I tried to sleep that night. My body obeyed, but my mind thrashed against invisible chains. I kept seeing him—Nico in blood-soaked shirts, Nico pressing a gun to a man's jaw, Nico holding me like I was glass he didn't mind breaking.
And I loved him for all of it. That was the sickest part.
Morning didn't arrive. The room stayed dark. He kept the curtains shut. Said the sun made me too beautiful, and he didn't like the world seeing that.
I found my phone once. Hidden under the loose floorboard. When I pressed call on a single contact—anyone—he walked in.
He didn't say a word. Just stared. Then took the phone and crushed it under his boot like it was a bug.
The silence that followed wasn't anger. It was disappointment.
"I give you everything," he finally muttered. "And you still want freedom?"
I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry. My fingers trembled.
He reached down, brushing his thumb across my lip. "You've got everything, bella. But if you really want to taste what it means to run…" he leaned close, voice sharp and slow, "I'll give you a head start."
He meant it.
He always meant it.
-----