Jace had always been quiet, but now he was becoming invisible. Not because Soraya had made him so — but because he was finally learning how to hide.
Days passed in that sleek glass apartment like shadows crawling across polished floors. Soraya barely looked at him unless she wanted something — and that something was never comfort.
He was beginning to feel like a houseplant she didn't want to water but refused to throw away.
That morning, he packed a bag.
He didn't announce it. Didn't cry or shake or break down. He just folded a couple shirts, tossed in the sketchbook he hadn't touched in weeks, and slid his phone charger in like it was the final nail in a coffin.
He was halfway to the elevator when her voice cut through the silence like a cold knife.
"Going somewhere?"
He turned slowly.
She stood at the end of the hallway, barefoot, in a silk robe the color of dried blood. Her hair was loose. Her eyes weren't angry — they were curious. And that scared him more.
"I need air," he said.
"Take the balcony."
"I need distance."
She tilted her head, one hand resting on the doorframe. "You have distance, Jace. I've barely spoken to you in two days."
"That's not space, Soraya. That's punishment."
She laughed once, low and sharp. "Isn't it the same?"
He stared at her, heart aching in the way it did when you realized someone didn't see the line between cruelty and care.
"I'm leaving," he said.
"No," she replied easily. "You're not."
And just like that, the door stayed closed. Not locked. But closed by the weight of her gaze, her control, her presence.
Jace didn't move. Neither did she.
And then the buzzer rang.
They both looked toward the door.
Soraya didn't look surprised — but she did look annoyed.
"Stay," she muttered, and walked to answer it.
Jace didn't listen.
He stepped forward, quiet, tense. Curious despite himself.
When she opened the door, a tall man stepped inside like he owned the air.
Sharp suit, darker eyes, and a grin that didn't reach his mouth.
"Nico," she said flatly. "You're early."
"You're always late. I figured this would balance things."
His eyes slid past her — straight to Jace.
"And you must be the boy," Nico said.
Jace froze.
Boy.
Soraya didn't correct him.
Nico offered a smile like a blade. "You don't look like her type."
"He's not," Soraya said. "That's why he works."
Jace couldn't speak.
The room felt ten degrees colder.
Nico stepped in, clearly at ease, glancing around. "Same apartment. Same view. Still playing queen, I see."
"I am the queen."
"I remember," he said softly, voice loaded with history.
Jace felt it instantly — the weight of something unspoken, something old and dangerous. Whatever Soraya was to Nico, it wasn't over. Not completely.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Nico gave a slow smile. "We need to talk. About the deal."
"Not now."
"I'm not leaving."
Soraya's jaw tightened.
Jace could feel her mood shifting like a storm building behind glass.
"I'll wait in the kitchen," Nico said, brushing past her. "Don't worry, I won't touch your toy."
Jace stiffened.
Soraya's eyes locked with his, unreadable.
"You should go to the bedroom," she said.
"No."
That surprised her.
"No?" she repeated, softly.
Jace took a breath. "I want to know what he knows."
She stared at him. Then smiled — slow, poisonous, amused.
"Careful," she murmured. "Curiosity is the first crack in the cage."
But she didn't stop him from following her.
They moved to the living area. Nico already had a whiskey in his hand — from her bar. Like he'd been there a thousand times.
Soraya sat across from him, legs crossed, robe slipping just enough to show she didn't care who saw.
Jace stayed standing.
Nico looked at him again, this time with interest. "You ever wonder what she was before you?"
"I don't care," Jace said flatly.
"Liar," Nico replied. "She used to destroy men like you for sport."
"I still do," Soraya said.
Nico laughed.
"It's different now, though, isn't it?" he mused. "This one gets under your skin."
Soraya didn't respond.
Jace's heart beat harder.
"She's not what she seems," Nico continued, now addressing Jace. "She plays cold. But it's all armor. You scratch a little deeper—"
"Get out," Soraya said, voice like frost.
But Nico didn't move.
"You let him believe you're a monster," he said. "But we both know monsters don't cry in their sleep."
Jace's blood went cold.
She didn't deny it. Just stood, slowly.
"Leave," she said again.
This time, Nico rose. "Just wanted to see what made you soft." He looked at Jace one last time. "Good luck, kid."
And he was gone.
The silence after he left was worse than anything he'd said.
Jace didn't speak. Neither did Soraya.
She turned away, walking to the window, staring out like the city could swallow her whole.
"I didn't know," Jace said finally. "About him."
"You weren't supposed to."
"Was he yours?"
"Yes," she said, too easily. "And no."
He stepped closer. "What did he mean? About you crying?"
She turned her head, just slightly. "Why does it matter?"
"Because I care."
She laughed once, harshly.
"I don't want your care, Jace. I want your obedience."
"I'm not a pet."
"No," she whispered. "You're worse. You're a weakness."
And then she walked away — leaving him to stand there with nothing but the echo of that truth.