Broken Threads

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Elian

She changed the ropes.

I woke up sometime before dawn. The room was still cloaked in navy silence, but the first thing I noticed—besides the persistent ache in my neck and the fuzz behind my eyes—was the absence of pain on my wrists. The rough burn of coarse rope was gone. In its place, something softer. Silk. Cool against my skin. Strong, but not cruel.

I stared at the ceiling like it might give me answers. Like it might explain how the hell I went from billionaire CEO to hostage in a sun-drenched bedroom that smelled like rain and cardamom and her.

She didn't speak at first. Just appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing the same oversized cotton shirt from yesterday. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were sharp.

"You're not getting out of here," she said simply, like she was telling me the sky was blue.

"Good morning to you too," I muttered, voice hoarse. "Did the breakfast menu come with the cuffs or are they a special add-on?"

She didn't smile. Not really. But one brow lifted, and I could swear a twitch of amusement played on her lips. Just for a second.

"They're custom," she said, walking closer. "Had them made from one of my failed couture sets. Red silk. The irony was too good."

I tugged lightly. They held firm. Of course they did.

"So what's the plan? Keep me cuffed here until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in? Tie me to your bed until I beg for forgiveness I've already given?"

Anika leaned down, close enough that her perfume wrapped around my throat like a second restraint. She didn't touch me. Didn't need to.

"No," she whispered. "You'll stay here until I get my revenge. You will eat when I say. Speak when I ask. And if you try anything stupid—well. Let's just say silk burns slower than rope, but it burns all the same."

My throat went dry.

"Charming," I said.

"I learned from the best," she said. "Your mother."

That name again. Like a ghost that refused to die.

I let my head drop back against the pillow. There was no point pretending I wasn't exhausted. That I didn't deserve this on some cosmic level. I had hurt her—even if I hadn't intended to, even if the knife wasn't in my hand, the blood still traced back to my name. And names carried weight. Especially mine. Especially hers.

"Anika," I said, softer now. "What if I told you I don't want to escape?"

She blinked.

"What if I told you that the last time I felt anything real was in this room, eating soup you made while chained to a bed like a damned fairytale gone wrong?"

"Then I'd ask if you hit your head when you passed out," she said, expression unreadable. "And also if you're aware that's the creepiest romantic confession ever."

I laughed. And it surprised both of us. It wasn't sharp or fake or polished like everything I'd been trained to perform. It cracked in the middle. Like me.

"God," I muttered. "My therapist would quit on the spot."

"You have a therapist?" she asked, genuine curiosity breaking through her cold act.

"Had. Once. For a week. He told me I was emotionally constipated and probably repressing a truckload of childhood trauma."

"Smart man."

"Yeah. I fired him."

She didn't laugh, but something flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone.  "Let me guess. Red for passion. Or is it for blood? Hard to keep track with you."

"Red," she said, stepping closer, "because it's what you wore the day you ruined me."

Ah. Right. That godforsaken Armani suit.

"I told you not to trust a man in a red tie," I muttered. "But did you listen? Nooo. You had to go and—"

A pillow smacked me in the face.

"—Mmfh."

Anika loomed over me, all fury and sleep deprivation. "You don't get to joke about this."

"I absolutely get to joke. Humor's a defense mechanism. My therapist said so."

"The one you fired after a week?"

"Especially him."

She exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, like she was counting to ten in her head. Or plotting my dismemberment. Hard to say.

I tugged at the silk. "So what's the plan, mon capitaine(my captain)? Keep me here until I develop a taste for gruel? Until I start humming your name in my sleep?"

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. Then she leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. "Until you break."

I shivered. Not from fear. From the thrill of it—the way her voice wrapped around the word like she was the one in chains.

"Darling," I said, grinning, "you'll need better restraints."

That got her. A flash of teeth, a spark in her eyes. Then—

SLAM.

Her palm hit the headboard beside me. "You don't get to darling me. Not after what you did."

"What I did?" I laughed, bitter. "Newsflash, Anika—your little revenge plot? It's boring. Tying me up? Basic. Glaring at me like a scorned Disney villain? Adorable." I yanked against the silk. "If you wanted to really hurt me, you'd—"

"What?" she snapped. "What, Elian?"

I went still.

Then, quieter: "You'd ask me why I did it."

Silence.

Her breath hitched. Just once.

I pressed on, reckless. "But you won't. Because you're scared of the answer."

"I'm not scared of—"

"Then ask."

Her fingers curled into fists. For a heartbeat, I thought she'd hit me.

Instead, she whispered, "Why?"

And there it was, the crack in her armor. The question she'd been choking on since the moment she dragged me into this room.

I swallowed. "Because I'm a coward."

She froze.

"I had everything," I continued, voice raw. "Money. Power. A soul so hollow it echoed. And you?" I met her eyes. "You were the only thing that didn't feel like a transaction."

Anika recoiled like I'd struck her. "That's not an excuse."

"It's not meant to be."

A beat. Then another. The tension between us was a live wire, sparking, dangerous.

Finally, she exhaled. "You're impossible."

"And yet," I said, rattling the silk, "here we are."

She stared at me. Then, inexplicably, she laughed, a sharp, startled sound.

"What?" I demanded.

"You're tied to my bed," she said, shaking her head. "And you're still negotiating."

I grinned. "Habit."

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward. Just for a second.

Then she straightened, all business again. "Breakfast in ten. Try not to strangle yourself with your luxury restraints."

I gasped. "Was that a joke? Anika Rao, did captivity make you funny?"

"Shut up."

But as she turned to leave, I caught it, the faintest smirk.

And for the first time since she kidnapped me?

I won.