CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE

BRIELLE

The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a sharp crack.

For a second, the world went completely silent except for the roaring in my ears and the frantic kicking of Aurora inside me. I stared at the screen where it had landed, the image still glowing…Damien bound to a chair, bruised, furious, staring straight into the camera

The Shadow King has been captured.

I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was caving in. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Damien was supposed to be safe. He was angry, he was hurt, but he was safe. And now someone had taken him because of me. Because of my book. Because some deranged person thought the story was real and that my husband needed to be “unmade” so I could be free.

A sharp cramp twisted low in my belly. I gasped, doubling over on the couch, both hands pressing hard against my stomach.

“No… no, baby, please stay calm,” I whispered, voice breaking. Tears streamed down my face as another cramp hit.

I lunged for the phone, ignoring the pain, fingers shaking so badly I could barely unlock it. I tried Damien’s number first. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again.

What was that even supposed to do

Calling Damien directly wouldn’t fix anything. He couldn’t answer. He was tied up in some dark room because of me. The thought made fresh tears fall faster. I rocked slightly on the couch, trying to soothe both myself and our daughter, but the panic kept rising like a tide I couldn’t outrun.

What do I do now?

The phone rang again.

The same Private Number.

My entire body went rigid. For a split second I considered not answering. But this person had Damien… they could hurt him more… I couldn’t risk it.

With shaking fingers, I accepted the call and put it on speaker, placing the phone on the coffee table so I could keep both hands on my belly.

“H-hello?” My voice came out small and broken.

“Hiiiiiii… my favorite author,” the voice sang, that same high-pitched, giggly tone from before. It sounded almost childish, like a little girl playing pretend, but there was something rotten underneath it. “Did you like my surprise? I worked so hard on it. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

My stomach lurched. “Who are you? What have you done to Damien? If you hurt him, I swear to God—”

The person giggled again, longer this time, like I had told the funniest joke. “Hurt him? Oh Brielle, you’re so funny. I’m saving you. Just like in your book. Remember? When the heroine finally realized the Shadow King was holding her back? When she had to make the hard choice so the light could shine?”

I felt dizzy. The room tilted slightly as another cramp hit. I breathed through it, trying to stay present. “This isn’t a book. This is real life. Damien is my husband. Please ase… just let him go. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt him.”

“Oh, but it is real,” the voice cooed, almost affectionate. “I read The Veiled Heart so many times. I know every word. The Shadow King…tall, powerful, possessive, with eyes like storm clouds — he kept the heroine trapped in his castle of shadows. He said it was love. But it was control. Just like your Damien. He hovers over you. He tells you what to do. He walked out on you last night because you wanted to see your father, didn’t he? I saw it all. I was watching. He’s exactly like the Shadow King in your story.”

My blood ran cold. Watching. How long had this person been following us?

“Please,” I begged, voice cracking. “He’s not the villain. He’s a good man. He loves me. Whatever you think you saw… it’s not like that. Just let him go. I’ll… just t please don’t hurt him.”

The giggle turned into a soft, dreamy sigh. “But in the book, the Shadow King had to die, remember? Slowly. Painfully. The heroine drove the blade through his heart while he begged for mercy. The blood flowed like rivers of night, and only then could the dawn break. Only then was she truly free. I can do that for you, Brielle. I can make it slow. I can make him feel every second of it. Wouldn’t that be poetic? Your real-life Shadow King meeting the same fate as the one in your story?”

I felt like I was going to be sick. The memory of the book’s climax flashed through my mind — the Shadow King’s dramatic, sacrificial death scene that readers both mourned and celebrated. The way the heroine had cried as she ended him, believing it was the only way to save herself and her world.

“No!” I cried out, panic exploding in my chest. “No, please! That’s fiction! It’s not real! Damien is not him. He’s not a villain. He’s my husband. Please…I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Hurt me instead. Take me. Just let him go.”

The voice hummed thoughtfully, like we were discussing dinner plans. “Oh Brielle… you’re so sweet when you beg. I like you soooo much. That’s why I’m doing this. Imagine how hurt I felt when I saw the Shadow King hurt you with his words last night. He stormed out and left you alone. He doesn’t deserve you. But don’t worry… I’ll make it slow for him. Just like in the book. A little cut here… a little pressure there… until he understands what real pain feels like. Until the light — you — is finally free.”

I was sobbing openly now, rocking back and forth on the couch as cramps continued to twist through me. “Please… please don’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll meet you. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just don’t hurt him. I need him.”

The voice giggled again, softer this time, almost tender. “Shhh… it’s okay. I know you’re scared. But trust me. This is the only way. The Shadow King always falls in the end. And when he does… you’ll see how bright the dawn can be. I’ll send you another picture soon. So you can watch the story unfold. Just like your readers wanted.”

The voice on the other end suddenly shifted. The playful, giggly tone vanished, replaced by something cold, serious, and eerily calm.

“And don’t think about involving the police, Brielle. I know your every movement. Right now. Right this second.”

My blood ran cold.

The voice continued, almost whispering now. “Oouuuu… finish the toast you were eating. It’s getting cold.”

I froze. My eyes darted to the half-eaten plate of avocado toast on the coffee table…the one I had barely touched before falling asleep. A piece was still there, exactly where I left it.

They were watching me. Right now. Inside the penthouse.

The voice giggled again, light and playful once more, like flipping a switch. “Good girl. Now… what should I do to him first? Exactly what happened to the Shadow King? Or should I get creative? I have so many ideas.”

The call ended with a soft click.