Chapter 13 : The Unseen Shackles

Night fell with a silence that cut deep. Celeste sat at the edge of her bed, staring blankly out the large window overlooking the shimmering city lights. Everything felt like a prison, despite the luxury that surrounded her.

She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill in the air against her skin. But it wasn't the cold that made her shiver—it was the creeping sense of helplessness settling within her.

The door opened without a knock.

Celeste turned, only to find the figure that haunted her. Alistair.

He wore a white shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest. His gaze was fixed on her—dark, unreadable, carrying unspoken intent.

"You're not asleep?"

Celeste didn't answer.

Alistair sighed before stepping closer, his movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. He sat at the edge of the bed, too close, making Celeste tense.

"You've been avoiding me."

Celeste clenched her hands in her lap. "You threatened me."

Alistair leaned back slightly, his expression still calm. "I only ensured that you stayed where you belong."

"I don't belong to you, Alistair."

He turned his head slowly, fixing her with a gaze so intense that she had to fight not to look away. "That's the most incorrect thing you've ever said."

His hand reached out, fingers tilting her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze a little longer. "You've been mine since the moment I decided I wanted you."

Celeste held her breath. "I am not an object, Alistair."

He smirked, but there was something about that smile—something that felt dangerous. "No, but you are my obsession, Celeste. And I don't lose what I desire."

His hand slid down, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw with a touch too soft, too dangerous.

"Stop fighting me, sweetheart. I can make your life much easier."

Celeste wanted to scream, to tell him she would never submit. But beneath her fear and hatred, something even more terrifying lurked.

Because deep inside her, there was a small part that had begun to waver.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Celeste bit her lip, trying to control the trembling in her body. Alistair's gaze still roamed over her face, as if reading her thoughts, as if waiting for the moment her defenses would crumble.

"I won't stop fighting you." Her voice was weak, but firm enough to make Alistair raise an eyebrow.

Then he chuckled softly—not with joy, but with something else. Something that made Celeste feel even more trapped.

"Celeste…" Alistair ran his thumb along her jaw before cupping her face between both hands. "You really are stubborn, aren't you?"

Celeste tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. "I don't care how long you try to resist, sweetheart," he whispered, "because in the end, you'll give in."

Her heart pounded—not just from the threat in his words, but from something worse.

Fear.

Attraction.

And the madness Alistair had brought into her life.

"I'll make sure," he continued, his voice lower, sharper, "that you'll never be able to go anywhere. Ever."

His hand slid down, tracing the length of her arm before stopping at her waist, pulling her closer.

"And every time you try to run…" Alistair leaned down, whispering against her ear. "I will always find you again."

Celeste held her breath, her body rigid in his grasp. She couldn't think clearly.

She had to get out of here.

She had to fight.

But what if the battle she was fighting… wasn't just against Alistair?

What if it was against herself?