Chapter 47
Lirael
From my position in the ventilation shaft above the Crimson Room, I watched Sebastian drag Celeste toward the door.
I'd climbed up here an hour ago, following Damian's instructions. Crawled through the maintenance access until I found the grate directly above where the meeting would take place.
And now I watched as another woman wearing my face, my collar, my life was pulled into Sebastian's orbit.
He looked terrible. Pale, blood seeping through his shirt, moving like every step cost him. But his grip on Celeste's wrist never wavered.
I should have felt relieved. Victorious. I'd escaped. The plan had worked.
Instead, I felt hollow.
I watched him lean down, say something too quiet for me to hear. Watched Celeste nod, playing her part perfectly. Watched him tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with unexpected gentleness.
That should be me.
The thought came unbidden, unwanted. I crushed it immediately.
No. I'm free. This is what I wanted.
But my hands were shaking where they gripped the metal grate.
Sebastian's convoy pulled away from Crimson Veil five minutes later. I watched through the vent as the cars disappeared around the corner, taking my face, my name, my place in his world with them.
Damian waited until they were gone, then knocked twice on the wall—the signal that it was safe to come down.
I crawled back through the maintenance shaft, dropped into the empty room. My legs nearly gave out when I landed.
"You okay?" Damian caught my elbow.
"Yeah. I'm—" My voice cracked. "I'm free."
I said it again, trying to make it feel real. "I'm free."
But my hand went to my throat, to the space where the collar used to be, and all I felt was weightless. Untethered.
Lost.
"Celeste is stronger than she looks," Damian said quietly. "She'll survive the seventy-two hours. And Sebastian... he won't hurt her. Not really. He's too busy being angry at 'you.'"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Come on. I have a car waiting."
We left through the service entrance, emerging into an alley where rain was just starting to fall. A black sedan idled at the curb—unremarkable, untraceable.
I slid into the back seat, watched through tinted windows as Crimson Veil disappeared behind us.
"Where to?" Damian asked.
I took a breath. Forced the hollowness down, buried it under cold purpose.
"The Hartfield estate. They owe me a debt. It's time to collect."
---
Sebastian
I carried her into the estate with the kind of careful attention I usually reserved for defusing explosives, one arm supporting her weight while the other kept her pressed against my chest where I could feel every tremor running through her body.
The drive from Crimson Veil had been silent except for her ragged breathing, and now as we passed through the iron gates into my private grounds, I catalogued the wrongness settling into my bones.
She smelled right—that intoxicating blend of moon dew and forest air that had haunted me since Black Reef—but the scent sat on her skin like perfume rather than emanating from her pores. Her heartbeat was too fast, too erratic, the rhythm of prey rather than the defiant creature who'd gripped my hand and whispered I'm here while I bled out on an operating table.
Still, I wanted to believe. God help me, I wanted it so badly that I almost convinced myself the discrepancies were just trauma, just fear, just the aftermath of whatever hell she'd endured while running from me.
The main house loomed ahead, all dark stone and Gothic arches wrapped in climbing ivy. I carried her up the front steps and through the entrance hall, ignoring the startled looks from staff who'd been told to expect my return. Up the curved staircase to the second floor, down the corridor to my private wing where no one entered without explicit permission.
I set her down on the leather sofa in my study, watching how she immediately curled into herself, knees drawn to chest, fingers digging into her own arms hard enough to leave marks.
"You're safe now," I murmured, the lie tasting bitter because I knew—somewhere deep in my gut where instinct lived—that this wasn't her. But I needed to be certain. Needed to test every possibility before I accepted that Damian had played me for a fool. "Let me get you something to eat. Some water."
She nodded without looking at me, and that small gesture of submission sent warning bells clanging through my skull. The real Lirael would have met my eyes, searched for threats, calculated escape routes even while pretending compliance.
I moved to the intercom panel beside the fireplace. "Marcus. Bring food to my study. Something light. And water."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
I returned to crouch before her. "Lirael." Her name felt like a test. "Look at me."
Those silver-grey eyes lifted slowly, and I saw fear in them—genuine terror—but beneath it was only emptiness. No calculation. No defiant spark. Just hollow obedience.
"That's better," I said softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You ran so far. Quite the adventure for someone who's supposed to be my property."
Her hands tightened on her knees. Still silent. Still playing the confused creature, though I'd seen the real Lirael solve my watch's mechanism in under an hour, had watched her drug a nurse with clinical efficiency.
Marcus arrived with the tray, his expression carefully neutral as he set it on the mahogany desk. "Sir, the full security sweep of the grounds is complete. No signs of tampering. The... acquisition appears genuine."
I caught the hesitation before 'acquisition' and knew he had doubts too. "Thank you, Marcus. Initiate lockdown protocol seven. Every gate monitored, every surveillance feed recording. Post guards at the perimeter."
"Understood, sir."
The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed through the study like a cell door sealing shut.
I settled beside her on the sofa, close enough that our thighs touched, and picked up a strawberry. "Eat. You've lost weight." When she didn't move, I brought the fruit to her lips. "Open."
She obeyed mechanically, and I fed her piece by piece, watching her throat work with each swallow. The intimacy should have satisfied something in me, but instead it felt like going through motions.
"Why did you run?" I asked quietly, thumb tracing the beauty mark at the corner of her eye. "Was I really so terrible?"
Her breath hitched. "I... I was scared."
The words came out broken and small. This was the voice from the surgery, frightened and vulnerable. But the real Lirael had been scared and defiant, had trembled and fought back.
This woman just cried.
"Come," I said abruptly, rising. "Let's get you cleaned up. We both need showers, and we might as well save time."
I watched her face carefully, looking for that flash of calculation. Instead, she just took my hand with visible reluctance and let me lead her through the connecting door to my bedroom, then into the master bathroom beyond.
The space was all black marble and brushed steel. I turned on the taps in the oversized shower, adjusting the temperature while she stood frozen in the doorway.
"Strip," I commanded. This was the moment. The real Lirael would fight me here, would make me work for every inch of exposed skin.
This woman simply pulled off her dress with mechanical efficiency. No hesitation. No modesty. Just obedience.
Something cold settled in my chest, but I pushed forward. Maybe she was just that traumatized.