Karmella's P.O.V
I woke to silence.
But not the cold, swallowing kind that had lived inside this room for days. This silence was watching me—aware, still.
My body ached. Every joint screamed. My mouth was dry, my tongue heavy. My lungs screamed.
I blinked slowly, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I was still dreaming.
Then the pain in my wrists reminded me: I was awake. Still chained. Still here.
But something had changed.
Not around me.
Within me.
The darkness wasn't pressing against me anymore. It had backed off. Not gone, just… waiting. And in its place was a terrible stillness.
The kind that only comes after a storm.
My breath caught in my chest. Not from fear. From memory.
My father's name had ripped me open. And now that the wound was there—exposed, bleeding—it refused to close. I stared at the ceiling, unmoving, trying to summon the numbness again. The stillness I'd learned to survive in.
But it wouldn't come. Instead, my thoughts twisted, tangled, whispered.
If they know who you are, they'll send you back.
Back to Victor.
Back to the man who smiled while I screamed. Back to the very man that love to bathe in my blood.
Back to the house with the hidden cellar and silver rods and—
No. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't. If I stayed silent much longer, they would decide for me. They would write my story in ink I couldn't erase.
The Alpha might be cold, but he wasn't stupid. He'd read the silence as guilt. Or manipulation.
I had to speak before someone else decided what my life meant.
Now or never.
The next time the guards came to check on me, I didn't speak.
But I sat up.
I lifted my head and met their eyes. Watched as they registered the change in me.
When they returned with the healer, I didn't scream when he touched me.
Didn't flinch when he reapplied the ointment to my wrists.
Didn't struggle when he inspected the burns, the bruises, the fading welts.
I simply stared at the door.
Waiting.
For him.
The hours bled together again, but my resolve did not.
I was done being a ghost.
Let them hear my voice.
Let them know the name I'd been too afraid to claim.
Let them learn what kind of monster my father really was.
When the Alpha returned—because I knew he would—I would speak.
And this time… he would listen.
He didn't come. Not the first day. Not the second. And the silence left behind wasn't quiet. It was agonizing. They'd removed the chains. That was the first shift. No more silver at my wrists, no more bite at my ankles. I could move now—sit up, curl my legs to my chest, pace the narrow stone floor when the tension got too loud in my bones.
But I didn't step past the door. Because the door was still locked. And this room, no matter how they cleaned it, was still a cell.
I waited. Staring at that heavy wooden door like it might blink first. But he didn't come.
Not the Alpha. Not the Beta. Not the guards with questions. Just silence. And my thoughts.
What if they already told him?
What if he already sent for my father?
What if he's already here?
These questions repeated like drum beats in my head, slow and suffocating. Maybe that's why they unchained me. Not mercy. Just… pity.
Or worse, permission.
To run.
Let Victor find me on his own. Drag me back by the hair and make a show of my return.
My stomach twisted.
My skin burned under phantom touches.
I pressed my hands to my ears and clenched my jaw until it ached, trying to push the thoughts out.
But they kept bleeding in.
Would the Alpha even believe me?
He didn't strike me as the kind of man who took people at their word—especially rogues.
Even now, I could hear his voice in my memory:
"I don't trust silence."
And yet… I had nothing but my word.
What should I say? How should I say it?
Should I beg?
Should I grovel—drop to my knees and weep like the broken thing they expected me to be?
No.
Not again. Not for him. Not for anyone.
If I had to bare my soul, I'd do it on my feet, looking him in the eyes. And if he didn't believe me…
If he still intended to return me to Victor…Then I would end it.
Right here.
Right now.
I'd already survived more than any wolf should. I would not return to that house.
That cage.
That man.
No matter what.
I pressed my back to the cold wall, knees drawn up to my chest, and closed my eyes.
Waiting. Not for freedom. Not for kindness. Just for a chance. One chance to speak.
And then, whatever happened next… would be my choice.
The candle burned low.
Wax puddled along the stone ledge near my bed, casting strange shadows that danced like ghosts across the walls.
Still, no one came.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
My breath caught.
Not the sharp, hurried clip of a guard. Not the soft steps of the healer.
These were heavier. Measured. Familiar in the way a blade's whistle is familiar to the neck it kisses.
My stomach twisted in on itself.
He's here.
I sat up too quickly—lightheaded, unsteady—and placed one hand on the wall to keep from toppling forward. The other curled into the blanket, white-knuckled.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
No knock.
No keys.
Just… silence.
Like whoever stood there was watching me through the wood.
Measuring.
Waiting.
I swallowed hard. My throat scraped raw.
Now or never. Survival or demise.
I licked my lips, voice dry in my own ears as I whispered to the empty room:
"I won't beg. I won't cry"
The handle turned.
The door creaked open.
And in stepped the Alpha himself.