Chapter 30
Lirael
I heard footsteps moving toward the interior—they were wrapping up, heading inside for their actual meeting. This was my window. My chance to slip away while they were distracted, while Sebastian's attention was divided.
I waited until the terrace door clicked shut, counting to thirty in my head—slow, measured beats that felt like hours—before I dared to move. The ivy released my hair with what felt like reluctance, and I touched the nearest leaves in silent gratitude, a whispered thank you that was more feeling than words.
Then I was moving, fast and low through the gardens, using every shadow and blind spot I'd clocked on the way in. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt, and my hands were still shaking, but I forced myself to move with purpose, with control.
Don't panic. Don't fuck this up. You've got one shot at making this look natural.
The parking area came into view—four guards still unconscious where I'd left them, slumped in various positions of drug-induced sleep.
Now comes the really tricky part.
I couldn't just walk back to the car and climb in like nothing had happened. Sebastian would have sensors, monitors, ways of tracking when doors opened or closed. I needed to make it look like I'd never left in the first place, which meant approaching from the vehicle's blind spot and using the emergency manual release.
I circled wide, staying low, my dress catching on decorative shrubs and making me want to scream with frustration. Finally I reached the car's rear quarter panel—the angle where the security cameras couldn't quite see—and my fingers found the emergency manual release, the one designed for situations where electronic systems failed.
Please work. Please, please work.
It clicked open silently, and I nearly sobbed with relief.
I slipped inside, pulling the door closed with agonizing care, every nerve ending screaming at me to hurry, hurry, hurry. Then I stripped off my mud-stained shoes, the improvised ivy crown, anything that might suggest I'd been anywhere other than this leather seat. The evidence went under the seat, shoved as far back as it would go, and I smoothed my dress with shaking hands.
My heart was beating so fast I felt lightheaded. My palms were slick with sweat. Every instinct I had was screaming at me that this was insane, that he'd know, that I was about to be caught in a lie that would end with my death or something worse than death.
But what choice do I have? What other fucking choice?
So I curled up in the position I'd been in when Sebastian left me here, adjusted my breathing to something slow and even that might pass for sleep, and closed my eyes.
Then I waited, running through my story in my head on an endless loop. I was asleep the whole time. I'm just a simple pet, dozing in my master's car. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.
My muscles ached from holding still. My breathing wanted to speed up with anxiety, and I had to consciously slow it, keep it even and deep. Every second felt like an hour. Every small sound outside the car made my heart jump into my throat.
---
Time lost all meaning in that suspended state. It could have been ten minutes or an hour when I finally heard movement outside the car—footsteps, voices, the sound of Sebastian's security team regrouping.
My entire body went rigid with terror before I forced it to relax again. Asleep. You're asleep. Deep, peaceful sleep. Nothing suspicious here.
Then the car door opened, and I felt the shift in air pressure, the subtle change that meant someone had entered my space.
I kept my breathing steady even though my lungs wanted to hyperventilate. Kept my eyes closed even though every survival instinct screamed at me to look, to see the threat. Kept every muscle relaxed even as my mind shrieked at me to run, fight, do literally anything other than lie here like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
"Miss Lirael never left the vehicle, sir," I heard one of the guards say, his voice shaky and uncertain. "We monitored her the entire time."
Good. The loop held. The hack worked. Thank fuck.
"Is that so." Sebastian's voice was soft, dangerous, the kind of quiet that preceded violence. I felt the car dip as he climbed in beside me, felt his presence like a physical weight pressing down on the enclosed space.
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit—
Then his hand touched my face—gentle, almost tender, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a delicacy that somehow made it worse.
"You can stop pretending now, little moon," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending unwanted shivers down my spine. "I know you're awake."
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—
But I kept my eyes closed, kept my breathing even, committed to the performance with everything I had even as my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. Maybe he was bluffing. Maybe he didn't actually know. Maybe—
His hand moved lower, resting against my throat, and I felt his thumb press lightly against my pulse point. Testing. Measuring. Calling my bluff.
"Your heartbeat is too fast for sleep," he said, almost conversationally, like he was discussing the weather instead of dismantling my lies. "And you smell like jasmine and earth. Strange, for someone who's been sitting in a car this whole time."
He knows. Of course he fucking knows. He always knows everything.
Terror flooded through me, cold and sharp, but still I didn't move, didn't react, because what else could I do? Admitting it would be suicide. My only chance—my only slim, desperate chance—was to hold the line, maintain the lie, hope that without concrete proof he couldn't—
"Lirael."
My eyes snapped open.
The name hit me like a physical blow, like he'd reached into my chest and squeezed my heart in his fist. All the air left my lungs in a rush. My carefully constructed mask shattered into a thousand pieces.
He knew. He knew my real name, which meant he knew everything—who I was, where I'd come from, what I'd done.
I'm so fucked. I'm so completely, utterly fucked.
Sebastian's amber eyes stared into mine, gold bleeding into the edges as his pupils dilated with something that looked almost like satisfaction. His hand was still on my throat, not squeezing but holding, possessive and absolute, a reminder that he could crush my windpipe any time he wanted.
"That is your name, isn't it?" he said softly, and there was something almost gentle in his voice, which somehow made it infinitely worse. "Lirael. I finally know what to call you."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.His thumb stroked across my pulse point, feeling my heart's frantic, rabbiting rhythm, and his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Say something," he commanded, still in that soft, dangerous voice that made my skin crawl. "Anything. I want to hear you speak your name."
But I couldn't. My throat had locked up completely, my tongue felt thick and useless, and all I could do was stare at him with wide, terrified eyes while my mind screamed at me to run, hide, fight, do anything other than sit here like a trapped animal waiting for the killing blow.
Move. Do something. Don't just fucking sit here—