Chapter 88 The Silence
Then I got up.
Shower. Towel-dried hair twisted into a loose bun. Jeans, soft sweater, sneakers. Backpack slung over one shoulder. I ate the breakfast Clara brought, avocado toast, fruit, yogurt, while scrolling through the overnight comments on Alexander’s press conference. The hate was still there, but quieter now. Drowned under waves of support. People called him “a real one.” People making edits of his face with heart filters. I smiled at the screen. Let them wonder.
I left the tray outside the door, slipped down the back staircase to avoid the main foyer staff, and took his car from the garage, no driver, no security tail, just me.
The drive to campus felt like freedom.
Classes dragged. I barely heard the professors. My mind kept drifting to Alexander, his voice on the news, calm and certain, saying the woman I love like it was the most obvious fact in the world. By the time my last lecture ended at 1:45 I was buzzing with nervous energy.
I met Clara and Sophia outside the lecture hall.
Clara spotted me first and threw her arms around me. “You’re glowing. Stop it. It’s disgusting.”
Sophia hugged me next. “How are you holding up?”
“Better,” I said honestly. “The comments aren’t as bad today.”
Clara snorted. “Because your man just gave the speech of the century. They’re all swooning now.”
I laughed. Then I lowered my voice. “I’m going to see Ben. He called last night. Said he wants to sign the divorce papers. A lawyer will be there, clean break.”
Sophia’s eyes sharpened. “Alone?”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. He sounded… remorseful. I just want it done.”
Clara crossed her arms. “Of course he’s remorseful. He knows he lost. Go sign, get out, and come straight home to your hot CEO.”
Sophia squeezed my wrist. “Be careful, and text us when you’re done.”
“I will.” I hugged them both. “See you on Monday.”
Clara grinned. “And tell Mr. Blackwood we said hi, and that he owes us godmother privileges.” Sure I will, I laughed again and walked to my car.
Ben’s address pinged on my phone, the same apartment building he’d lived in when we signed the contract. I hadn’t been back since that first awkward meeting. The memory felt like another lifetime.
Traffic was light. I parked in the visitor garage at 2:07, took the elevator to the 20th floor, and pressed the bell.
The door opened almost immediately.
Ben stood there in a plain black t-shirt and jeans. No suit, no smirk. Just… tired eyes.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Come in.”
I stepped inside. The place looked the same, minimalist furniture, city view, faint smell of coffee. No lawyer in sight.
I turned. “Where’s the lawyer?”
“He’ll be here soon,” Ben said. “Traffic. Do you want anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He gestured to the couch. I sat on one end. He took the opposite chair.
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke, voice low. “You know everything I said about him when we first got married… it’s true. I don’t know what you see in him. But you can still walk away. He’s a monster. You saw it yourself.”
I kept my face neutral. “I know what I saw.”
Ben leaned forward, elbows on knees. “After this divorce, do you want to be with him? Or walk away with the money we agreed on? I could double it. Triple it. You and the baby could start over somewhere safe. Away from… all of this.”
I met his gaze. “I’m not walking away from Alexander. I love him. As much as he loves me. We’re building a life together, with our baby on the way.”
Ben’s expression flickered, something dark passing behind his eyes, then smoothed out. “So after signing the papers… you’ll still go back to him.”
“Of course.”
He stood slowly. “Let me grab my phone from the bedroom. I’ll call the lawyer.”
He walked down the hallway and disappeared into a room.
I sat very still. The apartment was too quiet. Something felt… off. I glanced toward the hallway. No sound of a phone call, no voice. My heart kicked harder.
I reached into my bag for my keys, just in case.
Footsteps returned. Ben stepped back into the living room.
But he wasn’t holding a phone, but he was holding a roll of duct tape. And behind him, Jace, the friend I’d only met twice, stepped out of the shadows, zip ties dangling from his fingers.
My blood turned to ice.
Ben’s smile was small, sad, almost regretful.
“I gave you the chance, Maddie,” he said softly. “You should’ve taken it.”
I stood so fast the coffee table tipped. “Ben…”
He moved faster than I expected.
A cloth clamped over my mouth, sweet, chemical, choking. The world tilted. My knees buckled.
Alexander’s face flashed behind my eyes, his smile, his hand on my stomach, his voice promising home soon.
Then darkness rushed in.
Pain woke me first. A dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes, spreading like spilled ink across my skull. My mouth tasted metallic, blood, maybe, or whatever chemical had been on that cloth. I tried to lift my head and the world tilted violently. Nausea surged. I swallowed it down and forced my eyes open.
Darkness. Not total, thin gray light leaked from a high, narrow window near the ceiling, the kind of window that belongs to basements or storage rooms. Concrete walls. Concrete floor. A single bare bulb hung from a cord, not turned on. The air smelled stale, thick with dust and old paint, but not sewage or rot. I blinked again, trying to focus.
My arms were behind my back. Wrists crossed, bound tight with zip ties that dug into skin every time I flexed. I tugged once, hard, and hissed at the bite of plastic. Panic arrived in a cold rush.My baby. I twisted my torso, trying to bring my bound hands around to my stomach. Impossible. The angle was wrong; the ties were too short. I could only press the backs of my knuckles against my lower abdomen and pray.
“Please be okay. Please.” I closed my eyes and reached for the bond I have stopped using for a while.
Alexander was there, faint but unmistakable. A storm of fear and fury rolling through the connection like distant thunder. He was searching. He was frantic. But he was alive, and so was I. That had to mean the baby was still safe. Whatever they’d drugged me with hadn’t reached far enough to hurt us both. I opened my eyes again.
“Where am I?” My voice cracked. Too dry. Too small.
I swallowed and tried louder. “Hello? Anybody out there?”
Nothing.
No footsteps, no voices, no hum of traffic or machinery. Just my own breathing and the faint drip-drip of a leaky pipe somewhere behind me. I heighten my senses but still can’t hear anything.
I twisted again, testing the zip ties. Plastic is a bit deeper. I felt blood trickle warm down my wrist.
I tried to shift. The wolf stirred inside me, restless, angry, but when I reached for the change, nothing happened. My canines lengthened. Claws slid from my fingertips. My vision sharpened, pupils narrowing to slits. But the rest of me stayed stubbornly human. Bones refused to crack. Fur refused to rise. The shift stalled halfway, leaving me half-changed and useless.