of the day moved in a blur.

I took a long, hot bath, letting the steam cling to my skin as I scrubbed every inch of myself clean. The water turned cold before I stepped out.

Elsa’s bath came next. She squirmed and growled through it, tail tucked, ears back like I was subjecting her to some cruel punishment. But afterward, she nestled against my legs, clean and warm, her little sighs of contentment. By the time I dried her off, she was sulking but spotless.

Lunch came and went. I sat at the far end of the table, the new maid—Clara, I think—keeping her eyes glued to her plate. She didn’t speak unless I addressed her, and even then, her answers were clipped, careful. Like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Or maybe she just didn’t want to know me. I couldn’t blame her.

Afterward, the walls of the house felt too tight again, too heavy. So I slipped outside just before sunset, drawn back to the garden like a moth to its last flicker of warmth.

The bench was still there. Still damp. Still waiting.

I sat without thinking, inhaling the cool air like it might make me feel human again. Elsa laid at my feet once more, her head resting on her paws, eyes half-closed.

The sky was streaked with shades of amber and bruised purple, the last light of the day sinking behind the trees. I leaned back against the bench, arms crossed, watching the wind stir the tall grass.

Somewhere inside, the staff would be finishing up their duties, lights flickering on one by one in the windows. I didn’t want to go back in. Not yet.

Elsa shifted beside me, letting out a quiet huff. I reached down absently, fingers threading through her fur. She was warm. Grounding.

The garden was still—untouched, like time had paused just for us. No footsteps, no voices, no doors creaking open. Just the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves overhead.

A throat cleared behind me.

I turned, annoyed, to find one of the guards standing just beyond the hedges. He didn’t meet my eyes—just stepped forward, arm outstretched.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he said quietly. “It’s Mr. Adrik. He’s on the line.”

My stomach turned, slow and cold.

I stared at the phone in his hand, its screen already lit, the call waiting.