Liraine returned with a barmaid. The woman walked in beside her, wearing the kind of smile she usually saved for customers. She handed Isolde her phone, which she held tightly for a long moment after typing in the number she wanted to call. Still, she didn't dare to hit "call."
"We'll give you a bit of privacy," Liraine murmured, gently tugging the barmaid's arm to lead her back out. Isolde could faintly hear her speaking as they stepped into the hallway.
"I'll return your phone later. You should get back to the bar, customers will be arriving soon, and you've got work to do."
Isolde stared at the string of digits on the screen; it was her little brother's number. She shut her eyes briefly, drew a long breath, and exhaled slowly before her trembling thumb finally tapped the green button.
With shaky hands, Isolde lifted the phone to her ear, waiting as the line rang. Finally, his voice came through.
("Hello? Who is this?")
Isolde bit her lip. She remembered his voice, even if they had never been close, even if the child of her father's mistress had been closer to her brother than she ever was. That didn't mean she didn't love him.
"Deyric…" she called out hoarsely. There was no reply—only silence and his breath, heavy on the line.
("Why is Isolde calling me?") His voice was sharp. Cold.
Of course, he wouldn't be happy to hear from her after all this time. Isolde had shattered their family. Of course, he'd resent her for everything that had happened.
"How are you? Are you doing okay? Are you with Mom now?" Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep going. She had one reason for this call and didn't have much time.
The phone was only in her hands temporarily, and before Nikhael or Severin noticed, she had to act quickly so no one else would be dragged down and punished for her mistake.
("Why are you even asking, Isolde? Since when did you care about us?") Her brother snapped again, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable.
"Just answer me. Is Mom with you now? She's out of prison, right?" Isolde was growing impatient, her eyes glued to the door, afraid someone might suddenly enter and catch her.
("Yeah, she's out. She lives with me and Olivianne now. She told me you were released too but disappeared without a word. I figured—Isolde never gave a damn about us. You prefer running off somewhere out there than living with your own family. Deyric, Isolde's younger brother, was pouring out all his resentment. All the anger he'd held in.
("Couldn't you just care just once, for Mom? We're finally free of Dad now. Mom's free from prison, too, even though I still don't understand how her five-year sentence suddenly vanished. But is it that disgusting for you to stay with us? Is it that unbearable? I get that you hate Olivianne, but Mom and I… we're still your blood. Mom hasn't slept peacefully since she got out. She's been worrying about you nonstop.")
Isolde didn't know how to respond to any of it. She'd never been good with words; besides, this call wasn't about fixing anything. She hadn't called to mend their broken family ties, and she only needed to know if Lucien had kept his promise. That was all.
"I know it's too late… but please tell Mom I'm sorry. And Olivianne too. I'm sorry I couldn't be a good daughter, or a good sister to either of you. Goodbye." Isolde ended the call.
Her chin trembled. She tilted her head up, eyes locked on the ceiling, forcing back the tears before they could fall. At least Isolde's suffering hadn't been in vain.
Though she had endured nearly a month of torment in this place, at the very least, her mother was free, no longer trapped in a five-year prison sentence for killing their father. Her brother didn't have to lose their mother too. That alone was enough.
The invisible chains that had bound Isolde's feet for so long seemed to dissolve, chains that had kept her from running away, from escaping everything forever, from never coming back.
The bedroom door suddenly creaked open. Isolde quickly shoved the phone beneath the blanket, panic shooting through her. But when she looked up and saw that only Liraine stepped inside, she exhaled in relief and extended the phone back to her.
"Thank you," Isolde said sincerely.
Liraine had helped her so many times. She was the one who saved Isolde the night she was first captured, the one who tried to stay by her side so Tiffara wouldn't constantly torment her, and the one who always showed up with medicine after Severin was done with her.
"Is your family okay?" Liraine asked, taking the phone from Isolde's hand.
Isolde gave a faint nod. "Yeah... they're okay."
A smile broke across Liraine's lips as she gently wrapped her arms around Isolde, careful not to hurt her dislocated shoulder.
"I'm glad to hear that. You should hold onto them as your reason to survive," she whispered.
"So you can see them again one day. So you can be with them again."
Isolde responded with a soft hum, her smile barely reaching her lips, let alone her eyes. When Liraine left to return the barmaid's phone, Isolde lifted her gaze toward the ceiling.
Lucien had kept his promise. Even if she despised him for throwing her into this hell, it was Lucien who held the key to freeing her mother from years of prison. It was done. Her atonement was done.
It was all she could do: remove herself and their father, the two roots of all their family's misery, so the rest of them could finally be whole again. The bedroom door creaked open once more,
But this time, it wasn't Liraine.
It was Severin.
"You caused a lot of damage today. Because of you, Tiffara couldn't perform. And now, you can't either." His eyes scanned her from head to toe with scorn.
"Not that it makes any difference. Whether you perform or not, no one wants to rent you out anyway, except for Maxen. You're kept alive, you're fed, but you bring in nothing. All you bring is loss."
"Then kill me." Her voice was firm. "I won't beg for mercy anymore. I won't kneel at your feet just to stay alive. Kill me now. Get rid of this burden that's costing you so much."
Severin grinned at her words. He pulled out his folding knife and pressed it against her throat. But Isolde didn't flinch. She didn't make a sound. Her gaze stayed flat, cold, and steady, mirroring Severin's own. She stared him down, daring him to drive that blade into her vein and end it right there.
"I'd love to slit your throat and watch you writhe on the floor, bleeding out," Severin whispered, his breath hot on her skin. She could smell the blend of cigarettes, whiskey, and mint.
"But if you die, Liraine will throw a fit. She'd kill herself out of grief."
"You can chain your sister. She'll be sad for a few days, sure. But I'm no one. I'm easy to forget. Easy to replace. She'll move on." Isolde tilted her chin up, locking eyes with his, those glacial gray irises.
"Your sister isn't a good enough reason not to kill me. I don't have any information about Lucien you can use. Just kill me, like you wanted to the moment you saw me sneaking into this place."
The corner of Severin's mouth curled into a sneer. "Why kill you when it's far more entertaining to torture you to death? I'm not interested in touching you right now, but I'm sure my men would be more than happy to take turns in my place, just to remind you of your place, and the damage you've caused."
Like that night, he wanted to throw Isolde back to his men. The night, he smashed her head against the table until she bled. The night her body was left broken and cold after five of Severin's men took turns on her until sunrise.
Why go through another night of hell like that again?
What was she even fighting for? To see the sunrise the next morning?
To see her family? They were already happy—without her.
To escape this place? When? When would that happen?
Six months? A year? Two years?
Endure all of this daily to wait for that one uncertain day.
By the time that day comes, her body will already be covered in scars. And she had only been here a month. How much worse would it be if she stayed longer?
By the time she's free, if she ever is, her body will be ruined, just like her soul, which had been broken long ago. But even if that day did come, and Isolde somehow managed to escape this place… where would she go?
Back to a family that was happier without her?
To some nowhere place where no one knew her name? And then what?
Isolde scoffed. She wasn't willing to wait for some vague, distant possibility in this hell. She refused to be tortured day after day just to gain something that may never even come. Rather than dragging herself through this nightmare with no end, it'd be better if she ended it all by her hand.
Isolde stared at Severin, who still looked down at her with that cold gaze. He raised an eyebrow the moment he felt Isolde's hand wrap around the one holding the folding knife against her throat.
And in that exact second, Isolde shoved his hand forward, driving the blade into her neck. Her eyes never left Severin's. He widened in shock as he realized what she'd done. He tried to pull his hand and the knife away, but Isolde pushed it in deeper, her brow furrowing as the pain in her throat surged through her.
Her blood splattered across Severin's face as the knife finally slipped free, warm red pouring out fast and heavy. Her vision blurred as she collapsed to the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling that now spun above her.
Severin should be pleased now.
Isolde had done precisely what he said she would do the first time she got caught. He said he wouldn't kill her because of Liraine. But he would torture her until she lost her mind and took her own life.
And here she was. Stabbing herself in the throat, choosing death over spending another hour in this hell. She felt Severin's large, rough hands suddenly press against her neck, trying to stop the blood from pouring out, trying to keep her from bleeding out too fast.
Even through the haze, she shifted her gaze from the spinning ceiling to Severin's face, now kneeling beside her, both hands clamped over her wound. Even with her clouded vision, she could see it.
He was furious.
More furious than when she'd first broken in here. He was more frantic than when he found out his men had betrayed him. More furious than when she scarred Tiffara's pretty face.
Her eyelids felt heavy. A ringing echoed through her ears, and her body started to tremble, maybe from the blood loss. But her eyes still stayed on Severin, how he stared at her like he was about to snap, and his lips moved, shouting something she couldn't quite hear.
"MALRIC!!"
Severin's lips looked like they were shouting Malric's name. Malric was one of the doctors in the underground, usually handling corpses. Ah, so Severin wanted her organs sold off, just like the traitors who had betrayed him?
Of course. Isolde's eyes, kidneys, heart, and liver were more useful than hers. Her insides held more value than her entire existence.
Her eyelids grew heavier. Her vision was getting blurrier. She could feel her fingertips and toes beginning to go cold. She felt so sleepy now. The pain in her neck seemed to fade, replaced by a wave of overwhelming exhaustion.
But then Severin slapped her cheek, shouting in her face, making her flinch. She just wanted to rest. Just rest from all this never-ending chaos. Why couldn't she at least have that?
"You're not allowed to die! You don't get to die without my permission."
Huh?
"You fucking bitch! Don't you dare close your eyes!" Severin shouted at her pale face, drained from the blood loss.
"Open your eyes! You don't get to die unless I'm the one who fucking kills you, you worthless woman!"
Isolde felt her body being lifted. Whether someone had picked her up or this was what dying felt like, she couldn't tell. She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Darkness swept over her, and faintly, she heard Severin's voice shouting Malric's name, growing more distant with each second.
"MALRIC!!"
"FUCK! MALRIC! I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS BITCH DIES, I'LL KILL YOU TOO, MALRIC!!"
…