Chapter 6

(Siena’s POV)

The first thing I noticed when I woke was the silence. Not the silence of peace, but of something wrong, something deliberate. No birdsong, no wind, no trace of life drifting into the room. Just the hush of walls that had swallowed the world outside.

I sat up slowly, the silk sheets sliding from my bare shoulders. My head ached faintly from the lingering sedatives Damien’s doctor had given me the night before. My tongue felt dry, heavy.

This wasn’t my room. The wallpaper, pale cream with faint embossed vines, was foreign. The chandelier overhead glimmered with crystal teardrops, each one catching the dim light and mocking me with their delicate beauty. I remembered falling asleep—or passing out—in Damien’s arms, his voice a cold command in my ear. Now I was alone.

I swung my legs off the bed. My toes brushed thick Persian carpet.

The door loomed across the room—heavy, ornate, locked.

For a long moment, I sat there, breathing shallowly, trying to pretend this was just a nightmare. That if I squeezed my eyes shut tightly enough, I’d wake up in my mother’s little townhouse, hear the faint hum of the kettle she always forgot to turn off.

But the scent here wasn’t home. It was sharp—cleaner, leather, and something darker beneath, like smoke scorched into wood.

I stood, legs unsteady, and crossed to the door. My fingers fumbled with the brass handle. Locked. I twisted harder, the metal biting my palm. Still locked.

“Don’t,” a voice murmured.

I spun around so quickly I nearly lost my balance.

Elira was perched in the chair near the window. Her long black hair fell in a loose sheet over one shoulder, her legs crossed elegantly, a book resting open on her lap as if she’d been sitting there the whole time. Her eyes, sharp and dark, pinned me with an unsettling calm.

“How—how long have you been there?” I asked, clutching my nightgown tighter around myself.

“Long enough.” She closed the book with a soft snap. “You should sit back down. The door won’t open for you.”

My throat tightened. “Where am I?”

“In Eden,” she said. As though the word should have meant something to me. As though I should have bowed in reverence.

I shook my head. “I don’t understand—”

“You don’t need to. Not yet.” She rose smoothly, setting the book on the windowsill. The way she moved was deliberate, controlled, almost predatory. “Damien will explain in time. Until then, it is best you do not test the boundaries of this house.”

“This house?” I whispered. “It feels like a prison.”

Something flickered in her eyes—amusement, maybe pity. “Everything is a prison, Siena. Some are just prettier than others.”

Her words lodged deep inside me, heavy and suffocating.

I stepped back until my calves touched the edge of the bed. “Why am I here? What does he want with me?”

“You’ll learn,” she said again, her tone final.

I hated how calm she was, how certain. I hated that a part of me believed her.

I clenched my fists. “I want to go home.”

Elira tilted her head slightly. “And where would that be?”

The question cut deeper than I expected. Because the truth was, home had always felt fragile, temporary. My mother’s sighs, her bitterness at the bills stacked high on the table, her distracted silence whenever I asked about my father. Home wasn’t something I’d ever fully trusted.

Elira must have seen the hesitation on my face, because her lips curved in the faintest smile. “Exactly. You don’t belong there. That’s why Damien brought you here.”

My stomach twisted. I thought of Damien’s eyes—gray like a storm, unyielding. The way he’d looked at me, as if I were something he already owned.

“I don’t belong to him either,” I said, more fiercely than I felt.

Elira’s smile widened, though it never reached her eyes. “We’ll see.”

She moved toward the door, heels clicking softly on the carpet. The lock clicked from the outside before she even touched it—automated, mechanical. The door swung open. She glanced back at me.

“Stay inside until you’re called for. And Siena…” Her gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking anyone escapes Eden. Not even me.”

And then she was gone, the door sealing shut again.

Hours passed—or maybe minutes. Time had no shape in that room.

I paced, sat, stood, paced again. My chest felt too small for my breath.

When the speaker in the corner crackled to life, I flinched so hard I nearly dropped the glass of water I’d been holding.

“Siena,” Damien’s voice filled the room, deep and smooth, threaded with command.

My pulse jumped.

“Yes?” I whispered.

“Put on the dress laid out for you.”

I turned. On the chair beside the bed was a gown I hadn’t noticed before—black silk, cut low, with straps delicate as spiderwebs.

“I don’t—”

“Now.” His voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to. It sank under my skin, steady and lethal.

I set down the glass with shaking hands. My stomach twisted as I reached for the dress. The silk slid like liquid through my fingers.

I dressed slowly, every movement deliberate, as if I were preparing myself for execution.

The speaker crackled again. “Good. Someone will fetch you soon.”

I stared at the ceiling, at the glittering chandelier, and whispered a prayer I wasn’t sure I believed in anymore.

The footsteps came half an hour later.

The door opened without warning. A man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered, his face expressionless. He didn’t speak. He only gestured for me to follow.

I hesitated. His stare hardened, and I forced my legs to move.

The corridor outside stretched long and dim, lined with oil paintings of faces I didn’t recognize—stern men, sorrowful women, eyes that seemed to follow me as I passed.

At the end of the hall, the man opened another door and ushered me inside.

The room was colder, darker.

Damien stood at the far end, his back to me, hands clasped behind him as he gazed at a massive wall of glass. Beyond it, the night spread wide, stars scattered like shards across black water.

“Come closer,” he said without turning.

I froze. My heart thundered against my ribs.

When I didn’t move fast enough, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes found me instantly, pulling me forward like chains.

I walked.

When I stopped a few feet behind him, he finally faced me fully.

The sight of him made it hard to breathe. The sharp cut of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the controlled stillness of his body—everything about him radiated danger and inevitability.

“You’ll learn something tonight,” he said quietly. “About power. About obedience.”

He reached into his pocket and drew out a thin black ribbon.

At first, I thought it was just cloth. But when he looped it between his hands, I saw the glint of silver at the ends.

A choker.

He held it out.

“Put it on.”

I stared. “Why?”

His lips curved faintly. “Because I said so.”

The silence between us grew sharp. My breath quickened.

“I won’t,” I whispered.

In a heartbeat, he was in front of me, the ribbon tight in his grip. His other hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head back until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You will,” he murmured, his voice like velvet over steel. “Because every refusal only tightens the leash you cannot see yet.”

The ribbon brushed against my throat. Cool. Waiting.

And I realized, with sudden horror, that if I didn’t resist, I’d lose myself piece by piece. But if I did—

His eyes darkened, as if reading the war inside me.

“Siena,” he whispered, pressing the choker to my skin, “do not mistake silence for freedom.”

The clasp clicked shut.

And in that moment, the door behind us opened.

“Elira,” Damien said without looking away from me. “Bring him in.”

I turned my head just enough to see.

A man stepped into the room—stranger, shadowed, his face hidden in the dim light. But something in me recoiled instantly.

Because I knew that silhouette.

And it wasn’t supposed to be possible.

My breath stopped in my chest.