Chapter 61 Chapter 61

Chapter 61 Chapter 61
Tito’s POV

I woke before the others, though “woke” is a generous word. It felt more like surfacing from a dark, heavy place that didn’t want to let go of me. The floor was cold as usual, stiffening my back, and my neck throbbed with that dull, familiar drag from the scar.

Three days in here, and the pain had become part of my morning routine — like stretching or brushing my teeth, except infinitely uglier.

The room was washed in pale gray light from the high window. It was too early for anything good.

I pushed myself upright slowly, careful not to wake Stella, who slept with her face tucked into Beatrice’s side like a child clinging to someone she wasn’t sure she trusted but needed anyway.

Beatrice’s arm was draped protectively around her. Neither of them stirred. They looked exhausted in the kind of way you don’t sleep off.

I rubbed my palms over my face, trying to chase the fog out of my brain. Another day. Another round of hunger gnawing at us. Another day of waiting for footsteps that meant trouble.

The footsteps came earlier than expected.

Heavy boots. More than two people approaching quick.

My pulse spiked so fast it hurt. I scrambled to my knees and nudged Beatrice. She stirred immediately, always alert, always halfway awake even when she slept.

“Someone’s coming,” I whispered.

She nodded once. Stella blinked awake slowly, her eyes glassy, her hair snarled from sleep. She didn’t even seem frightened anymore — just blank, tired, resigned.

The metal lock clicked loudly.
The door swung open.

Three men stepped in — not the usual two. And instead of their usual silent intimidation, all three carried something in their hands.

Plates.

Real plates.
Full plates.

And bottled water.
Cold bottled water.

I stiffened entirely as they came in and placed one plate before each of us. Rice. Stew. A bit of meat. Actual food. The smell alone made my stomach twist violently in on itself. The bottle of water glistened with condensation, little droplets slipping down the plastic.

Stella didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward like her restraints had been cut — except they hadn’t. She moved with the desperation of someone who didn’t care. She grabbed the bottle first, unscrewed it with shaking hands, and drank half of it in one go. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as she ate, shoulders trembling.

Beatrice didn’t touch hers.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at the men.

I hesitated too. The food looked too good, too intentional, too purposeful after days of scraps.

One of the men noticed me hovering over my untouched plate. “Eat,” he said gruffly. “It’s for you.”

I swallowed, forcing my voice not to crack. “Why so much today? Why… like this?”

He glanced at the other two, then shrugged. “You’ll need your strength. The boss wants you prepared.”

Prepared?

The word slithered down my spine like a cold hand.

Beatrice stiffened beside me, and I felt the dread radiating from her. If her face hadn’t already confirmed that this wasn’t good, the way her shoulders tightened certainly did. Stella didn’t even look up from her plate; she shoveled food in as if she were afraid it would vanish if she slowed down.

The man stepped back with the others, and after one last look, they left.

The moment the door shut, silence washed over the room — heavy, thick, suffocating.

I poked at the food. My appetite had drained out of me instantly, like someone had opened a hole in my chest. But I forced myself to take a bite. The flavor hit my tongue and nearly brought me to tears — not because it was delicious, but because it reminded me of home. Reminded me of meals I’d eaten without realizing how lucky I was.

Beatrice finally exhaled. “This isn’t good.”

I swallowed my mouthful with effort. “What does that even mean? What does the boss need strength from us for?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “but trust me, food this generous isn’t kindness. It’s preparation.”

Stella wiped her face with the back of her hand, avoiding our eyes. “They used to do this sometimes,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Before… before things.”

“What things?” I asked gently.

She shook her head quickly, shrinking into herself like a frightened animal. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Beatrice placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

I watched Stella chew slowly now, her crying easing but her hands still trembling around the spoon. She looked so small suddenly, despite being almost my age. Like she’d already been through hell once and was terrified of the return trip.

Beatrice nudged my plate. “Eat more. You’ll need it.”

I forced myself to obey.

After a few minutes, voices echoed down the hallway. Lighter, feminine voices. That alone was new — we’d only ever seen men here.

The door opened again.

Three women entered, wearing simple black clothes and expressionless faces. One of them carried a basket; another held a stack of folded fabrics.

“Stand up,” the first woman said. “All of you. You’ll be taken to shower.”

Stella froze. “Why?”

“No questions,” the woman replied. “Move.”

Beatrice stood first. She sent me a look — the kind that said, do not fight this, no matter how strange it feels. Then she helped Stella up gently, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

I rose last, my legs stiff, my thoughts racing. Shower? Why shower? Why today?

They lined us up and guided us out of the room into a long corridor. It was the first time we’d seen outside our cell in days. The building smelled of rust and damp concrete, and every few feet sat a bolted door identical to ours.

The shower room was cold, tiled, and industrial. The women handed us clean towels and simple soaps.

“Wash thoroughly,” one said. “You’ll be changed afterward.”

I glanced at Beatrice, who offered a small, tired smile. “At least enjoy the water,” she murmured. “Stella and I haven’t had a real shower in weeks.”

I stepped under the water, and my breath left me in a rush. It was freezing, but clean. The grime slid off my skin in gray ribbons. My hair felt lighter. I scrubbed until my skin tingled, until my fingers pruned, until the chill sank into my bones.

When we were done, they handed us dresses.

Real dresses. Soft fabric. Pale colors. Not fancy, exactly, but prettier than anything we’d worn since arriving. They helped brush and braid our hair, then applied light makeup — nothing dramatic, just enough to make us look… presentable.

I caught my reflection in the small mirror they held up.
I looked like a stranger.
A frightened girl dressed as a prop.

“Why are we doing all this?” I asked quietly.

“To make a good impression,” one of the women replied as if it were obvious. “The boss will see you later.”

My stomach tightened painfully.

Beatrice touched my hand. “Just listen. Don’t make trouble today. Not today.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes were haunted.

Stella stared at the floor, unmoving, accepting, hollow. She didn’t even flinch when they adjusted her dress or fixed her hair. She’d gone someplace deep inside herself, someplace far away from this room.

Once we were fully dressed, the women led us down another hallway — this one cleaner, newer, with dim lights and a softer smell. They ushered us into a bedroom.

A real bedroom.

A mattress on the floor. A blanket. A small lamp. No windows, but still a hundred times better than concrete.

The door shut behind us.

For a moment, none of us spoke. We all just stood there staring at the mattress like it was a mythical object.

Beatrice moved first, sitting down with a soft sigh, sinking into the cushion. Stella laid beside her, curling up instinctively. I joined them, lying back, letting the softness swallow my aching muscles. It felt luxurious and wrong at the same time.

“What do you think he wants?” I murmured into the dim room.

Beatrice took a long breath. “Preparation like this? It means he wants to look at us. Assess us. Choose something. I don’t know what yet, but it’s never harmless.”

Stella whispered, “He doesn’t like when girls look dirty. That’s all.”

My heart stopped for a beat.

Beatrice wrapped her arm around the girl. “Don’t think about it now,” she whispered. “Rest. We’ll deal with whatever comes.”

I didn’t rest. I couldn’t. I sat up and stared at the door, nerves buzzing through me like electricity. Every sound in the hallway made me flinch. My fingers dug into the soft mattress, searching for something solid to anchor myself to.

Hours passed. Evening crept in without us noticing.

And then, I heard footsteps.

The kind that didn’t belong to the guards or the women.
Confident. Heavy. Too familiar.

My breath caught in my throat.

The knob turned.

The door swung open.

And the world dropped out from under me.

Jax walked in.