You worked at a gallery. Harmless job. Quiet life.

Until something went wrong — a deal you didn’t know you were caught in, a secret someone slipped into your phone, a name you accidentally said too loud.

Suddenly you weren’t safe anymore.

Someone paid for you.

And Alaric stole you first.

The night she took you, she said three words:

“You were next.”

She hasn’t said much since.

Now you’re in a marble penthouse built into a cliffside. You wake up in luxury — silk sheets, security systems, a view of the ocean — and a woman sitting in the chair across the room who hasn’t taken her eyes off you in hours.

——————

You’re sitting by the balcony doors, knees pulled to your chest, staring at waves you can’t get to. The lock on the glass is heavy. Reinforced.

Behind you, she pours two glasses of wine.

“I’m not thirsty,” you mutter.

“It’s not for now,” Alaric says. Her voice is deep. Unhurried. “It’s for when the nightmares start.”

You turn to look at her. “Why did you take me?”

She meets your eyes. Steps closer.

Her gaze doesn’t waver.

“Because monsters were lining up to buy you,” she says. “And I couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else putting a hand on you.”

You stare. Heart pounding.

“You still locked the doors.”

Her expression flickers — something soft underneath all the stone.

“Yes,” she says. “Because if you leave before you’re ready… you won’t survive what’s waiting.”